Family rooms bathhouse stories. Tales from the bathhouse - history in photographs

It all started in advance, at some regular drinking party, when Yulia and Katya said that they wanted to celebrate their birthday together in the sauna. Interesting. I’ve never been to a sauna before and I don’t have a good tradition like Lukashin’s either. But I was interested in what was proposed.
Has arrived significant date. February 6. During the day, I managed to work as a press service at the opening of the Greco-Roman Wrestling Tournament. But more on this in a separate topic. So that evening came. We met Gleb in the metro and headed to Aviamotornaya, where we picked up Dimon and Senya.
The sauna was in a hellishly ominous place, with its entire appearance saying that “you guys are in the “Hostel” and now they will burn out your eyes, cut your tendons and, in general, you will die a slow painful death,” as in popular American thrillers. The minibus driver dropped us off on the unknown Andronovskoe highway, ahead Railway, on the right are garages, on the left is an industrial zone, a high iron fence and darkness. Hmmm... I wonder what's next. Let's call Katya. Long beeps on the phone, and then “The subscriber’s device is turned off...” with all the ensuing consequences. After about 10 minutes of us following Dimon, who convinced me that he understood where it was and was confidently leading us into the absorbing darkness between factories or something like that, the phone rang:
- Ale... where are you... you need to be right at the intersection behind iron fence checkpoint They will meet you there.
It makes me feel better that we still have to return to the illuminated road, where we were dropped off, and where occasionally cars still pass by and even people are doomedly waiting for something at the bus stop. “Well,” Dima saw the gate, “here we go.”
- Hello! - he stuck his head into the window of the entrance to the stern guy in uniform, - and we should take a steam bath in the bathhouse!
We burst out laughing. The whole appearance of the gate did not give a single hint that behind it there might be a bathhouse or even some kind of entertainment establishment. Perhaps the morgue, the cauldrons of hell and Nikita Dzhigurda, who rules the roost.
“It’s the entrance next door, guys,” the stern guy answered, and we laughed again and moved on.
“Ale, well, we’ve come, meet us,” we called and began to obediently wait. Sitting at the entrance was a young security guard and an old one - the shift leader - who had his feet up on the table and was staring at the TV as old Hulk Hogan, dressed in some kind of "diapers", as it seemed to me, was finishing off someone in a wrestling match.
“Damn, why took so long?” I was still uneasy, when suddenly, from somewhere deep in the building, women’s screams were heard distantly - something between laughter and screams of horror. Pictures from the film “An American Werewolf in Paris” immediately pop into my head, how hundreds of Americans, under the pretext of a party, were led into a huge hall, after which the gates were locked and a group of people, after an injection, turned into werewolves and.. more you can guess what happened. Gleb and Dimon just laughed. Semyon was imperturbably silent and sometimes put on a passive smile.
A girl comes out behind us and in a quiet voice invites us to follow her, through the entrance into the street and further past the dark buildings. While we were walking, I managed to see a map on which many buildings were marked, and several small ones on the outskirts, I decisively declared that the 14th was definitely a morgue or a gas chamber. We went down the stairs to the basement and found ourselves, surprisingly, in a rather positive room. It was warm and humid there, as it probably should be in a sauna. Big hall with a massage chair, a covered table, karaoke and a sofa. Katya, Yulia and Pasechnik were already there, and, having changed clothes, Katya led us further on the excursion. In the next room there was the steam room itself behind a transparent glass slightly tinted door, a swimming pool with cold water, shower and other amenities. Next there was another door, behind which a steep staircase led to the second floor, upon rising to which a large, large bed was revealed, which made us noticeably happy and smiled mysteriously.
Of all the guests, the only one left to wait was Valentin, who, in the spirit of his manners, was late as usual, but soon pulled himself up and began to scold.
Naturally, the first entry into the bathhouse. Everyone is in swimsuits and swimming trunks (Dimon wears a thong as a matter of principle). Katyukha and I refused to go to the sauna, because we don’t understand this dubious buzz, all this sweating, jumping into the pool and in general, mascara will run... well, it’s better to talk...

Come on, Light, let's go take a steam bath!
“Well, I don’t want to, I’m afraid that I’ll suddenly feel bad,” I broke down with all my might, “I’ve already drunk, especially and I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“Well, I’m also in a thong, so what,” Dima repeated in unison with everyone else, persuading me to comprehend this procedure.
“Well, let’s see, I’ll drink a little more and think about it,” the champagne was already flowing in the heat.

