This story will be interesting, most likely, to the older generation, who remembers that “there was no sex in the USSR”. Unlike my other stories, it is based on real events, more precisely, on the real story of Professor N.

We give him the word:

- Now I will tell you how different ideas about the feminine attractiveness of "we" and "them." It was back in 1987. I, then still an associate professor, among the promising and politically reliable research institute staff was sent to a symposium in Philadelphia. I went there in a double status: as a speaker and as a correspondent for the magazine "Science and Life." This was my first trip abroad.

By that time, I had already become a lonely forty-year-old grouse, having neither a family, nor any hopes for its creation. There were few bright impressions in my life, and of course, this trip was anticipated as a great event. True, then I did not even know what event it would be for me.

At the symposium, I felt myself in a new skin - a clever, charming, enterprising dandy, refuting the common myths about “soviet rush”. Unlike most of ours, I was fluent in English, and it gave me a kind of inspiring spirit of excellence. In addition, I immediately realized that the scientific level of our overseas colleagues was much lower than ours, in particular, my own, and in two days had the reputation of a thunderstorm symposium.

The day of my performance has come. I prepared an innovative hypothesis for him, in which several important links were missing, but our academic council did not notice them, and the level of bourgeois science, as I was convinced, did not give cause for concern. Therefore, I was confident in the success of my report and anticipated it as the beginning of international glory.

When I reported and the discussion was in full swing, rather surprised than scandalous (excited Americans asked insidious, as they thought, questions I clicked like seeds), the girl raised her hand, which I noticed at the opening.

She was a kind of contrast between the type and appearance, incomprehensible to the Soviet view. She hid her eyes under Mar-Ivanna's glasses, chained into a “scientific” jacket and the same skirt, pulling a curly mane into a strict “tail”, she had such a figure and a face that she wanted to pick out from her “scientific” shell and enjoy it, sensual and tender as a mango. For the entire symposium, she didn’t say a word, didn’t approach anyone, didn’t communicate with anyone, and I was surprised to notice that they didn’t pay attention to her while caring for flat-faced, but brightly dressed gerls. I was in no hurry to get acquainted with her, as I was not too sure of the attractiveness of my roomy belly of forty years ...

And now - suddenly she raises her hand and asks me a question.

Hearing him, I became cold: he touched the link that was missing in my hypothesis.

Despite this, I began to answer briskly, hoping that it was an accident - but the girl called Eirin persistently repeated her question, and I realized that it was a pipe.

She had a very expressive, gently disturbing face, downright disfigured by glasses ... Step by step, brilliantly, like Niels Bohr, she broke my hypothesis into smithereens, dismantled it brick by brick, and each brick was still laid out into atoms, protons and neutrons. After some time I even stopped resisting, and only stood and listened to her, like a bad student, with my mouth open. What she said turned the whole theory upside down — in any case, her words contained potential discoveries that I never dreamed of; she did it playfully, like a schoolgirl playing hopscotch, and I could not believe my ears.

In the hall, apparently, they only understood that emeriken gerl had bombed the harmful scientist, and met her performance with an ovation in which I did not hear a single drop of understanding.

I do not remember how I got home to the hotel.I was dreary more than ever: I felt that I was mixed with shit at the very moment when I was going to ride Olympus; on the other hand, I understood that today I had encountered a genius for the first time in my life. The fact that this genius is a girl into whom I wanted to get stuck, like in a piece of sweet butter, made my shame unbearable at all.

I wanted to throw something out. I wanted to get drunk, but I just came to my senses: I didn't smile at all to emigrate to the forefathers with my liver. And then my eyes fell on the business card, which I automatically pulled out of my pocket.

I must say that, among other temptations of the West, the fidgety Mr. Mr, who secretly offered us the best girls in Philadelphia, was busy in our company. I sent him to the Pentagon, having greeted the Soviet image with anger, but I forgot to throw out his business card, which he had left on the hallway. Bad Soviet habit: to collect full pockets of garbage and carry it for years ...

Overcoming fear, I dialed the number - and, trying to speak contemptuously and arrogantly, I set out on the path of vice. The damned Mr. understood me half-word - better than I understood myself - and after two hours they knocked on my door.

I, thoroughly washed, shaved, worn out by the Red Moscow, in the best costume and with a stupid smile glued to my face, went to the door. Feet were cotton. “I will think that I fuck her,” I thought, recalling my winner, and abruptly opened the door.

***

I had to lean on her so as not to fall: Eirin stood in the aisle. In a form-fitting dress with a huge neckline that opened her breasts like the heart of an orchid, she was made up, pale, dazzlingly beautiful and without glasses.

She was struck no less than me, and also clutched at the door, hitting my hand with hers. The hand was cold like a frog.

I tried to say something - in the hope that it was a coincidence, and Eirin came to me "just like that." Eirin also tried to open her mouth - and finally uttered:

“Yy, good evening.” May I have a look at tissue samples?

I almost howled: it was a password.

“I only have velvet on my hands,” I muttered an answer. Eirin swallowed: like me, she hoped it was a coincidence.

“Come on in,” I told her, moving aside, and suddenly burst out laughing, like a nutcase.

Eirin looked at me waryly.

- Why are you laughing?
- Isn't it funny? - I asked, continuing to laugh. - You flunked my report, you poured ideas to which I walked all my life and who in this damn room no one except me understood ... I wanted to forget you like a nightmare, I ordered a girl to help me forget you ... and again YOU!

I was shocked and said something that I would never have said if everything was different.

- Sorry. I did not want. And what, I had to be silent? Yes? Cried Eirin. - So take it, forget me! Forget me ... with me. This is not me. This is not me who was there, this is not Eirin Meinhouse, this is ... Come on, take me, what are you standing for? She shouted at me and followed me.
- Why are you here?
- Because ... you care? Or do not you like me? BUT?
- Not. You don't like me, ”I said for some reason, and bit my tongue, because Eirin’s reddened face twisted with rage:
- Do not like me? And so? So don't you like me either? She shouted, tearing off her dress. - Will I pay? - she was buzzing under the dress, crawling out of it, as if from a trap, and finally left in one black lace underwear. - Not?
- Eirin! ..
- And so? She unbuttoned her bra, threw it off and took a step in my direction, shaking her breasts belligerently, as elastic as satin balls. As I thought, she had a fabulously beautiful body.
- Eirin !!!
- What is "Eirin"? Like or not? Oh, sorry, one more detail! Like this! That's better, huh? She screamed, pulling black lace off her hips. - Well? Well??? - and suddenly burst into tears, hands down. In one of them her panties were hanging.

"That very place" she was shaven and smooth, like a girl.

- Eirin! You ... you ... what? What do you mean? ... Don't, Eirin, don't ... Eirin!

Then everything was like in a fog: she roared more and more desperately, and I stroked her hair, on a naked velvet body, cold, ...