This was a fairly straightforward process, made more efficient by a highly willing participant.
I was planning a trip to Saint Petersburg in August of last year, and a month or two ahead of time, I downloaded the Eastern European dating app Mamba (which I can recommend for anyone in the region or seeking to spend time here). QueenBee, as I will call her, was one of the first women I matched with. She was 35 and took reasonable care of herself, at least from the perspective of diet and exercise, giving her a slim, athletic appearance. At over 180cm tall, about the same as I am, she towered above me if she put on heels. Her figure was of the spindly variety, with not much in the way of hips. Her hair was chestnut-brown; her face was not beautiful, but it was tolerable. Overall, let's give her a 7 out of 10 on the conventional scale, mainly due to a sporty, thin, toned body without any modifications. Due to her habit of regularly deleting our Telegram chats, from both sides, I can't reproduce the texting, but there wasn't much to it: she decided she liked me pretty much upfront and started to pursue. The smoothest part of this interaction was the pull, to which I will devote more detail.
On the app, she had about 50 pictures, the vast majority of them showing her in brightly-colored, attention-grabbing clothing. I opened with a compliment about how she had tastefully matched the colors of several items of apparel and makeup (I don't remember the details; for the sake of argument, let's say it was eyeshadow, shorts, and patent heels all in a lime-green). She took well to this and after a while started sending me multiple other pictures. After very little time had elapsed, she stated explicitly that we seemed to get along well in at least one respect: that we had complementary interests, as I enjoyed observing details of women's attire and commenting favorably on them, and she enjoyed dressing up.
This type of exchange continued for some time as the date of my trip approached. (This is the same trip described in FR: Botticelli. That field report is far more problematic and higher-stakes than this one, and while I am appreciative of feedback on any forum post, any responses the community is able to provide there will be the most useful from my perspective.) We got to know each other reasonably well at least on Telegram, and she suggested a couple of video calls on the weekends, which I found relaxing and enjoyable. Our personalities were very different, and clearly she was not relationship material, but she was decently attractive physically and promised to be fun to be with. She had an easygoing character, both by her own account and in reality. What she liked about me was that I had a stable, serious, self-possessed manner: a nice complement to her carefree nature.
She favored the fast-fashion multiple Zara, which has closed its doors in Russia, being replaced by the native MAAG which has a bit of a different feel. I offered to bring her what I could get my hands on, and she sent a list and details of her sizes. I grabbed a sleeveless top, a denim skirt, and some jeans, along with a perfume from elsewhere. This is an easy win, since at Zara, as anyone will know who has been there with a girlfriend, you can get a whole basketful of reasonable-looking garments for under 100 euro; the quality is questionable, but it looks okay while it lasts and the younger girls swear by it.
When I had arrived, slept off the bus journey from Helsinki airport, and spent the first day seeing the sights, we arranged to meet outside the Kazan Cathedral in the early evening. At QueenBee's recommendation, I had booked a highly reputable restaurant with a lovely terrace overlooking the cathedral. Still a little sleepy after the (now unnecessarily complicated) journey, I realized to my horror as I approached the venue that I had forgotten the presents, and that it was too late to go back to my hotel for them now. After greeting her with a kiss on the cheek, and a little chat to break the ice as it was our first in-person meeting, I joked, sheepishly, that I promised I hadn't left the presents in my hotel room intentionally, as a device to get her back there on the pretext of collecting them, and that I had genuinely forgotten; we shared a laugh at that.
Dinner went smoothly, facilitated by an excellent waiter. QueenBee was very talkative, which suits me, as I prefer listening with the occasional enthusiastic contribution, rather than carrying the burden of an awkward conversation. Not being much of a fan of alcohol, I was slightly irritated that she ordered four (!) Long Island Iced Teas over the course of the meal, confirming my initial view that she was unsuitable as any kind of a serious partner, and bringing the check amount to almost twice what it would otherwise have been.
We had planned a boat trip after dinner, and as we walked toward the jetty on the Moika Embankment, I mentioned that I hoped the clothes from Zara were the right size, and that we could always have a "fashion show" in my hotel room to test the fit before the night was over, to which she readily agreed. QueenBee largely took care of the negotiations with the boatmen, as this was her home territory, and when we had agreed on a price with one of the several individuals offering tours, we boarded the catamaran.