Aaaaah... how are you sitting here! This is fucked up, ahh... I can’t breathe... damn it,” Katyukha, who was sitting next to me, covered her face with her hands, we both felt like chickens in the oven.
“If you could also sunbathe here, it would be great,” someone said from the top bunk. God, how they sit there and still talk, it’s already so unbearable for me downstairs.
I jumped out, greedily gulping in the cool air and pouring myself out of the shower (I didn’t dare jump into the pool), the realization began to come to me that it seemed fun for everyone to take a steam bath together.
Then there were several more visits, each time there was less and less clothes for everyone, despite the fact that there wasn’t that much of it, or rather practically none, but Yulia and I just lost our bras on the way, Valyan was steaming in Adam's suit, covering the painful area with an oak leaf. Intelligent remarks like “Uh... Dima, your testicle fell out” were heard with very serious faces, after which the entertaining game “StringoTwister” began, everyone putting tens into a massage chair, because the discoverer of this pleasure discovered that there was even a massage fifth point and with wild delight and hysterical laughter notified everyone about this: “Oooooh.... fuck.. fuck.. there’s a strapooon, strapoooon!”
More champagne... Karaoke songs... champagne... bathhouse... champagne... bed... champagne... champagne... bathhouse... bed... the screen went dark, leaving a fading white dot in center.

Svetochka:
Dim, tell Gleb that you didn’t stare at my tits when I took off my bra in the sauna. I don’t even understand why I did this. You didn't look, did you?
Dimon SHNIDR:
))))))))))))) It’s the same as if I took off my thong and sat without a thong. Would you stare?))))
Svetochka:
Um... Well, maybe I would have looked briefly, but then I would have immediately looked away)))))))
Dimon SHNIDR:
Ahahahahahahaha....))))

Masya, I feel soooo bad, I got my felt boots dirty..
- I told you yesterday, and you sneeee... sneeee...

