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I’ve had male suitors who kept calling for years after I stopped picking up the phone.I’ve heard of guys crawling through windows and appearing naked in bedrooms.
The disintegration of male hygiene and work ethic that occurs when there is (by some counts) a 3:1 female:male ratio should be noted by anthropologists worldwide.But I’m not going to lie: Part of me was turned on.Here was a guy protecting my honor, placing himself into bodily harm on my behalf.While all men like a challenge, the average American man tends to stop pursuit once you indicate that you are repulsed by his presence.Russians, on the other hand, aren’t going to let a little thing like your disinterest keep them from being your boyfriend.But what I mistook for a smile was actually a grimace. But then Anton hugged me, heat and sweat rising from his torso, his arms wrapped around me in a promise of eternal protection, inhaling me in that way men do to show they’re grateful that you’re safe.
And in that strange and romantic moment I thought, “One day I’m going to put this in a story to explain my convoluted relationship with Russian men.” I should preface this story by saying that I am Russian.
And when I say “provide,” I don’t even necessarily mean in a monetary sense as much as in a paternal one.
This sense that they are obligated to look out for you, not because you’re weaker or feeble-minded, but because you -- as the fountain from which life springs forth -- are precious and valuable.
One night, I was lying in my room fantasizing about him (he was sleeping downstairs), when I heard my bedroom door creak.
Moving through the darkness, he sat on the edge of my bed and stared at me for a few moments.
Only a few minutes ago, we’d been standing together drinking beer, when the other guy made the dubious and drunken decision to put his arm around me.