We meandered through canals and under bridges, taking in the sights of nighttime Saint Petersburg, and as we emerged onto the River Neva proper, the liquor started to show its effect. QueenBee arranged for the boatman to change the music to something of her own preference, then stood up and started dancing around, waggling her flattish ass and waving her arms in the air. I sat chilling in my blazer and slacks enjoying the city view and the free entertainment! A few times later on in the night, when we came back off the river into the canals, I started worrying that QueenBee, being tall, might hurt herself as we passed under one of the many bridges, and a couple times, the boatman and I had to cooperate to get her back under control!
We passed Hare Island with its famous SS Peter & Paul Fortress, and the boatman took us all the way to the Cruiser Aurora, the famous battleship whose cannon had heralded the October Revolution. At night, it was illuminated in a tasteful greenish tone—the photos came out fantastic, and the view from the water is far superior to any tourist visit from the embankment. All the way QueenBee was dancing away. I finally told the boatman that it was getting cold and we needed to wrap up the voyage, which proved to be good timing, since as we reentered the canals QueenBee was already getting melancholy and wondering aloud whether any man would ever marry her.
When we finally tied up again at the Moika, I paid the boatman off and we walked at a brisk pace through the city, passing the Church of the Savior on Blood, my arm around QueenBee to keep her warm: it was already mid-August, and past midnight, and at this latitude a peacoat or similar would have probably been desirable, but as mentioned we were lightly outfitted in summer dining attire. I reminded QueenBee of the "fashion show" and we headed toward my hotel. En route, she showed some class: We stopped at a restaurant for her to use the restroom, and as I waited longer than usual (so long that a hostess even offered me a table!) I realized she must be cleaning up. This later proved true: My hotel room was an ordinary one with no extra rooms, etc., and the bathroom was enclosed in glass and thus offered little in the way of privacy, so it was wise that she had taken this precaution.
We reached Nevsky Prospekt, all white light and movement, full of the force of life, the pulse of the city. Pedestrians streamed in both directions along the broad avenue, with no regard to the late hour. We turned east a few blocks, then left the thoroughfare again for the relative calm of Fontanka Embankment. Reflections sparkled on the black waves; catamarans like the one we had rented steamed purposefully along the Fontanka River.
At my hotel, we took the spiral staircase up to my floor, discussing the old-fashioned steel cage elevator at its center and the tasteful art on the walls as we ascended. Everything was very low-key: QueenBee followed me to my room as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She exclaimed at the size of my suitcase for a four-night stay; I have never learned to travel light despite extensive experience!
The gifts I had prepared were on the writing-desk. I handed her the clothing and she, without apparent shame or modesty, undressed as far as her underwear and tried the items on sequentially. For her particular figure, I found the jeans to be the most flattering—they emphasized her long legs beautifully—but all garments fitted perfectly.
When she took off the last item again, to put her usual clothes back on, I interrupted her while she was still in bra and panties and led her toward the bed. I didn't detect any unwillingness or resistance; she didn't spring into action herself, but allowed herself to be led. After some kisses in an erect posture, she sat; I commenced a little gentle foreplay, with caresses to her hips, abdomen, neck, pushing back her hair from her face, etc. As I lowered her into a supine position, she remarked: "Are we having sex? Okay, I guess."
I kissed her legs a little, then her behind and more intimate areas, first through underwear, which soon after came off. When she was good and ready, I initiated cunnilingus, which she received in a "doggie" position. She apparently enjoyed this, and wanted to proceed to full penetration, but I wasn't ready for it yet. Women do tend to rush men these days, don't they? Whatever happened to time for foreplay? Clueless men are rightfully criticized by women for hurtling into intimate activity without time to warm up a little, talking directly about specific sexual acts, treating the woman as a bundle of desires rather than a person; but I've noticed over the past few years that many women have started to do all these things to men as well now. Anyway, I wasn't in the mood. Also she wanted it in the "doggie" position, which I hate.
After we got dressed again, I accompanied her downstairs with her gifts, called her a taxi, and saw her off. We had lunch the next afternoon on the island with the fortress, and took a trip together to Budapest a month later. She's become a useful female friend, and indicates that she wouldn't object to a "friend with benefits" arrangement, but I get the sense that she wants more, calling me “sweetheart” (любимчик) and suchlike, and I definitely don't want to get too close to this mediocre-quality woman, so I hold off for the moment.