STORIES ABOUT MICHAY "Like Uncle Micah in women's bath“Hey, Yurka, sit down, you’ll be a guest!” Micah greeted his nephew, who had come to see him for a moment. “But I, Uncle Micah, got ready to go to the bathhouse with friends.” “To the bathhouse?!” Micah perked up, “and, I suppose, some beer.” did you take it with you?! “Yes, there’s a little..." Yurka hesitated, not without reason believing that Uncle Mikhey would begin to persuade him to stay. “Beer, that’s good!” Mikhey grinned with his iron teeth, “there’s no bathhouse without beer.” That’s when not a bathhouse at all, but some kind of soaking house. Well, why did you come to me?.. - So this... - Don’t delay, tell me - what do you need? - I want to borrow for a week, no matter how much you mind. - Look -ka, how much it’s not a pity!.. - Micah, grinning, scratched the shaggy gray hair that was sticking out from under his vest. beer and that was enough!.. “I guessed it, Uncle Mikhei is with them!” Yurka agreed. “At that time, Aunt Klava, Mikhei’s wife, came out of the kitchen. Wiping her hands that had just been washed under the sink on her apron, she greeted: “Hello, Yura.” What wind blew it? - Hello, Aunt Klava, I want to borrow a little from you. -I heard, I heard... well, it’s a young thing! - and without saying another word, she went into the next room. Micah took this for silent agreement, glanced questioningly at the bag of beer, standing nearby with Yura on a stool. -Well, I can give you one for a shaggy one, but for a harem, it’s you Arab Emirates, borrow from some emir or shah. - Yes, I don’t need much, at least three hundred rubles... - Three hundred is not enough for one shaggy one - here’s a five-house for you! - Grandma, Yurok, I’ll give it to you, don’t mind, but with one agreement - leave me the beer! And you, there in the bathhouse, take something stronger - girls mostly like wine. “Okay, Uncle Mikhei,” Yurka reluctantly agreed and handed Mikhei a disposable bag tightly filled with plastic two-liter bottles of beer, the “Merchant” brand. -What an exchange! - Micah was delighted, deftly grabbed the bag and gave the five hundred to Yurka - take it, Don Juan, and remember your uncle’s kindness! -Thank you, Uncle Micah, I won’t forget! Yurka put the days in the pocket of his denim shirt and headed towards the exit. -Wait! - Micah called out to him - so where are you going? Yurka turned around in bewilderment. - So to the bathhouse, I told you... - Which bathhouse? - Micah did not let up. - Yes, you know her - in the next block, who. -A?! - Micah said meaningfully - well, go, go! - It’s Women’s Day where they wash – women wash a lot!.. - How’s it like Women’s Day?! - Yurka stopped dead in his tracks - there are separate rooms there. -Yes, there is, only for married couples! - Micah grinned his iron teeth again. - I thought that a group of you gathered in a garden cooperative - to the bathhouse in black, and maybe in white. It’s a long way to get from here, I understand, but nature and this and that... the romance is just rushing out of your pants!.. and that’s where you are - to the city central train! - as if they were waiting for you there! Yes, Yurok has to sign up a month in advance and you won’t get in! -How do I know, Yurik? - Aunt Klava shrugged her full shoulders - I haven’t gone to such bathhouses for a long time, I wash myself more and more in the bath. And when he feels like taking a steam bath, my Miklukha Ivanovich and I go to our garden, to our own bathhouse near the house. - What am I saying!.. - this is where you need to go!.. - So you need to go out of town... - Yurka scratched the back of his head. - Scratch, scratch the back of your head, nephew, and while I go out, I’ll go to the store and buy village milk from the tank. Village milk is still better than store-bought milk made from powder. The Berezovsky state farm delivers milk to us. Aunt Klava said goodbye and went to get milk. At the same moment, the melody “Farewell of a Slav” began to play in Yurka’s pocket. Yurka followed Aunt Klava with his eyes, and reached into his pocket for his mobile phone - he put it cellular telephone to the ear: -Yes, hello! - What's happened? - that means the weekend is cancelled. I know that all the places are booked, I was already informed... it's a pity! It's a shame, a shame, oh well! - there is another option - let's go out of town for the weekend, to a garden cooperative in a log bathhouse, steam with birch brooms, don't you agree? - well then, okay, see you, bye! -Well, Uncle Micah! - Yurka turned around - thanks for the advice, and told me about the bathhouse in your garden - that’s where we’ll go this weekend with our girlfriends! -And how many of you are there? -Us? - yes, a little: me, Kum, Baldy and our three girlfriends - if you don’t mind, of course. I guarantee order and sterility. “We’ll clean everything up,” Yurka assured Uncle Mikhei and handed him the five hundred he had just occupied. - Thanks for the money. -What's wrong? - Micah became wary, pushing the money away from him; he decided to take the beer back?! - No, what are you talking about! - Yurka laughed - drink to your health!.. What I mean is that you have enough snacks in your house. In the cellar there are different kinds of potatoes and pickles... “Yeah, he’s a smart guy and thrifty,” Micah frowned, “he’s figured it all out—you don’t have to spend money on a snack.” And that means you have farts for drinking. “Sorry, Uncle Micah, if I offended you,” Yura stopped smiling and said embarrassedly, “I’m not a muslin young lady to be offended by such nonsense.” The key to the house in the hallway hangs on a nail - you'll see. In the house, you will find the key to the bathhouse, but the lid to the cellar does not have a lock; just carefully pry up the edge of the board so as not to damage the floor. -Take this money for yourself. Uncle Mikhey doesn’t take back what he gave out of the kindness of his sailor’s soul - then, when you have a lot of your own, you’ll give it back - Mikhey removed the paper bill - the main thing is that you don’t burn down the house and the bathhouse, you revelers! - and, sighing, glanced sideways at the beer. - So maybe, since the bathhouse didn’t work out, a glass of beer, huh, Yurok?.. It’s a shame for a former Russian sailor to drink alone. -By a mug, so in a mug - I won’t take it home. - Yurka was forced to agree, because he was ready to run away from the embarrassment. -That’s right!.. that’s our way! - Micah rejoiced - pouring golden beer into two large ceramic mugs - not to waste time in vain.
