Scary stories and mystical stories. Story for you: Old bathhouse

Sasha entered the steam room without knocking, his torso wrapped in a sheet, with two brooms in one hand and a mug in the other.
- Oik! I yelped and rolled over onto my stomach.
The hot air from the quick movement seared my knees. I carefully adjusted my felt cap and began to stealthily watch Sasha from behind my shoulder, from under half-closed eyelashes. The guy turned out to be well-built, in the body, with curly hair on his chest and stomach. My lips stretched shamelessly into a smile, and I hid my face.
- Well, how? What about Irina? Sasha asked.
- Are you going to hit? I asked slyly, raising my head.
- What did you think?

Sasha put on roughly sewn mittens, poured kvass from a mug into a ladle of water and splashed it into the hole at the top of the stove. Transparent steam with a sharp noise rushed up and to the sides, doused me with a hot wave. The tantalizing smell of bread filled the small steam room. Sasha lightly patted me with two brooms, waved them, driving the hot bread spirit around me. Harmless pats became stronger and more insistent, the air burned the nostrils, it became hard to breathe. I asked for mercy.
"Lie down," ordered my tormentor.
- I... Oh... Oh...
I moaned, unable to utter a word. The owner again succumbed to the pair.
“Roll over,” he said.
- Wu!
- Roll over, who said!
It was an order. I obediently rolled over onto my back and covered my nipples with my palms, not because I was embarrassed - I already didn't care - but because they burned unbearably. I was suffocating, there was not enough air. The lungs contracted almost empty.
- Oh...

Only one thought rushed about in my head in a panic: "I'll die ... I'll die ...". Sasha laughed softly and continued to beat me mercilessly with brooms. What was happening seemed unreal to me, the walls of the steam room - cartoonish, drawn. I didn’t think anything when Sasha put down the brooms, firmly grabbed my forearms, lifted me from the shelf and put me on my feet. I caught a glimpse of water boiling in a kettle. The guy, still supporting me by the forearm, took me out of the bath - in what he was, naked - and stuffed me into a bath with spring water, which flowed there from a natural source. The water is clear, icy, with a dove, sweetish in taste. I didn't feel cold.

I got out of the bath on my own, Sasha delicately returned to the bath. In the dressing room, she somehow threw a sheet over herself and collapsed on a bench in complete impotence. I stretched out on it, as far as the length allowed. Thank you, I remained alive ... Only now I discovered that I still have a bath cap on. She pulled it off and tucked it under her head. The body was flooded with a hot wave - a consequence of the ice bath. It felt like I was breathing fire. Biting blows with a broom came from the steam room - my attendant now took up himself. There is no comparison with the city bath, with its crowd, cold locker room and unpleasant smell in the stuffy steam room.

Sasha jumped out of the steam room, passed the washing room in two steps and rushed past - burgundy, outgoing steam, with a birch leaf on the buttock. From the street came a powerful splash and a valiant hoot.
He returned, hiding his dignity in a handful, stooping like a penguin. He pushed his butt behind the washing room door and called:
- Let's go, Irish!
- Where?
- How where? Wash.
Water dripped from his steamed face, one eye blinked, the other revolved. I suddenly realized that I was embarrassed by nudity, both his and mine. I was surprised - that I, for no reason, have become shy?
- Not...
- As you want. Drink kvass and go wash yourself, I'll rest for now.

So we washed - in turn, belatedly embarrassed by each other. Sasha went to the steam room yet. The bath exhausted me so much that I did not know how to get out of the washing room, how to get dressed. Wandered to the country house, where he fell on the bed.

I prepared dinner in advance, before the bath, in the summer kitchen. The kitchenette is neat, with a landscape painted all over the wall, with curtains. There was a guitar on a stool in the corner. Now Sasha and I had dinner and told each other about ourselves. We met two years ago. More precisely, they only saw each other on the ship, where Sasha was the third mate at that time. I brought the customs declarations to the captain. Then I saw him at a corporate New Year's Eve, he had just signed off ashore. We even talked about something. And since then they began to greet each other if they saw each other in the shipping company or on the street.
Now he admitted that he was afraid to approach ... I was surprised:
- Why?
- Well, you are so... So...
- Yes, well, you ... in the bath. You are already the second assistant, and you are talking such nonsense, - I laughed.

