37 Ann Shumilskaya

A few weeks earlier

“Damn, we partied hard yesterday!” Ksyusha’s voice rattled straight through my poor ears from the phone speaker. “My whole body’s aching, I’m walking like I got split in half,” my friend confessed with zero shame.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have gone off with those jocks… where the hell did you even disappear to?” I don’t remember, though that’s not surprising, considering there’s a whole flock of woodpeckers living in my skull right now, trying to drill through it. Why the hell did I drink so much? Though… an unsatisfied woman is a dangerous force.

Yesterday some mutual acquaintances threw a pretty wild party after some athletes’ corporate event. Anniversary of their gym opening or something like that, I didn’t really care. I had my performance, and then our girls worked the privates with individual clients.

At events like that, you can make damn good money with striptease and, let’s not pretend otherwise, get some good fucking too. Some do it for money, others… like me, purely out of personal desire and pleasure. I only charge for my explicit dances, and I charge pretty damn well. People love my acts because I fully dive into the role, shutting out the world and giving myself to the dance one hundred percent. I’ve got a solid reputation in certain circles of aesthetic performance, so my price matches.

But if I come across a guy I actually like physically, looks-wise, and he shows interest, I can easily go somewhere private with him for something more… hands-on. That part isn’t paid. That’s just my whim and desire, and not every man makes it through my selection criteria for a night partner. I love sex, I fucking enjoy it, and since I don’t have a boyfriend and won’t have one, that’s how I handle my needs.

Relationships? I don’t need them and don’t see the point. Tried a couple times, thanks, that was more than enough. I don’t want to ruin my life or some guy’s, so now it’s just no-strings sex and goodbye.

Yesterday I also got a good-looking guy, one of those athletes, built, handsome… but damn, useless. The whole ten minutes we had sex, he was staring at his own biceps! Trying to strike prettier poses and flex them nicely, completely forgetting about my satisfaction. I can’t stand that shit, my arousal vanished instantly. So after a couple of pointless thrusts and his self-admiring circus, I climbed off him, shut the whole show down, and went back to drinking with the others. That’s why my head is now paying the price this morning.

“We were in a car. That’s probably why everything hurts. They’re huge, and there wasn’t much space,” she snorts.

“Your knights didn’t accidentally cross swords while they were screwing you?” I grimace, squinting at the sun blazing into my eyes. That pisses me off. Happy, relaxed people around me piss me off too. Screaming kids, shuffling pedestrians, honking cars, cooing pigeons, everything is fucking irritating when your head is splitting from a hangover.

“No idea. But those guys… I wouldn’t be surprised if they kept going without me,” the blonde laughs.

Not me. Her loud, annoying voice this early in the morning pisses me off too.

“Alright, let’s meet later. I’m already there, can’t talk,” I’m not actually there, but her cheerful mood is getting on my nerves so bad I just hang up.

Maybe everything wouldn’t annoy me so much if it weren’t for my mom and her unstoppable desire for me to bond with my brother Kirill. What the hell do we even have in common with almost a twenty-year age gap besides the same mother?

No, I love the kid, spoil him too. He’s cool and smart as hell for his nine years. Just… he could literally be my son, and that definitely affects how I see him.