We drank a mug, ate, in the absence of roach, blood sausage cut into circles, and got to talking. Or rather, Uncle Mikhey, who loved to drink and talk for company, started talking: “You, Yurka, were afraid to go to the bathhouse on Women’s Day.” You were right to be afraid, God forbid an inexperienced guy would get in there - they might kill you! Although, on the other hand, it is, of course, interesting to look at many different naked women: here you have old women with saggy dry breasts, and young women in juice, and little brats. But who will let you and people like you in there?! That's right - you can't! Forbidden!.. There were cases when by chance a man ended up in the women's department, there was such a squeal and it happened that the man was hit on the head and sides with fists, brooms, or even tin washing basins, which is something you don’t always see in a nightmare . But I once ended up in a women’s bathhouse and the naked people didn’t do anything to me. -Like this? - Yurka asked, sipping golden liquid from a brown ceramic mug. -But listen: I worked in the mid-fifties in a construction team renovating houses. In one forest village. The houses in the village where I lived were mostly made of timber, wooden, and less often cinder block. Our team was involved in replacing rotten floors, inserting glass, repairing the roof, and a lot of plumbing had to be changed and repaired... In general work enough. At that time there was a bathhouse in our village - the only brick building. It still stands on the outskirts, no longer of a simple village, but of a city that has become a regional center. The only two windows at the bathhouse where the steam room is located were low above the ground, and although those windows were not very large, they were covered up from the inside oil paint so that all sorts of preoccupied fools don’t peep. And there was plenty of foolishness then, just like now. How many times have boys and more idiots spied on naked girls and women and scared them - they broke the glass in these two windows! There were many complaints from women about this case. In the end, the village authorities could not stand it - and ordered the smaller authorities to close up those windows that were located low to the ground. And instead of them, break through others higher, near the ceiling. So that only by standing on stilts you can look in, and you cannot hit with a stone, due to the presence of additional strong bars in the windows. In a word - not a bathhouse, but a prison! But it’s easy for women to wash. And although only women were washing in the bathhouse that day, the authorities decided - since the women, the better half of the public, were so ardently determined to restore order in the bathhouse as soon as possible - the work on refurbishment of the bathhouse should not be postponed. They were afraid to send the entire brigade, which, frankly, is a dangerous task. No one at the top would approve of too large losses in personnel. We decided to send one worker. But who will volunteer? There were no brave souls to go into the thick of it. Then the lot was played on matches. And the lot fell on me. I can’t say that I was very frightened, but nevertheless, like a steel spring, I was completely compressed inside. You Yurka, listen and add more! - Micah looked away from his story for a second and continued. For the sake of such a thing, for courage, the men poured me a glass of vodka, as if the front-line soldiers had given me 150 grams. I drank the vodka in one gulp, spat over my shoulder, took with me a small sledgehammer and a bucket of mortar, and the men had to give me bricks from the street through the broken windows. I took my equipment, the men slowly opened the doors to the women's department in front of me and to the side. Come in, they say!.. And I entered!.. Strange, Yurka! - but I didn’t hear a scream or a woman’s squeal. And I hardly saw the women themselves - I walked as if in a fog. But he walked briskly, businesslikely, as befits a working man in overalls stained with mortar, and busy with a very important production task. The women, apparently, because of my behavior, did not accept me as a man. Probably in the same way in a hospital, female patients undress naked in front of a male doctor, not noticing a representative of the opposite sex in him, but seeing only the doctor. I walked through the entire washing room, I only heard a slight hum, and the basins were rattling a little and nothing else. I went to the steam room. Of course there is steam there. The women who were steaming here on the wooden shelves, and those who went down to the doors to catch their breath, respectfully made way for me and, grabbing brooms, left. Although I didn't tell them anything. The guys handed me bricks, I covered the windows below with them, carefully covered the chin with plane tree, then with a sledgehammer I climbed onto the shelves of the steam room, fortunately the wall was close. Here, at the top, I felt really hot!.. The hot steam didn’t decrease, but actually became even hotter and thicker!.. I forcibly broke through two windows at the top - even though I let in the air and begged - shouting outward: “I can’t do it anymore.” I’ll boil!.. The bosses took pity and decided to do the rest of the work later, when it was Men’s Day. And they thanked me and sent me home. I pushed the sledgehammer and the empty bucket through the hole into the street. And although now it was necessary to go, albeit in reverse, but the same way. I, one might say, did not walk back, but flew!.. So, Yurka, on Women’s Day I visited the bathhouse among naked women! In the hallway there was a knock on the door being opened, and Claudia entered the room with a can full of milk.