Sasha is a prominent guy. At the New Year's Eve, the girls from the neighboring department "hung" on him like dogs on a bear.
- Chsh! Don't make noise, he hissed. - If you disturb the brownie at night - he will not let you sleep, he will scare you.
- Yah?
- Do not believe? This is where the brownie lives. When a brother comes to rest with his friends, they make a noise, and then they listen all night as the brownie walks around the dacha and drops everything.
I laughed, I didn't believe it. But brother - this is already interesting.
“I also have a brother, three years younger,” I said.
- Mine is also three years younger, - Sasha was delighted. - Have you noticed that we have the same moles on our hands? Are these four things?
The moles did indeed match, and that seemed important.
You know, I've always liked you. Smiling like the bright sun.
“And also kind and masculinely aggressive,” I mentally added.

The guy reached for the guitar, but I stopped him:
- Sasha, I'm a little alive after the bath. Let me wash the dishes and go to bed. Sing to me tomorrow.
He laughed.
- Did you like the bathhouse? Go lie down. I'll wash the dishes myself. You can still...
I ignored the last remark and trudged to the second floor, where there was an old, old sofa, laid out forever. I liked the cottage. The village is small, quiet, with neat dilapidated houses, mostly two-story. There was silence, except for the whistling of a restless bird outside the walls, and the muffled rattling of crockery from the summer kitchen.
Sasha came in about twenty minutes later. Hastily undressed in the dark, climbed under the covers. I hid in the very corner, turned away from him, frightened and happy.
- Where are you? Sasha asked in a broken voice. He found me, grabbed my hand across my stomach and pulled me towards him.

I floundered in a thick cobweb and could not get out of it. I'm scared to death of the web, how did I manage to get into it ?! Gasping with horror, I convulsively waved my arms. Sasha came up behind me and pulled me out of the net. A scream of horror escaped my throat, I heard it from the side and did not recognize my own voice - there was nothing human in the cry. She sat up on the bed, breathing heavily, perspiring, cold and clammy. Sasha woke up, sat down too, hugged me.
- A dream, Sasha... I had a dream...
- Brownie, brownie, why did you frighten her? This is my wife... Don't scare me anymore.
What wife?
- It's a brownie, don't be afraid, Ira. He's harmless, just scary.
Now I was ready to believe anything.
- He won't scare anymore?
- Will not be. Once, and that's it. I told him...
I never scream in my sleep. I watch my nightmares silently. For the first time, honestly!
- Everything, everything, do not be afraid. Sleep.

We settled down. Sasha immediately fell asleep, and I lay awake, wondering why he called me his wife. Takes care of me for only a week. All this is not serious. Of course, it was time for me to settle down, to decide something with my chaotic, stupid life. I enjoyed personal freedom and used it as I pleased. I did not like life in a civil marriage. In the depths of my soul, I wanted to get married - “for real”, because I didn’t appreciate an “unofficial” marriage for a penny. She broke up with her roommate, yearned and forgot. I no longer wanted to fulfill the duties of a wife. The kitchen, dishes, cleaning drove me into depression. Which one is my wife? I will marry Sasha - I will have to not just cook, but cook deliciously, there will be twice as many dishes, cleaning too. You will have to wash his socks and iron his shirts, adapt to his preferences, shortcomings and endure a lot. I still don't know what exactly. He also said yesterday that he wants two children. It's horrible. At the thought that for several years I would not belong to myself, every cell in my body protested. No, I don't want to.

I listened - is the brownie wandering around the dacha? There was such silence that it buzzed in my ears. I leaned against Sasha's hot back, still unaccustomed, and fell asleep.

The Sakhalin June night chilled the air, the morning covered the dacha village with fog. I woke up early. She lay quiet under Sasha's side, listening to bird chirping and chirping. Smiled. I didn't want to think about anything. The bones and muscles steamed in the bath were still languishing in bliss.
Sasha woke up. I didn't open my eyes yet, I started to kiss - Ira, Irishka... He crushed me under him. On the face - a joyful smile. The sweetest intercourse of love is in the morning, when the body is only half awake, the blind passion is a little dampened during the night, but the sighted tenderness does not sleep.

Tired, Sasha reluctantly released me and got up:
- The oven must be lit.
I threw back the covers with the intention of getting up, yelped from the cold and darted back.
- Not the month of May, - the owner joked, dressed quickly and went down to the first floor with a roar. I lay warm, listening to him stoking the stove. Thoughts wandered nearby, sensible and not very, I lazily drove them away.

