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Unfiled March 7, 2006
Enter The Tanning Salon
To know them, one must be like them. By Yasha Levine Browse author Email

Russians love clever
titles like Sun i Siti.

I never liked deep mid-winter tans on women, but most of the dyevs and ho's I've been with in Russia seem to have 'em. So I decided to see what it was like to experience a genuine Russian tanning session.

I wanted to trying getting a tan in one of those booths where you're standing up, but the receptionist at the tanning salon recommended that I go for the horizontal turbo tan machine instead. Why? She couldn't elaborate. "It's just better," she said.

She led me down a corridor and into a small room.

"This controls the face lamp strength, these two control the fan and air conditioning. Pull the top down and it will swing automatically. Just press this button."

"Will it turn off automatically after 10 minutes?" I ask.


I strip down all the way and fumble with the goggles. I get them in the right position and lay down on the booth's glass surface. Everything's crimson red. I pull down the flap and press the big red button labeled START. The lights all around my body flicker on with an electronic buzz. Shit, it's hot. A timer above my head starts counting down the time remaining starting from 10:00 minutes.

TIMER READING: 9:23: It starts getting very hot and I start sweating. I fumble with the fan and AC controls. Turn both of them up all the way. The roar overpowers all other sounds.

8:45: The place where my dick is resting on my balls breaks out into a sweat.

8:42: I reposition my dick so that it rests on my stomach (keep my eye on the sky).

8:30: I check the timer.

All glass surfaces are cleaned regularly...

7:51: Beads of sweat form on my forehead. The lamps seem way too powerful. I imagine blue UV rays hitting my cells, destroying protein structures.

7:48: I panic. What if they fucked up the settings up or there's a glitch? I could wake up tomorrow with a gnarly burn or worse, blisters all over my body.

7:45: I imagine gauze all over my charred skin.

6:02: I consider pressing the STOP button and bursting out of the booth.

5:58: I imagine what those tanned girls in the reception area, looking up from their Vogue magazines, will say.

5:55: I decide to stay.

5:16: I pull my foreskin over my dick's head for fear of getting dick burn.

5:00: I imagine that I'm on a beach: three seagulls circling over my head, salty breeze, hot sand, the distant ding of a beacon.

4:04: I notice the sweat that has formed where my back, ass and legs touch the glass. I shift my body.

3:57: Check the timer.

3:53: I fumble with the fan control, realize I can turn it up a notch.

3:52: I remember a young girl I interviewed once. She had a ridiculous tomato-colored face with two normal-colored circles around her eyes. She told me that she tanned for too long. She was probably blushing, but I couldn't tell.

Oh yeah, that hits the spot.

3:37: Panic hits. Fight desire to leave.

3:32: I reposition my dick so that it rests against my right leg.

2:56: Image of soiled, bloody gauze stuck to badly burned skin returns to my mind.

2:54: Check timer. Try to think of the beach, the sound of waves.

0:00: Bzzz -- the sound of all the lamps shutting off at once. I cannot see anything through my goggles. Just realized I dozed off. Check timer -- yep, it's over.

I get dressed and look in the mirror. I press on my forehead and look for the tell-tale white mark to see if I'm burned. No, doesn't seem so, but my skin has that stale smell of ionized air.

I come back to the counter, return the goggles and pay 300 rubles. The next day, as I take a shower I realize my stomach and inner thighs are slightly burned. It stings when I soap up.

Two days later, I'm screwing this one unnaturally tanned Estonian chick. She gets up from my bed and I notice two thin white lines running along the place where her ass meets her legs and I wonder: do I have those too?

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Browse author
Yasha Levine is an editor at The eXile. You can contact him at

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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
Feature Story By The eXile
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
Club Review By Dmitriy Babooshka
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
Bardak Calendar By Jared Lindquist
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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