The sun had not yet risen, but Mishka was already on Badger Forest. There, about three kilometers from the village, stood an empty Serogon house. Mishka made another walk to the village, brought fishing gear and, returning back, covered his tracks with spruce branches.

Now he felt safe, he lit a hot potbelly stove, boiled some potatoes, and ate with appetite.

The sun was already high when he went to the river to set the tops. From the high bank one could see the indescribable beauty of a forest river covered with snow. The bear stood for a long time, enchanted, admiring the sparkling winter world. On the opposite side of the river, on a steep bank, stood a snow-covered dacha, cut into two floors from selected timber. former director timber industry enterprise, and now a cool businessman and timber merchant. Its windows were decorated with ornate carvings, and a spacious bathhouse was located below the river. The dacha was not yet inhabited. When Mishka left for St. Petersburg, craftsmen from the city built a fireplace in the upper room and were decorating the rooms. Now there was no one here. And Mishka even thought that it would be nice for him to live at this dacha until spring. All the same, until the snow melts, the owners will not get here. But he was immediately frightened by this thought, remembering that the police were supposed to be hunting for him.

He went down to the river, cut the ice across the riverbed with an ax, filled the hole with spruce branches so that the fish could only pass in one place, and cut out a wide wormwood under the top.

Soon he finished his work and went to the hut to rest from his labors. The hut was small and cramped. But there was a special forest comfort in it. Mishka threw spruce branches on the bunk and collapsed in all his clothes on the fragrant, resinous bedding, rejoicing at the peace he had finally found.

Mishka woke up from strange sounds filling the forest. It seemed that a landing force of aliens had landed in Badger Forest, producing incredible, rumbling sounds that shook the hundred-year-old pines. The bear fell off the bunk and stepped outside the hut doors.

Prostitute, prostitute, prostitute! - thundered and howled in the forest. - Night butterfly, but who is to blame here?

The music came from the direction of the river. The bear carefully walked towards the shore. There were cars parked at the director's dacha, thick smoke rising from the chimneys to the sky, the bathhouse was heating up, doors were slamming, music was blasting at full blast, and every now and then the sound of boisterous girlish laughter could be heard.
Mishka's heart began to beat anxiously. He hid behind the bushes and, holding back the excitement that rose in his throat, began to watch what was happening...

He saw how she went down to the bathhouse funny company. The director of their timber industry enterprise walked heavily ahead, followed by three long-legged girls, stumbling off the beaten path into the snow and squealing, followed by some other large, thoroughbred men. Soon the bathhouse was filled with steam.

From inside she could hear the gasping of a heathen, muffled laughter and groans.

Finally, the doors of the dressing room swung open, and the whole cheerful company spilled out naked into the pure virgin snow. Mishkin's director, shaking his saggy belly, was like a wild boar breaking through the fluffy snow with his steamed pink body, dragging the company to the river, right into the wormwood where Mishkin's top stood.

Three beautiful girls found themselves on the ice, just opposite Mishka’s hiding place. It seemed as if you could stretch out your hand and take out each one.
From this proximity and the sight of naked girls’ bodies, Mishka, who lived involuntarily in severe abstinence, became dizzy, and his face glowed with the unbearable heat of shame and unknown forbidden passion.

As if drunk, he stood up and, staggering, wandered to his wretched shelter. And from behind, excitingly girlish laughter and joyful squeals teased and beckoned...

In the hut of the tar smokers, he again lit the stove, drank tea with lingonberry leaves and lay down on his bunk, sighing sadly over his dissolute, worthless life, which now, after the morning statement on the radio, had become completely devoid of any meaning.

Mishka was left without parents early. The mother drowned while rafting, the father became a drunkard. They say that the wrong coil was installed on the moonshine still. It was supposed to be stainless steel, but Bartholomew installed copper. That’s why the moonshine turned out to be poisonous.

No one in this life loved Mishka. After the craft, he walked with the girl and even kissed, and when he went into the army, his love immediately jumped out to marry a coven who had come from Transcarpathia and drove off with him forever.

And after the army there was work in the forest, and drinking on weekends. He was a prominent and kind guy, but there were no girls around, only guys remained in Vyselki, the girls all went to cities. You will inevitably get drunk here! It would be better for him to be born Sanya’s goat! I would sit on the stove and eat peeled potatoes. Look, it’s freezing in his office!

Mishka felt so unbearably sorry for himself that a burning tear boiled in his eyes and fell into the spruce branches.

At night he left the hut, the same song thundered in the dacha and echoed a hundredfold throughout Badger Forest:

"Prostitute, prostitute, prostitute,
Night butterfly, but who is to blame here?

Centuries-old pines trembled under the blows of decibels and snow sparkling under the light of the moon fell from the tops. The moon shone like a spotlight. In the vast abyss of heaven, radiant stars shone, and the night was as bright as day.

The bear, like a magnet, was drawn again to the dacha, music and fun. And he went there under the pretext of rechecking the top. She could have been knocked down while diving into the ice hole, or even pulled out onto the ice.