When it warmed up in the house, I got dressed and went to wash my face. Went to the threshold, stood. Fog shrouded the birches and Christmas trees around the dacha, covered a massive table with benches and long beds. Gray smoke from the chimney mingled with a whitish mist. Near the porch grew lilies of the valley, a little further away - a huge carpet of forget-me-nots. “When I marry him, I will plow on these beds,” I thought, spoiled my mood, shivered from the damp cold and went to the bathhouse.

It was warm and dry there, and I washed my face with pleasure. Failed to comb. Hair from spring water became soft, fluffy and did not want to obey. “Why did I think that he was going to marry me? I thought. - We're not in a fairy tale. He calmed me at night so that I would not be afraid, that's all. Yes, you have to marry for love. But the heart is silent. Satisfied with this thought and finally upset, I wandered to the summer kitchen to prepare breakfast.

The stove was already on fire. I made croutons. Sasha came, possessively grabbed my sides, so that I squeaked, sat down on a cracked stool.
- What did you dream about?
“Ah,” I waved it off. - Web. It's like I'm floundering in it, and you pulled me out. I'm so afraid of her that even my legs are taken away.
- Found something to be afraid of. I'm here - you will laugh - I'm afraid of geese. As a child, a goose attacked me in the village, the fear remained.
- Why are you calling me your wife? - I did not resist.
- So you're here for a long time!
- Why?
- Brownie only scares his own. When we bought the dacha, we all watched terrible dreams at first. They yelled in turn. Then they stopped. How many guests spent the night with us - no one dreamed of anything. So, Ir... - Sasha spread his hands and laughed. - Think what you want. When should I take care of you? A week later - at sea. Will you wait?
“No, Sasha, you think what you want. Your brownie is wrong. And why did you get a walking girl? Not only is she walking, but she is also a greedy, drunkard and show-off.
- I'm terrible, Sasha, you just don't know.
- Glorious, kind! And you cook well.
Sasha drank tea with toast and strummed on the guitar.

Well, what can I say about Sakhalin?
The island has normal weather.
The surf salted my vest,
And I live at the very sunrise ...
(Words by Mikhail Tanich)

I acutely felt a thin, ghostly thread that had stretched between us a week ago, and I was afraid to move, so as not to break it with a careless movement, a sigh. And Sasha sang, looking at me with loving eyes - velvet and oil, and his strong, free voice tore me off the ground ...

A year later, in May or June, I talked to the brownie. I thought I was talking to Andreika, Sasha's eight-year-old cousin. A light bulb burned out in the house on the second floor. In the evening, in the twilight, I sorted out the linen, who should have what to lay, and chatted with Andreika, who got up after me. Or rather, I spoke, but he did not answer, he only smiled slyly and silently paced back and forth. As it turned out later, the cousin had been talking downstairs with his aunt, my mother-in-law, all this time.

But it was not without reason that the brownie's face was so cunning - after all, he turned out to be right.
Well, and the bath ... She didn’t go anywhere and didn’t lose her sweetness. One of the joys of a difficult married life.

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

Now he felt safe, flooded the hot potbelly stove, boiled potatoes, ate with appetite.

The sun was already high when he went to the river to set up tops. From the high bank, the indescribable beauty of the forest river, covered with snow, opened up. The bear stood for a long time, as if spellbound, admiring the sparkling winter world. On the opposite side of the river, on a steep bank, there was a snow-covered, two-story dacha of the former director of the timber industry enterprise, who is now a tough businessman and timber merchant, cut into two floors from selected wood. Its windows were decorated with ornate carvings, and a spacious bathhouse clung to the river below. The cottage was not yet inhabited. When Mishka left for St. Petersburg, craftsmen from the city built a fireplace in the upper room, and finished 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. Anyway, until the snow melts, the owners will not get here. But he was immediately frightened by this thought, remembering that the police should be hunting for him.

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

Soon he had already 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 odorous resinous bedding, rejoicing at the peace he had finally found.

Mishka woke up from strange sounds that filled the forest. It seemed that aliens landed in the Badger Forest, producing incredible, rumbling, shaking sounds of century-old pines. The bear fell off the bunk, stepped out the door of the hut.

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

The music came from the river. The bear carefully walked towards the shore. Cars were parked at the director's dacha, thick smoke rose from the chimneys to the sky, the bathhouse was heated, the doors slammed, music blared to the fullest, and now and then bursting girlish laughter could be heard.
Mishka's heart began to beat uneasily. He hid behind the bushes and, holding back the excitement that had risen to his throat, began to observe what was happening ...