I was planning a trip to Saint Petersburg in August of last year, and a month or two ahead of time, I downloaded the Eastern European dating app Mamba (which I can recommend for anyone in the region or seeking to spend time here). QueenBee, as I will call her, was one of the first women I matched with. She was 35 and took reasonable care of herself, at least from the perspective of diet and exercise, giving her a slim, athletic appearance. At over 180cm tall, about the same as I am, she towered above me if she put on heels. Her figure was of the spindly variety, with not much in the way of hips. Her hair was chestnut-brown; her face was not beautiful, but it was tolerable. Overall, let's give her a 7 out of 10 on the conventional scale, mainly due to a sporty, thin, toned body without any modifications. Due to her habit of regularly deleting our Telegram chats, from both sides, I can't reproduce the texting, but there wasn't much to it: she decided she liked me pretty much upfront and started to pursue. The smoothest part of this interaction was the pull, to which I will devote more detail.
On the app, she had about 50 pictures, the vast majority of them showing her in brightly-colored, attention-grabbing clothing. I opened with a compliment about how she had tastefully matched the colors of several items of apparel and makeup (I don't remember the details; for the sake of argument, let's say it was eyeshadow, shorts, and patent heels all in a lime-green). She took well to this and after a while started sending me multiple other pictures. After very little time had elapsed, she stated explicitly that we seemed to get along well in at least one respect: that we had complementary interests, as I enjoyed observing details of women's attire and commenting favorably on them, and she enjoyed dressing up.
This type of exchange continued for some time as the date of my trip approached. (This is the same trip described in FR: Botticelli. That field report is far more problematic and higher-stakes than this one, and while I am appreciative of feedback on any forum post, any responses the community is able to provide there will be the most useful from my perspective.) We got to know each other reasonably well at least on Telegram, and she suggested a couple of video calls on the weekends, which I found relaxing and enjoyable. Our personalities were very different, and clearly she was not relationship material, but she was decently attractive physically and promised to be fun to be with. She had an easygoing character, both by her own account and in reality. What she liked about me was that I had a stable, serious, self-possessed manner: a nice complement to her carefree nature.
She favored the fast-fashion multiple Zara, which has closed its doors in Russia, being replaced by the native MAAG which has a bit of a different feel. I offered to bring her what I could get my hands on, and she sent a list and details of her sizes. I grabbed a sleeveless top, a denim skirt, and some jeans, along with a perfume from elsewhere. This is an easy win, since at Zara, as anyone will know who has been there with a girlfriend, you can get a whole basketful of reasonable-looking garments for under 100 euro; the quality is questionable, but it looks okay while it lasts and the younger girls swear by it.
When I had arrived, slept off the bus journey from Helsinki airport, and spent the first day seeing the sights, we arranged to meet outside the Kazan Cathedral in the early evening. At QueenBee's recommendation, I had booked a highly reputable restaurant with a lovely terrace overlooking the cathedral. Still a little sleepy after the (now unnecessarily complicated) journey, I realized to my horror as I approached the venue that I had forgotten the presents, and that it was too late to go back to my hotel for them now. After greeting her with a kiss on the cheek, and a little chat to break the ice as it was our first in-person meeting, I joked, sheepishly, that I promised I hadn't left the presents in my hotel room intentionally, as a device to get her back there on the pretext of collecting them, and that I had genuinely forgotten; we shared a laugh at that.
Dinner went smoothly, facilitated by an excellent waiter. QueenBee was very talkative, which suits me, as I prefer listening with the occasional enthusiastic contribution, rather than carrying the burden of an awkward conversation. Not being much of a fan of alcohol, I was slightly irritated that she ordered four (!) Long Island Iced Teas over the course of the meal, confirming my initial view that she was unsuitable as any kind of a serious partner, and bringing the check amount to almost twice what it would otherwise have been.
We had planned a boat trip after dinner, and as we walked toward the jetty on the Moika Embankment, I mentioned that I hoped the clothes from Zara were the right size, and that we could always have a "fashion show" in my hotel room to test the fit before the night was over, to which she readily agreed. QueenBee largely took care of the negotiations with the boatmen, as this was her home territory, and when we had agreed on a price with one of the several individuals offering tours, we boarded the catamaran.