The director's dacha sparkled with lights. shore, Mishka saw through the wide windows her fabulous feast, filled with all kinds of dishes. Someone was dancing, someone was already sleeping in a chair. Suddenly the doors of the dacha opened, spilling a flurry of music and electric radiance into the frosty purity of the night.

Mishka saw someone jump out onto the porch in a fiery halo, rush down into the darkness, the steps on the hill creaked, and then in the ghostly moonlight on the ice of the river he saw a girl, one of the three who had been here during the day. She ran up to a blackened hole, in which the icy streams of a waking river curled, and threw herself on her knees in front of it.

Mishka has never seen anything like this in his life. beautiful girls. Her hair was loose over her shoulders, her high chest was heaving heavily, and tears were streaming down her beautiful face.

The country doors opened again, and a man came out onto the porch:

Margo! - he shouted imperiously. - Do you hear? Come back! Apparently, he was calling to the girl who was now kneeling in front of the wormwood.
- Malya! - he repeated insistently, - Malka! Get home. I'm tired of waiting.

The girl did not answer. Mishka heard only quiet sobs. The man stomped on the porch, swore and went back. The girl whispered something and made a movement towards the hole.

Mishka felt unbearably sorry for her. He jumped out of the bushes and in an instant found himself next to the girl.

No need! - he said in a wooden voice. “It’s deep here.” The girl raised her head.
- Who are you? - she asked distantly. She smelled of expensive perfume, wine and foreign tobacco.
“Teddy bear,” he said worriedly.
-Are you local?
- I live here. “In the forest,” Mishka answered in the same wooden way. The girl lowered her head again.
- And I'm Margot. Or Malya. Prostitute.
- Is this a stripper, or what?
-Not really. Prostitute.

Mishka did not know the meaning of this word and decided that prostitute was the girl’s surname.

“Don’t stand with your knees on the ice,” Mishka warned. “Otherwise you’ll catch a cold.”

The girl suddenly began to cry, and her shoulders trembled slightly. Mishka, suppressing his embarrassment, took her by the elbows and placed her next to him.

Do you hear, Mishka,” she suddenly said and raised her full of grief beautiful eyes. - Take me away from here. Somewhere.
And Mishka suddenly felt that the old Mishka was no longer there, that he was now completely at the mercy of those sorrowful eyes. And that he is ready to do whatever she says.

“My feet are cold,” she said. “Warm my knees.” Mishka crouched down and wrapped his stiff arms around his elastic knees.
Mali. Her legs were bare and cold. The bear bent over them and began to warm them with his breath.

Let’s go,” she said quickly. “Get me out of here quickly...

They climbed the path to the hill. Unexpectedly for himself, Mishka easily picked her up in his arms and carried her to his forest winter hut. And she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed herself closely to Mishka’s chest, clad in a sweatshirt that smelled of smoke and pine, and fell silent.
When Mishka reached the hut, the girl was already deeply asleep.

He laid her carefully on the bunk covered with spruce branches and sat by the window, listening to the unknown feelings that had settled in his soul half an hour ago, but had already taken root as if he had lived with these feelings forever and would continue to live just as forever.
Malya breathed barely audibly. The night was as bright as day. The moon was shining like a spotlight outside the window.

Attention horny people, there are no porn stories on the site.

Unfortunately, my grandmother’s back was aching. She treated herself in a unique way - she asked me to “trample”. Grandma got down on all fours by the sofa, I climbed on her back with my feet and trampled on her. The old woman groaned and turned first one side, then the other. For two or three days the pain subsided, but the moment came when it was necessary to treat my back seriously. Then the grandmother went to the bathhouse.

The bathhouse was old; convicts, who in the last century were driven to Siberia through our city, washed themselves in it. Two black stokers heated it with coal. In winter, the bathhouse steamed like a pot of potatoes. White steam was pouring out not only from the chimney, but also from under the roof and from the windows. After a hundred years of bathing labor, the bricks became damp and did not hold heat well. Therefore, the bathhouse began to be heated at night.

Grandma walked towards the opening. A birch broom stuck out of her homemade bag. My grandmother spent the whole day in the bathhouse. And not just in a bathhouse, but in a steam room. I still don’t understand how her small, dry body could withstand hours of torture by heat and rods...

On this day, my duty was to bring my grandmother from the bathhouse. Late in the evening I came to the already empty bathhouse corridor, opened the door to the women's department and, overcoming the desire to look in, shouted: “Auntie, call Grandma Zvereva!”