He saw how a cheerful company descended to the bathhouse. In front of them walked the director of their timber industry, followed by three long-legged girls, stumbling off the beaten path into the snow and screeching, followed by some other large, thoroughbred men. Soon the bath was full of steam.

From within it came the gasp of the stove, muffled laughter and moaning.

Finally, the doors of the dressing room were flung open, and the whole merry company fell naked onto the pure virgin snow. Mishkin's director, shaking his pendulous belly, as if a wild boar was piercing the fluffy snow with his steamed pink body, dragging the company to the river, right into the wormwood, where Mishkin's top stood.

Three depicted girls were on the ice, just opposite Mishka's little fungus. It seemed as if you could reach out and take each one.
From this proximity and the sight of naked girlish bodies, Mishka, who involuntarily lived in strict abstinence, felt dizzy, and his face blazed with an unbearable heat of shame and unknown forbidden passion.

As if drunk, he got up, and, staggering, wandered to his wretched haven. And from behind teased and beckoned exciting girlish laughter and joyful squealing...

In the hut of tar-burners, he again fired up 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 announcement on the radio, has completely become devoid of any meaning.

The bear was left without parents early. Mother drowned on an alloy, father got drunk. They say that the wrong coil was installed at the moonshine still. It was necessary from stainless steel, and Bartholomew put 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 as he left for the army, his love immediately jumped out to marry a coven worker who had come from Transcarpathia and drove off with him forever.

And after the army there was work in the forest, and booze on the weekends. He was a prominent and kind guy, but there were no girls nearby, only guys remained in Vyselki, the girls all dispersed to the cities. Here you will get drunk! It would be better for him to be born a grandmother Sanya's goat! I would sit on the stove and eat peeled potatoes. Look, he's cold in his office!

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

At night, he left the hut, the same song thundered in the country house and echoed a hundred times over the Badger Forest:

"Confused, confused, confused,
Night butterfly, but who is to blame here?

Centuries-old pines shuddered under the impact of decibels and poured snow sparkling under the light of the moon from the tops. The moon shone like a spotlight. Radiant stars shone in the vast heavenly abyss, 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 be shot down when diving into an ice hole, or even pulled onto the ice.

The director's dacha sparkled with lights. On the banks of the bank, Mishka saw in the wide windows her fabulous feast, laden with all sorts of dishes. Someone was dancing, someone was already sleeping in an armchair. Suddenly the doors of the dacha burst open, throwing out a flurry of music and electric radiance into the frosty purity of the night.

Mishka saw someone jump out in a fiery halo onto the porch, rushed down into the darkness, the steps creaked on the eel, and in the moonlight ghostly light on the ice of the river he saw a girl, one of those three that were here during the day. She ran to the blackened polynya, in which the icy streams of the wakeful river twisted, and threw herself on her knees in front of her.

Mishka had never seen such beautiful girls in his life. Her hair was loose over her shoulders, her high breasts heaved heavily, and tears flowed down her beautiful face.

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

Margot! he shouted imperiously. “Do you hear? Come back! Apparently, he called the girl, who was now kneeling in front of the hole.
- Mala! - he repeated insistently, - Malka! Get home. I'm tired of waiting.

The girl did not answer. Mishka heard only quiet sobs. The man trampled 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 was 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 absently. She smelled of expensive perfumes, wine and foreign tobacco.
"Mishka," he said excitedly.
- Are you local?
- I live here. In the forest, - Mishka answered in the same wooden way. The girl lowered her head again.
- I'm Margo. Or Mala. Putana.
- It's a stripper, or what?
-Not really. Putana.

Mishka did not know the meaning of these words and decided that the prostitute was the name of the girl.

You, this, do not stand on your knees on the ice, - Mishka warned. - Otherwise you will 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 beautiful eyes full of grief at him. - Take me away from here. Somewhere.
And Mishka suddenly felt that the former Mishka was gone, that he was now completely in the grip of those sorrowful eyes. And that he is ready to do whatever she says.

My feet are cold, she said. Warm my knees. The bear sat down and clasped his elastic knees with his unbending arms.
Mali. Her feet were bare and cold. The bear bent over them, began to warm them with his breath.

Let's go, - she said quickly. - Take me away from here as soon as possible ...

They climbed up the path into 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, snuggled close to Mishka's chest, clothed in a sweatshirt that smelled of smoke and needles, and fell silent.
When Mishka reached the hut, the girl was already deeply asleep.

He laid her carefully on the bunks covered with spruce branches and sat down 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 like that forever.
Malya breathed a little audibly. The night was bright as day. The moon shone brightly outside the window.

