Victor picks me up from the airport. “Welcome to Moscow, the city of sin,” he says. For two hours, we drive through bleak suburbs full of concrete blocks. The closer we get to the center, the nicer the buildings, the flashier the cars—Ladas alongside luxury vehicles with flashing lights. When we hit traffic, our driver veers onto the sidewalk. A woman with a stroller jumps aside. I’m shocked. Victor just shrugs: “Time is money.” Welcome to a world that plays by its own rules.
The morning after, we lie next to each other, exhausted from a night filled with passion, music, and dancing. It was a transgression, a forbidden adventure that briefly united us like Bonnie and Clyde—honest and free from expectations. She rests in my arms, seeking comfort, while I wonder if she could be the one. But thoughts of a shared future quickly fade, as we both know there is only the here and now. Every moment with her feels like a stolen second I want to hold onto before reality catches up with us again.
An evening at an exclusive sex party in Moscow – driven by curiosity, I follow a friend’s invitation into a world that is both bizarre and fascinating. Amid high heels, collars, and unexpectedly profound conversations with the hostess Svetlana, a woman as passionate as she is charming, I immerse myself in a game of desire, power, and taboos. As the lines between freedom and control blur, I reflect on longing, fantasies, and the extraordinary stories that connect people. And in the end, one realization remains: sometimes life surprises you in the strangest ways.
A Thursday night at Solyanka, one of Moscow’s hottest clubs. Banker Chet dances in his suit, Elena flirts unabashedly, and Matt, the pilot of Russia’s elite, shares tales of wild parties above the clouds – the Mile High Club Deluxe. Between champagne, long legs, and tempting encounters, the night feels like a test. Temptation is everywhere, but reality catches up with me in the end. At home, I sit on the couch, reflecting on the evening and wondering if life is really this crazy – or if I just wouldn’t have it any other way.
A Night in Moscow: The bar is alive, while outside, a girl stands on the brink of death. Inside, an engagement shatters after a fling in the club bathroom, and a fatal accident casts a dark shadow over the morning. As the city slowly wakes, the narrator bears the weight of the night’s events – a mix of helplessness, guilt, and the harsh realities of life. Some stories end in the hospital, others with the police at the door. It was a full moon night – not extraordinary, just one that won’t be forgotten.
Berlin, 2008: Anika, seemingly the perfect woman, moves into my friend’s flatshare. A doctor, pilot, wealthy, and charming – she impresses everyone. Yet, cracks in her story begin to show: alleged trips to New York that never happen, unpaid rent, and a web of inconsistencies. As her network of friends and acquaintances unravels, it becomes clear that Anika isn’t who she claims to be. In the end, one question remains: Who was she really?
Sex on the clock for 100 euros? Not my thing. Sex should be about passion and tenderness, without watching the clock. Once, I stumbled drunkenly into a place like that, blew the cost of a 5-star vacation on booze and… well, didn’t even finish. No thanks. Better to steer clear of streetwalkers and brothels altogether. Even the few times I tried it, it was disappointing—from questionable mattresses to monotonous encounters. What remains? The search for variety, for someone who can be a pornstar today and a cuddler tomorrow.
After a night in Moscow’s nightlife, filled with cocktails, clubs, and a bartender in an SS uniform, I find myself in front of the mirror at 9 a.m. Club Krisha, famous for its selective door policy and mix of creatives and yuppies, offers everything – from exclusive themed nights to worn-out prostitutes living for luxury. Between talks about Russian values and bodyguards politely urging me to leave, one question remains: Who’s consuming whom – me consuming life or life consuming me?
My grandmother and I shared a special bond. When she told me she had cancer, I urged her to fight – but at 82, she was tired. Months later, her condition deteriorated rapidly, and I made it just in time to say goodbye. Ten hours later, she passed away – by her own will, not through suicide, but in peace. Her death taught me the importance of not ignoring death but accepting it as part of life. I wish I had supported her better, but I’m grateful for our final moments together.
Where does cheating begin? In the mind, with a kiss, or only with sex? Maybe I’ve already met my dream woman. Stephanie, an Italian, came into my life by chance. After days of intense conversations, glances, and flirting, I was torn: Should I make the first move? I didn’t. Instead, we parted soberly as she got into a taxi—heading back to Rome. That evening, she left a message: “I’ve fallen in love with you!” I heard it, feeling both joy and sadness. Then my girlfriend called.
A wild New York night I’ll never forget: It started with drinks at “Beerland,” where we met a stunning Japanese woman. By 3 a.m., we found ourselves at her apartment after she joked about taking all three of us home. What followed was straight out of a fantasy—or a script for a risqué movie. Walter and I took turns, while Michael watched and eventually dozed off on a kitchen chair. It was surreal, awkward, and unforgettable. The night bonded Walter and me as lifelong friends, and I’m still left marveling at how certain fantasies sometimes, unexpectedly, become reality.
On September 11, 2001, I experienced the most horrific hours of my life in New York. At first, everything seemed normal until an email from my ex-girlfriend mentioned a “catastrophe.” Initially, I thought it was an accident, but it soon became clear: it was a terrorist attack. I saw the Twin Towers consumed by smoke and later watched the North Tower collapse. The city stood still, filled with fear and shock. My friend Atsushi died in the North Tower, while another friend, Max, barely survived. That day changed my life forever.
During his first visit to New York, my friend Alex earned the nickname “Raw Dog.” A quiet Tuesday turned wild after bar-hopping led to Alex meeting a Russian woman. Sparks flew, but a missing condom derailed their plans. Undeterred, she took charge, leaving Alex stunned and worried. Later, my Cuban friends laughed and coined his nickname, a slang term for men who “go without.” The chaos of that night, from a trashed apartment to Alex’s panicked confessions, remains unforgettable. His promise: never to leave the house unprepared again.
Excerpt:
An art party in New York, a cuckolded boyfriend, and a loud bombshell: I’d planned a quiet movie night, but Irene dragged me along. The party, themed in red, seemed dull at first—until a flirtatious bartender struck up a conversation and led me into a dark kitchen corner. What started as an ordinary art opening quickly turned into a sensual adventure. Later, I spotted her dancing closely with her boyfriend, adding an unexpected twist to the night. What a tease! In the end, I wondered: Coyote Ugly or straight home?
A typical Saturday in Paris: After a breakfast of pain au chocolat, we visit Pierre’s father in his charming old apartment near Place de la République. Next, we head to his girlfriend Fany, an aristocrat with roots in old France. The evening ends in the VIP section of a club, where champagne and vodka flow. After hours of dancing, I make my way home at 5 a.m., enjoying the fresh air and the summer along the Seine. How did I get home? No idea. But in Paris, things always seem to work out—without even getting robbed.
Hungover in Paris: The Unexpected Guest
Caught off guard and hungover, I find myself in Romain’s apartment—without his knowledge. What starts as an awkward confrontation turns into an unexpected connection. Over hours of stories about Parisian rave culture and DJ days, I learn: Paris never runs out of surprises.