There was laughter outside the door, then the bathhouse attendant came out and said: “Sit down, son, wait. Your grandmother was just taken out of the steam room...” Half an hour later, a flushed, rejuvenated grandmother came out, and we went home. After that, her back didn’t bother her for a month.

Untitled

They say, citizens, the baths in America are excellent. For example, a citizen will come there, throw his laundry into a special box and go wash himself. He won’t even worry - they say, it’s theft or loss, he won’t even take the number. Well, maybe another restless American will say to the bathhouse attendant:

Gut bye, they say, take a look.

That's all. This American will wash himself, come back, and they will serve him clean linen - washed and ironed. Foot wraps, I suppose whiter than snow. The underpants are sewn up and patched. Life! And our baths are fine too. But worse. Although you can also wash yourself. The only problem we have is with the numbers. Last Saturday I went to the bathhouse (I don’t think I should go to America) - they give me two numbers. One for underwear, the other for a coat with a hat. Where would a naked man put his number plates? Frankly speaking, there is nowhere. There are no pockets. All around is the stomach and legs. There is only one sin with numbers. You can't tie it to a beard. Well, I tied a number to my legs so as not to lose it at once. I entered the bathhouse. The license plates are now slapping on the legs. Walking is boring. But we need to walk. That's why we need a gang. Without a gang, what is washing? There is only one sin. I'm looking for a gang. I see one citizen in three gangs is washing himself. He stands in one, washes his head in another, and holds the third with his left hand so that they don’t steal it. I pulled the third gang, I wanted, by the way, to take it for myself, but the citizen would not let me out.

What are you doing, he says, stealing other people’s gangs? If I blurt out, he says, you won’t be happy with the gang between your eyes.

I speak:

It’s not a tsar’s regime, I say, a regime to be blurted out by gangs. Selfishness, I say, what. “It’s necessary,” I say, “to wash others too.” Not in the theater, I say.

And he turned his back and washed himself. “Don’t stand,” I think, “over his soul. Now, I think, he will wash himself for three days on purpose.” I moved on. An hour later, I saw that some guy was gaping and let go of the gang. He bent down to get the soap or was daydreaming - I don’t know. But I only took that gang for myself. Now there is a gang, but there is nowhere to sit. And while standing to wash - what kind of washing? There is only one sin. Fine. I'm standing, holding a gang in my hand, washing myself. And all around, dear fathers, the washing is going on spontaneously. One washes his pants, another rubs his underpants, the third twirls something else. Just, let's say, he washed himself - he was dirty again. Splash, devils. And there is so much noise from washing - I don’t feel like washing. You can’t hear where you rub the soap. There is only one sin. “Well,” I think, “they’re off to the swamp. I’ll wash up at home.” I'm going to the dressing room. Linen is provided for your room. I look - everything is mine, the pants are not mine.

Citizens, I say. - Mine had a hole here. And where on these Avons?

And the bath attendant says:

We, he says, are not assigned to the holes. Not in the theater, he says.

Fine. I put on these pants and go get my coat. They don't give you a coat - they require a number. And the number on his leg is forgotten. You need to undress. I took off my pants and looked for the number, but there was no number. The rope is here on the leg, but there is no piece of paper. The paper was washed away. I give the bathhouse attendant a rope - he doesn’t want it.

By the rope,” he says, “I don’t give it away.” This, he says, every citizen will cut ropes - you can’t get enough of it. Wait,” he says, “when the audience disperses, I’ll reveal what’s left.”

I speak:

Little brother, what if the rubbish remains? Not in the theater, I say. - Give it out, I say, according to signs. One, I say, is a torn pocket, the other is missing. As for the buttons, I say, the top one is there, but the bottom ones are not in sight.

Still, he gave it away. And I didn’t take the rope. I got dressed and went outside. Suddenly I remembered: I forgot the soap. Came back again. They don't let you in with a coat.

Take off your clothes, they say.

I speak:

I, citizens, cannot undress for the third time. Not in the theater, I say. - Then at least give me the cost of the soap.

Do not give. They don’t give it - it’s not necessary. I went without soap. Of course, the reader may be curious: what kind of bathhouse is this? Where is she? Address? What kind of bath? Ordinary. Which is a dime.

1924. M.M. ZOSCHENKO. Blue Book.

...The sun had not yet risen, and Mishka was already on Badger Forest. There, about three kilometers from the village, stood an empty Serogon house. Mishka made another walk to the village, brought fishing gear and, returning back, covered his tracks with spruce branches.