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

Unfortunately, my grandmother's back ached. She was treated in a peculiar way - she asked me to "trample". Grandmother got on all fours by the sofa, I climbed on her back with my feet and trampled. The old woman groaned and turned first one side, then the other. For two or three days the pain subsided, but there came a moment when it was necessary to treat the back seriously. Then the grandmother went to the bath.

The bathhouse was old, and the convicts, who in the last century were driven to Siberia through our city, washed in it. Two black stokers heated it with coal. In winter, the sauna steamed like a pot of potatoes. Not only from the chimney, but also from under the roof, white steam billowed from the windows. For a hundred years of bath work, the bricks became damp and did not hold heat well. Therefore, they began to heat the bath from the night before.

Grandma went to the opening. A birch broom stuck out of her homemade bag. Grandma spent the whole day in the bath. And not just in the bath, but in the steam room. I still don’t understand how her small, dry body withstood many 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 deserted bath corridor, opened the door to the women's department and, overcoming the desire to look in, shouted: "Aunty, call Grandma Zvereva!"

Laughter was heard outside the door, then the 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 did not bother her for a month.

Untitled

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

Gut bye, they say, look.

Only and everything. This American will wash himself, come back, and clean linen is served to him - washed and ironed. Footcloths are probably whiter than snow. The underpants are sewn up, patched. Zhitishko! And we have baths, too, nothing. But worse. Although you can also wash. We only have problems with 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 can a naked man put his numbers? To put it bluntly, nowhere. There are no pockets. Around - belly and legs. Sin is one with numbers. You can't tie it to a beard. Well, I tied a number to my feet so as not to lose it at once. I entered the bath. Numbers are now clapping on the legs. Walking is boring. And you have to walk. That's why you need a bowl. What is a wash without a washcloth? One sin. I'm looking for a bowl. I look, one citizen in three gangs washes. In one he stands, in the other he lathers his head, and with the third left hand he holds it so as not to be stolen. I pulled the third gang, I wanted, by the way, to take it for myself, but the citizen does not release it.

What are you doing, - he says, - are you stealing other people's gangs? As I blurt out, - he says, - you will not be overjoyed with a gang between the eyes.

I speak:

Not royal, - I say, - to blurt out the regime with gangs. Selfishness, - I say, - what. It is necessary, - I say, - to wash others. Not in the theatre, I say.

And he turned his back and washes. “Do not stand, - I think, - over his soul. Now, I think, he will wash himself for three days on purpose. Went further. An hour later, I look, some uncle gaped, let go of the gang. Bent down for soap or daydreamed - I don’t know. And I only took that bowl for myself. Tepericha and the gang is there, but there is nowhere to sit down. And standing to wash - what kind of washing? One sin. Fine. I stand, I hold the bowl in my hand, I wash myself. And all around, fathers-sveta, washing goes on its own. One washes his pants, the other rubs his underpants, the third is still twisting something. Only, say, washed up - dirty again. Splatter, devils. And such a noise is from washing - reluctance to wash. You can't hear where you rub the soap. One sin. “Well, they, - I think, - into the swamp. I'll go home." I'm going to the dressing room. Issue linen to the room. I look - everything is mine, my pants are not mine.

Citizens, I say. There was a hole in mine. And on these Avon where.

And the attendant says:

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

Fine. I put on these pants, I go for a coat. Coats are not issued - they require a number. And the number on the leg is forgotten. You have to undress. He took off his pants, looking for a number - there is no number. The rope is here, on the leg, but there is no paper. The paper was washed away. I give the attendant a rope - he does not want to.

By rope, - he says, - I don’t give out. This, - he says, - every citizen will cut the ropes - you won’t get enough of it. Wait, - he says, - when the audience disperses - I will give out what remains.

I speak:

Little brother, what if there is rubbish left? Not in the theater, I say. - Give it out, I say, according to signs. One, - I say, - is a torn pocket, there is no other. As for the buttons, then, - I say, - there is an upper one, but the lower ones are not expected.

Released anyway. And he did not take the rope. I got dressed and went outside. Suddenly I remembered: I forgot the soap. Came back again. The coat is not allowed.

Undress, they say.

I speak:

I, citizens, cannot undress for the third time. Not in the theatre, I say. - Give me the cost of soap then.

Do not give. Do not give - do not. Went without soap. Of course, the reader may be curious: what, they say, is a bathhouse? Where is she? Address? What bath? Ordinary. Which is in a dime.

