KP journalists Aleksandr Meshkov and Oleg Rukavitsyn headed to Ivanovo in the thick of Russia to hold a casting session for girls interested in earning money via sex services. One applicant realized a video camera was recording our conversation and she got angry and ran off to get her friends. They came to the apartment and stood outside the front door hoping to destroy the compromising material and smash Meshkov’s and Rukavitsyn’s faces in!
Run, Rabbit, Run!
From behind the door, they threatened to beat us to a pulp. It was dark and we thought the chances they would leave were few. We looked out the window gloomily at the black Audi parked in the yard. Its headlights were off and a thug in a leather jacket stood nearby smoking nervously. We thought we heard someone manning the corridor. And we could smell cigarette smoke from under the door.
We could not sleep. And so we waited until late. When we finally saw the car take off, we opened the window, climbed out and ran. We spent the remainder of the night at an automobile sales lot and hopped on a bus to Moscow in the morning.
Meshkov tore off the flash drive that had been taped to his groin and shook his hands in victory. Then we sat down to watch the show.
Everything would have been funny if it had not been so sad. The girls were sullen, even though they pretended not to be. And their lives were sad and empty, although to some outsiders they probably seemed full of life, orgasms and tenderness.
We had nearly fulfilled our mission and made a bordello. If we were real pimps, we would have needed only to rent an apartment in the capital and pay a cut to the police for protection.
We hoped that the police would stop us during the initial stages of our investigation when we placed our advertisement in the papers. Almost all the girls knew what services they would have to offer if they ended up working with our company. But the police did nothing.
What’s worse is that we had almost given ourselves away up by taping our advertisements all over the main square. It’s not important where the whole story happened — in Pskov, Bryansk or Uglich… Regardless, we were in Russia.
We did not actually open a bordello afterwards, thank God. But we learned a great deal. There were no women among our applicants with a higher education. They were almost all factory workers — sewers, cooks, janitors and painters, who changed their profession often. One reason why they constantly shifted between jobs was their immense boredom. And the negative influence of fictional stories about oligarchs thirsting for young girls and fairytale blockbusters like “Pretty Woman” and “Glossy” should not be forgotten.
Many poor village girls are tired of dancing around in their thick rubber boots and homemade clothes with drunken slobs at square dances. They long for more fashionable love affairs. And while our country is pretending to wage war against prostitution, the phenomenon is growing and gaining pace like a locomotive. READ MORE