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Feature Story November 25, 2003
The eXile introduces… amateur Whore-R Stories!
By Travis Jones Browse author
Page 4 of 5
Lena, Anna and I proceeded to drink Baltika 3's. Lena's English was much better than Anna's, and so we were able to talk about their workplace. The studio had three rooms; one with pink drapes, one with blue ones, and one with green ones. Each room had a bed; there were eight computers. Each woman operated a computer; customers came rarely enough so that nobody had to worry about sharing the bed that served as a setting for most of the strip-tease. Women could come and go as they pleased: there were about 30-40 women, total, but many only worked part-time. Others worked 12 hours a day. Lena practically lived there and at her sister's place.

They didn't have a steady flow of customers, but when men did log in, they usually spent three or so dollars a minute. Everything was optional; the girls didn't have to finger themselves, use dildos, or anything, but usually did, as not doing so would mean that they didn't attract men into their chat rooms. Men usually had strange requests. One request Lena remembered was that she put on 3 times as much makeup as average and drink vodka -- somebody out there gets off on Russian-slut stereotypes, I guess. She was amused when a foot fetishist came to her -- all he did was pay to jerk off and look at her feet while she sat back and reviewed English words. A subsequent look at the site revealed that most of the archived pictures were soft-core if they were porn at all, although one did feature Olya holding a dildo. Lena and Anna insisted that they weren't bi, although a look at the site revealed a few pictures of them naked together.

Lena told me she'd grossed $1,200 last month. Her studio takes 60%, so her net was about $500. She said there was a studio in Moscow that only took 40%.

The girls supplemented their incomes by courting the interests of repeat customers, who were sometimes the object of their romantic fixations. Anna liked one guy from Michigan, and one from the west end of Alexandria, Virginia; both had sent her things and talked to her extensively on the phone. After we'd had more drinks, I drew a map showing Anna how far it was between Michigan and Virginia, and scribbled for her on a piece of paper.

I asked why the girls didn't log on from home alone. "I have a computer at home and can log in whenever I want to -- you could do the same and buy a camera and work from home."

They didn't understand; they thought I wanted to set up a studio. "If you set up a studio, we might work for you but only if we stop working at our studio...we don't want our boss to see us online working somewhere else," Lena said. Unfortunately, there are more barriers to getting online than just the prospect of buying a computer with a 50-dollar web-cam. As it had become so apparent at Olya's place, living conditions were often too cramped to work from home. Anna had a son that she didn't want exposed to her work, and Lena didn't have her own place. Rental properties were hard to find for less than $200 because most people inherited their places from the Soviet era and effectively lived in condominiums. High speed Internet access was difficult to set up, and dial-up access required a phone line.

The biggest problem, however, was that of getting paid by Ifriends or Camcontacts. Ifriends is in America and Camcontacts in America and the UK, and both mail paper checks to their chat-hostesses rather than wiring them the cash. Getting a check from the US or UK and cashing it in Russia can take months even in a large city; Kostroma's banks don't have many of the features that those in Moscow do. To get paid, the money would have to be deposited to a US account by a friend and then sent to them via Western Union.

I invited the girls back to my hotel. "We have to work tonight -- we are going to Moscow for several days so we need the money." This was news to me: I knew that a trip was planned but Anna was undecided as to whether or not she wanted to go to Moscow. I asked her how much she planned to make that night. She said that it could be as little as 200 rubles but as much as $50 dollars, but probably more like $10. The next day, they saw me off at the gray, Soviet-era bus station; they would take the train later on that day and arrive in the morning.

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Save The eXile: The War Nerd Calls Mayday
The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

Scanning Moscow’s Traffic Cops
Automotive Section
We’re happy to introduce a new column in which we publish Moscow’s raw radio communications, courtesy of a Russian amateur radio enthusiast. This issue, eXile readers are given a peek into the secret conversations of Moscow’s traffic police, the notorious "GAIshniki."

Eleven Years of Threats: The eXile's Incredible Journey
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Good Night, and Bad Luck: In a nation terrorized by its own government, one newspaper dared to fart in its face. Get out your hankies, cuz we’re taking a look back at the impossible crises we overcame.

Your Letters
Russia's freedom-loving free market martyr Mikhail Khodorkovsky answers some of this week's letters, and he's got nothing but praise for President Medvedev.

Clubbing Adventures Through Time
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eXile club reviewer Babooshka takes a trip through time with the ghost of Moscow clubbing past, present and future, and true to form, gets laid in the process.

The Fortnight Spin
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Jared comes out with yet another roundup of upcoming bardak sessions.

Your Letters
Richard Gere tackles this week's letters. Now reformed, he fights for gerbil rights all around the world.

13 Toxic Talents: Hollywood’s Worst Polluters
America By Eileen Jones
Everybody complains about celebrities, but nobody does anything about them. People, it’s time to stop fretting about whether we’re a celebrity-obsessed culture—we are, we have been, we’re going to be—and instead take practical steps to clean up the celebrity-obsessed culture we’ve got...


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