1924. M.M. ZOSHCHENKO. Blue book.

It all started in advance, at some regular booze, when Yulia and Katya said they wanted to celebrate their birthday together in the sauna. Interesting. I have never been in a sauna before and I don’t have a good tradition like Lukashin’s. But I was interested in what was offered.
A significant date has come. February 6. In the afternoon, I managed to work as a press service at the opening of the Greco-Roman Wrestling Tournament. But more on that in a separate thread. So that evening came. We met with Gleb in the metro and moved to Aviamotornaya, where we picked up Dimon and Senya.
The sauna was in a hell of an ominous place, with all its appearance saying that "you guys got into the" Hostel "and now they will burn out your eyes, cut your tendons and just do you will die a slow painful death", like in popular American thrillers. The driver of the minibus dropped us off on the unknown Andronovskoye Highway, there was a railway ahead, garages on the right, an industrial area on the left, a high iron fence and darkness. Hmmm... I wonder what's next. We call Kate. Long beeps in the handset, and after that "The subscriber's device is turned off ..." with all the ensuing consequences. After about 10 minutes of our walking after Dimon, who convinced that he understood where it was and confidently led us into the absorbing darkness between factories or something like that, a phone call rings:
- Ale .. where are you ... you need a checkpoint right at the crossroads behind the iron fence. You will be met there.
It makes me feel better that we still have to return to the illuminated road, to the place where we were dropped off, and where occasionally cars still pass and even people doomedly wait for something at the bus stop. "Well, here," Dima saw the gate, "we're here."
- Hello! - he stuck his head in the window of the checkpoint to the stern uncle in uniform, - and we should take a steam bath!
We burst into laughter. The gates, with all their appearance, did not give a single hint that behind them there could be a bathhouse or even some kind of entertainment establishment. Unless, the morgue, the cauldrons of hell and Nikita Dzhigurda, who rules the ball.
- Neighboring checkpoint, guys, - the stern uncle answered, and we, laughing again, moved on.
- Ale, well, we came, meet, - we called and began to dutifully wait. At the checkpoint sat a young guard and an old man - the senior shift - who, with his feet on the table, was staring at the TV at how the old Hulk Hogan, dressed in some kind of "diapers", as it seemed to me, was finishing off someone in a wrestler's duel.
- Damn, what's been so long, - I was still uneasy, when suddenly from somewhere deep in the building, women's screams are heard distantly - something between laughter and screams of horror. Pictures from the movie "American Werewolf in Paris" immediately pop up in 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 the injection, turned into werewolves and .. further guess what happened. Gleb, with Dimon only laughed. Semyon was imperturbably silent and sometimes suppressed a passive smile.
A girl comes out behind us and in a low voice offers to follow her, through the entrance to the street and further past the dark buildings. While we were walking, I managed to make out a map on which many buildings were indicated, and several small ones in the outskirts, I resolutely stated that the 14th was definitely a morgue or a gas chamber. We went down the stairs to the basement, and ended up in a surprisingly positive room. It was warm and humid, just like a sauna should be. Large room with massage chair, set table, karaoke and sofa. Katya, Yulia and Pasechnik were already there, and after changing clothes, Katya took us on a tour. The next room was the steam room itself behind a transparent glass slightly tinted door, a pool of cold water, a shower and other amenities. Then there was another door, through which a steep staircase led to the second floor, climbing up to which a large-large bed opened up, which made us visibly happy and smiled enigmatically.
Of all the guests, only Valentine had to wait, who, in the spirit of his manners, was late as usual, but soon pulled himself up and started dressing.
Naturally, the first entry into the bath. All in bathing suits and swimming trunks (Dimon in thongs in principle). Katya and I refused to go to the sauna, because we don’t understand this dubious high, all these sweating, jumping into the pool and just in general, more mascara will flow ... well, it’s better to talk ..

Come on, Light, let's take a steam bath!
- Well, I don’t want to, I’m afraid that suddenly I’ll feel bad, - I broke down with all my might, - I already drank all the more and I don’t have a bathing suit.
- 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 - the champagne has already rolled in the heat.