We meandered through canals and under bridges, taking in the sights of nighttime Saint Petersburg, and as we emerged onto the River Neva proper, the liquor started to show its effect. QueenBee arranged for the boatman to change the music to something of her own preference, then stood up and started dancing around, waggling her flattish ass and waving her arms in the air. I sat chilling in my blazer and slacks enjoying the city view and the free entertainment! A few times later on in the night, when we came back off the river into the canals, I started worrying that QueenBee, being tall, might hurt herself as we passed under one of the many bridges, and a couple times, the boatman and I had to cooperate to get her back under control!
We passed Hare Island with its famous SS Peter & Paul Fortress, and the boatman took us all the way to the Cruiser Aurora, the famous battleship whose cannon had heralded the October Revolution. At night, it was illuminated in a tasteful greenish tone—the photos came out fantastic, and the view from the water is far superior to any tourist visit from the embankment. All the way QueenBee was dancing away. I finally told the boatman that it was getting cold and we needed to wrap up the voyage, which proved to be good timing, since as we reentered the canals QueenBee was already getting melancholy and wondering aloud whether any man would ever marry her.
When we finally tied up again at the Moika, I paid the boatman off and we walked at a brisk pace through the city, passing the Church of the Savior on Blood, my arm around QueenBee to keep her warm: it was already mid-August, and past midnight, and at this latitude a peacoat or similar would have probably been desirable, but as mentioned we were lightly outfitted in summer dining attire. I reminded QueenBee of the "fashion show" and we headed toward my hotel. En route, she showed some class: We stopped at a restaurant for her to use the restroom, and as I waited longer than usual (so long that a hostess even offered me a table!) I realized she must be cleaning up. This later proved true: My hotel room was an ordinary one with no extra rooms, etc., and the bathroom was enclosed in glass and thus offered little in the way of privacy, so it was wise that she had taken this precaution.
We reached Nevsky Prospekt, all white light and movement, full of the force of life, the pulse of the city. Pedestrians streamed in both directions along the broad avenue, with no regard to the late hour. We turned east a few blocks, then left the thoroughfare again for the relative calm of Fontanka Embankment. Reflections sparkled on the black waves; catamarans like the one we had rented steamed purposefully along the Fontanka River.
At my hotel, we took the spiral staircase up to my floor, discussing the old-fashioned steel cage elevator at its center and the tasteful art on the walls as we ascended. Everything was very low-key: QueenBee followed me to my room as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She exclaimed at the size of my suitcase for a four-night stay; I have never learned to travel light despite extensive experience!
The gifts I had prepared were on the writing-desk. I handed her the clothing and she, without apparent shame or modesty, undressed as far as her underwear and tried the items on sequentially. For her particular figure, I found the jeans to be the most flattering—they emphasized her long legs beautifully—but all garments fitted perfectly.When she took off the last item again, to put her usual clothes back on, I interrupted her while she was still in bra and panties and led her toward the bed. I didn't detect any unwillingness or resistance; she didn't spring into action herself, but allowed herself to be led. After some kisses in an erect posture, she sat; I commenced a little gentle foreplay, with caresses to her hips, abdomen, neck, pushing back her hair from her face, etc. As I lowered her into a supine position, she remarked: "Are we having sex? Okay, I guess."
I kissed her legs a little, then her behind and more intimate areas, first through underwear, which soon after came off. When she was good and ready, I initiated cunnilingus, which she received in a "doggie" position. She apparently enjoyed this, and wanted to proceed to full penetration, but I wasn't ready for it yet. Women do tend to rush men these days, don't they? Whatever happened to time for foreplay? Clueless men are rightfully criticized by women for hurtling into intimate activity without time to warm up a little, talking directly about specific sexual acts, treating the woman as a bundle of desires rather than a person; but I've noticed over the past few years that many women have started to do all these things to men as well now. Anyway, I wasn't in the mood. Also she wanted it in the "doggie" position, which I hate.
After we got dressed again, I accompanied her downstairs with her gifts, called her a taxi, and saw her off. We had lunch the next afternoon on the island with the fortress, and took a trip together to Budapest a month later. She's become a useful female friend, and indicates that she wouldn't object to a "friend with benefits" arrangement, but I get the sense that she wants more, calling me “sweetheart” (любимчик) and suchlike, and I definitely don't want to get too close to this mediocre-quality woman, so I hold off for the moment.