Now he felt safe, he lit a hot potbelly stove, boiled some potatoes, and ate with appetite.

The sun was already high when he went to the river to set the tops. From the high bank one could see the indescribable beauty of a forest river covered with snow. The bear stood for a long time, enchanted, admiring the sparkling winter world. On the opposite side of the river, on a steep bank, stood a snow-covered, two-story dacha of the former director of the forestry industry, and now a tough businessman - a timber merchant. Its windows were decorated with ornate carvings, and a spacious bathhouse was located below the river. The dacha was not yet inhabited. When Mishka left for St. Petersburg, craftsmen from the city built a fireplace in the upper room and were decorating the rooms. Now there was no one here. And Mishka even thought that it would be nice for him to live at this dacha until spring. All the same, until the snow melts, the owners will not get here. But he was immediately frightened by this thought, remembering that the police were supposed to be hunting for him.

He went down to the river, cut the ice across the riverbed with an ax, filled the hole with spruce branches so that the fish could only pass in one place, and cut out a wide wormwood under the top.

Prostitute, prostitute, prostitute! - thundered and howled in the forest. - Night butterfly, but who is to blame here?

Mishka's heart began to beat anxiously. He hid behind the bushes and, holding back the excitement that rose in his throat, began to watch what was happening...

He saw a cheerful company descending on the bathhouse. The director of their timber industry enterprise walked heavily ahead, followed by three long-legged girls, stumbling off the beaten path into the snow and squealing, followed by some other large, thoroughbred men. Soon the bathhouse was filled with steam.

From inside she could hear the gasping of a heathen, muffled laughter and groans.

Three beautiful girls found themselves on the ice, just opposite Mishka’s hiding place. It seemed as if you could stretch out your hand and take out each one.

From this proximity and the sight of naked girls’ bodies, Mishka, who lived involuntarily in severe abstinence, became dizzy, and his face glowed with the unbearable heat of shame and unknown forbidden passion.

As if drunk, he stood up and, staggering, wandered to his wretched shelter. And from behind, excitingly girlish laughter and joyful squeals teased and beckoned...

Mishka felt so unbearably sorry for himself that a burning tear boiled in his eyes and fell into the spruce branches.

...At night he left the hut, the same song thundered in the dacha and echoed a hundredfold throughout Badger Forest:

"Prostitute, prostitute, prostitute,
Night butterfly, but who is to blame here?

Mishka had never seen such beautiful girls in his life. Her hair was loose over her shoulders, her high chest was heaving heavily, and tears were streaming down her beautiful face.

The country doors opened again, and a man came out onto the porch:

Margo! - he shouted imperiously. - Do you hear? Come back! Apparently, he was calling to the girl who was now kneeling in front of the wormwood.

Malya! - he repeated insistently, - Malka! Get home. I'm tired of waiting.

The girl did not answer. Mishka heard only quiet sobs. The man stomped on the porch, swore and went back. The girl whispered something and made a movement towards the hole.

Mishka felt unbearably sorry for her. He jumped out of the bushes and in an instant found himself next to the girl.

Who are you? - she asked distantly. She smelled of expensive perfume, wine and foreign tobacco.

“Teddy bear,” he said worriedly.

Are you local?

I live here. “In the forest,” Mishka answered in the same wooden way. The girl lowered her head again.

And I'm Margot. Or Malya. Prostitute.

Is this a stripper or what?

Not really. Prostitute.

Mishka did not know the meaning of this word and decided that prostitute was the girl’s surname.

“Don’t stand with your knees on the ice,” Mishka warned. “Otherwise you’ll catch a cold.”

The girl suddenly began to cry, and her shoulders trembled slightly. Mishka, suppressing his embarrassment, took her by the elbows and placed her next to him.

Do you hear, Mishka,” she said suddenly and raised her beautiful eyes, full of grief, to him. “Take me away from here.” Somewhere.

And Mishka suddenly felt that the old Mishka was no longer there, that he was now completely at the mercy of those sorrowful eyes. And that he is ready to do whatever she says.

“My feet are cold,” she said. “Warm my knees.” Mishka crouched down and wrapped his stiff arms around Mali’s elastic knees. Her legs were bare and cold. The bear bent over them and began to warm them with his breath.

Let’s go,” she said quickly. “Get me out of here quickly...

When Mishka reached the hut, the girl was already deeply asleep.

Malya breathed barely audibly. The night was as bright as day. The moon was shining like a spotlight outside the window.