Aaaah... how are you sitting here! This is a pipets, 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 even better, - said someone from the top shelf. God, how they sit there and still talk, it’s already so unbearable for me downstairs.
I jumped out, greedily swallowing cool air and pouring myself out of the shower (I didn’t dare to jump into the pool), the realization began to come to me that it’s kind of fun for everyone to bathe together.
Then there were several more visits, each time there were fewer and fewer clothes for everyone, despite the fact that there were not so many of them, or rather, there were practically none, but Yulia and I only had bras flying off on the way, Valyan steamed in Adam's costume, covering the causal place with an oak leaf. Intelligent remarks, such as "Uh ... Dima, your testicle fell out" sounded with very serious faces, after which the entertaining game "StringoTwister" began, everyone putting dozens into a massage chair, because the discoverer of this pleasure discovered that there is even a massage fifth point and with wild delight and hysterical laughter, he informed everyone about this: "Ooooooo .... blya..blah .. there is a strapooon, strapooooon!"
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 weren't staring at my boobs when I took off my bra in the sauna. I don't understand why I did it at all. You didn't look?
Dimon SHNIDR:
))))))))))))) It's like I would take off my thong and sit without the thong. Would you stare?))))
Svetochka:
Uh ... Well, maybe I would take a glimpse, but then I would immediately look away)))))))
Dimon SHNIDR:
Hahahahahahaha....))))

Masya, I feel soooooo bad, I got my boots dirty..
- I told you yesterday, and you sneeeeg... sneeeeg...

There are a lot of stories about the bath. Among them are the wonderful stories of the classics of Russian literature: L.N. Tolstoy, A.P. Chekhov, M. Zoshchenko, V. Shukshin and other famous writers. Therefore, I do not claim anything special in any way. At the same time, somewhere in the early sixties of the last century, a very unusual and funny story happened in my life connected with visiting a bathhouse, which I want to tell about. It happened in one of my geological expeditions in the North Caucasus, in the Cossack village of Pregradnaya.

We settled on the very outskirts of the village in a small but clean and tidy house, located on the gentle slope of the Urup River. Our hosts were local old-timers of the village, kind, modest and decent people of quite respectable age, whom we simply called grandfather and grandmother.
There were two or three shops in the village and a good cheap market where we bought all the necessary agricultural foodstuffs. As for the bath, which will be discussed, there was no public, state-owned bath, as such, in Barrier. Some residents of the village in their household plots had their own small family bathhouses. The main part of the population used the services of two or three private small (for 5-6 people) baths, located throughout the village, along the Urup River. In them, as our hosts told us, for a small, almost symbolic fee, it was possible to wash and steam normally.

And so, on one of the Sabbath days, I went to one of these bathhouses closest to our house. Spring that year in the North Caucasus was normal, with continuous fogs, prolonged rains and rare sunny days. So today, in the morning, it was drizzling, and by noon the clouds parted, and the sun came out. My mood was good. And what could be better than taking a steam bath in a hot fragrant bath on a cool and cloudy day.
Approaching her, I saw an elderly woman sitting on a bench near the front door. Perhaps this is the hostess herself, the bathhouse attendant, I thought.
- Hello - I greeted her, can I come to you?
“Please, young man,” she replied. - You are welcome, do you want to take a steam bath? - Our bathhouse, though old, but vigorous. Enough water and a park for everyone.
- You, you see, are not from our local - urban?
- Excuse me, what is your name?
- Yes, call me, son, I'm just Ignatievna - she answered.
- Well, Ignatievna is so Ignatievna. And I came to you in Pregradnaya on a survey expedition. I stopped at the very last house of the village.
- Isn't it at the Korneevs'?
- Yes, they seem to be the best.
- Well, well, I know. Daria Petrovna and Vasily Zakharovich, our dear pensioners, village residents.

That's how I met you, son. However, the nightingale is not fed with fables, go into the waiting room, undress, take a gang, a broom and go to bathe yourself. Nice to meet you. Let's talk some more, God forbid.

In a cozy dressing room there was a jug of kvass, prepared by a hospitable hostess, and on a solid wooden bench along the wall, chic bath brooms made of birch and oak neatly lay. Everything, it would seem, was conducive to receiving that indescribable pleasure, which can only be obtained in a real bath.

Having undressed, taking a gang and choosing a birch broom that I liked, I finally went to the steam room. However, when I opened the door there, I was literally dumbfounded. In the steam room, on the very first bench, women washed. Moreover, one of them sat with her legs spread wide, completely unashamed and not paying attention to anyone. Behind her, somewhere in the depths of the bathhouse, on the floorboards, on the very top shelf, sat an elderly man with a boy of twelve or fourteen years old. At the same time, he frowned blissfully and quacked.
The women who were washing in the bath respectfully gave way to me ... Strange, but neither a cry nor a screech followed. I hear only a small rumble, and how the gangs rattle a little, and nothing more.
“Come in, dear man, don’t be afraid, we won’t bite you,” said one of the women, thirty-five-forty years old. She had a large lush chest, a fat slightly sagging belly and large full hips. Other women were a little younger, but the same magnificent forms.

