My "Russian Ballet Dancer" Story

It was about five, maybe six years ago.

The salsa scene in Minneapolis was at its peak and I was also at the peak of my game.  I was in the top 5% of salsa dancers, I was able to bench 175 pounds, run 10 miles, and there really wasn't a girl that said no.  I was making great coin both teaching dance and in banking, and not that I wasn't confident before, but I was supremely confident now.

Thus when I saw the perfectly sculpted, tight little bodied brunette, I was unfazed in my approach.

We danced ONE song.  I knew not to ask her to dance again that night.  She was too good looking.  Every player would be suffocating her.  I would demonstrate superior "market value" by dancing with every other girl in the club and wait till the next time I met her to dance.  I'd be aloof, and my aloofness would set me apart.

Just one problem.

When the song ended and I bid her farewell by saying, "thanks for the dance," she didn't leave, but rather followed me outside to where my friend and I had a table.  I didn't notice until I turned around to sit and saw that she had followed me out.

This was odd.  She was about a 9.8.  No girl in the history of 9.8 girls ever did that.  And hotornot rated me only an 8.6, at least one standard deviation away to make this statistically significantly odd.

She said, "Can I join you?"

My friend and I looked at each other, mentally shrugged our shoulders at one another, and said "sure."

She was Russian.  Formally trained as a ballet dancer and had performed many times in Moscow.  She moved to the states about 6 years ago and was currently attending the University of Minnesota for a degree in Business.  I also went to the same school and so an intelligent and familiar conversation broke out.

It was soon apparent to me and my friend that this woman was definitely from the former Soviet Bloc.  She was cultured, she was educated, she spoke intelligently, she was polite, she was skinny, and above all else, she didn't seem to play games.  She wanted to sit and talk with us and even asked me to dance a couple more times.  Had I been just 2 years younger I would have entertained idealistic thoughts of her being "The One," but experience and cool head made it so I played my cards right.  After another 90 minutes of conversation, interspersed with me excusing myself to dance "with another friend," I said I had to get home to go to bed (which I didn't) and left the club.  We exchanged numbers and if I recall correctly, she called me first.  She wanted to go dancing again.

We went on a couple genuine "dates."  Nothing seemed to be wrong with this girl.  She was intelligent, she had a sense of humor, she picked up on my jokes, and we developed a handful of inside jokes which bonded us further.  I had the coveted "Russian Ballet Dancer" in my convertible and as far as I could tell, she was into me.

After the token third date we returned to my house for the third-date-tradition-mandated sex.

And that's when the other shoe dropped.

It was apparent she was uncomfortable taking her clothes off.  Her body was perfect, so I had no idea why, but once we became intimate she started crying.

I stopped and asked what was wrong.

Turns out she was a mail order bride.  She was brought to the US by a sergeant in the airlift wing at Fort Snelling.  Apparently, he enjoyed beating the crap out of her while having sex, thus scarring her from sex for the rest of her life.  Again, if it was 2 years earlier, I would have had overly idealistic expectations and this would have phased me and made me angry.  By now I just learned there was always going to be a critical deal breaker with every girl. 

Since sex was off the table, so was she, and we reverted to friendship.

The next six months I would invite her out with my friends.  The reason she originally wanted to sit with me and my friend was that she just got out of her abusive relationship and had no social network.  Her husband made her a kept woman are rarely let her out of the house.  Having pity on her and wanting to make sure she could enjoy and healthy social life with quality friends I welcomed her into my "Crew."  We'd invite her out dancing, we took her to her first "drive in," and welcomed her into our little club.  I even had her come to my parent's house with other "Orphans" (friends whose parents lived too far away or were dead) for Christmas.  She was a good friend, but by the 7th or 8th month, she started becoming flaky.  We'd invite her out, she'd cancel at the last minute.  She said she was on her way, and she'd never show.  It got to the point she become "one of those people" who you could rely on being unreliable.

I didn't inquire, let alone care, because I wasn't dating her, but she kept mentioning her new female friends she made and that they were always going to down town clubs.  She lived downtown and so it was convenient for her, but it become a less frequent event to see her, and a common event to have her flake.

Her 30th birthday was coming and knowing she didn't have a cemented social network, just the teenybopper girls she was hanging out with, me and my friends decided to throw a surprise birthday party for her.  I even wrote her a spoof "children's book" to address an inside joke we had about Russian buffaloes.  Everybody was at my house.  We had the decorations, a big "Happy 30th Birthday Sign," and everybody was dressed up.

It was 6:15, she was supposed to be there at 6:00.  Where was she?

I called her.

Sure enough, she said she was going to cancel on us and go night clubbing with her friends.

I lost it.

I yelled at her like a father would a spoiled and inconsiderate child.  I told her all of her friends had set aside time in their day to celebrate her 30th birthday and...well..you get the idea.

She felt guilty enough she showed up, but I decided to 86 the evening plans we had for her.

Instead of dinner at Mancini's I moved dinner to a shitty and cheap Chinese restaurant in the burbs.

Instead of salsa dancing at Babalu, I said we *might* catch a movie.

And instead of friends showing up, I had them scramble with the understanding we'd rendezvous after I'd ditch the ballet dancer at a yet to be determined venue.

I even opted to hold onto the book I made for her because I found it an interesting conversation piece.

What few people who did show up for the Chinese dinner didn't much talk to her.  I ignored her, and mere small talk was sent her way.  The tab came, nobody volunteered to pay for her "birthday dinner," and I said, "well, have a good night everybody."  And we left.  It was the last I'd see of her for 5 years.

The "post game analysis" was one of unanimity.  We all came to the same conclusion, even the women - she was "Americanized."  She ran into a cackle of modern day, 20 something American bar flies that were accustomed to being the standard discourteous, inconsiderate flakes most American girls had become.  She went from a refined, dignified, adult, mature, intelligent, and interesting person, to just another typical shallow, hollow, mass-produced flake.  She went from something unique and special, to something common and worthless.  And in doing so she lost what I consider to be one of the highest quality group of friends and any shot at a man of better quality than her abusive sergeant ex-husband.

It wasn't until I saw her 5 years later that time took its toll and delivered its revenge.  She didn't have the tight little body, she was pudgy.

She didn't have perfectly smooth skin. It was starting to wrinkle.

She didn't dress immaculately as she once did.  She was dressed unappealingly. 

And I noticed her current cadre of friends were not as reliable or interesting as my Crew.

I was glad to see she was so successful at transforming herself into another everyday, average American woman.

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