The space hummed loudly, water splashed out of the buckets, spray flew into the air, On wet benches covered with soapy foam, in the light of a dim electric bulb, shrouded in clouds of steam, sat shamelessly wide open to the gaze, female bodies, and I still stood, as if rooted to the spot, not deciding to move.

The heat was terrible. My face was covered with heat, and then my whole body. I was shivering and even nauseous. I immediately wanted to go back out of the stuffy room, but for some reason I didn't. After standing for a while, and hiding behind a gang, I made my way to the farthest corner of the steam room, and, having collected water, turning away, began to lather my body.

“That's good guy. Well done! Don't be shy! Don't pay any attention to them? - suddenly the voice of a man sitting on the floor was heard.
- The women in our village, I tell you, are arrogant, Khush and Cossacks. That one is sitting for herself, a vigorous mother. Khush would move her crooked legs. I would cover my shame. No shame for you, no conscience.
- Why are you there, the old horse-radish razbrenchalsi - answered the woman. I would sit and shut up.
- It's khush and so. And here you are, a shameless woman, so you can see with your eyes and snort, who would shuffle your clumsy back, or maybe it’s a question.
“Stop talking with your tongues, stanitsa fools,” another woman shouted at them. “It’s sickening to listen to you.
There was a temporary calm.
Someone threw a ladle of hot water on the stove - heater, and the smell of pine and mint became more distinct. Huge splashes scattered around.

Opposite me, not far away, a young woman was sitting sideways. From her proximity, I finally became shy. The woman shook her head, and from the dry hot air, her blond hair was scattered all over her face and shoulders. At the same time, it seemed to me that I even felt how they moved to the beat of her movements. How did I survive all this? I do not remember.
One of the women was steaming her daughter with a broom and saying: “The bathhouse is soaring, the bathhouse rules, the bathhouse will fix everything.” The girl squealed: “Oh, mommy, it's hot!” - Be patient - the mother laughed. Finally, she washed her and sent her to dress in the dressing room. The bathroom immediately became quieter.

Having sent the girl out, for some reason she asked me: "I'm not bothering you." Probably, she wanted to say: - "I'm not embarrassing." Yes, what is there! Of course, I answered: “Yes, no, what are you.” - “Yes, well?” She was surprised, I am pleased that the men still do not turn away from me”? - and laughed out loud.
At this, our dialogue was suddenly interrupted, since at that time the door opened, and two more entered it. In the bath fog, I saw the silhouettes of the newcomers. These were two girls. “Duck, this is Natalia with Katyuha,” my neighbor announced and called them: “Come, girls, come here to us.” The girls came closer. But, suddenly seeing me sitting in a corner, on a bench, they immediately recoiled back in the other direction, embarrassedly hiding behind gangs.

Here are those times. I don’t know which one of them was Natalya and which one was Katyukha, but despite the poor visibility, I managed to see them in full texture. They were sixteen or seventeen years old, slender, thin. One of them especially caught my eye, with a long blond braid to the waist and a surprisingly foldable figure.

This was an amazing girl. Her body literally shone with silky skin, and water droplets on slender legs made her even more attractive. True, despite the fact that she was only 2-3 meters from me, I could not see her face. Yes, I did not look, no. I tried to look somewhere in the distance. But I still remember her figure. There are such hips, such moles. My dear mother! A kind of Kuban Cossack woman from a feature film. And the second... The second girl, - was significantly losing with her external data, although she also looked nothing. Short, very petite, with a perky round face and shoulder-length red curls.

Literally a few days later, unexpectedly, I suddenly saw them in the company of teenagers coming to meet me. I recognized her right away. Our eyes met, and our gaze lingered for a moment. And when we caught up, I saw that her face was immediately covered with paint. Obviously she recognized me.

White steam puffed up from the red-hot stones, it became even hotter, as they say - the ears began to curl up. I took a broom and began whipping myself. Yes, where is it! Now it was not only the ears that were on fire, the fingers were burning from the wave of the hand. Steamed and crazy, from the bath and from everything I saw, I finally pulled the door out of the steam room and jumped out into the dressing room.

My first thought was to complain to the attendant Ignatyevna for not warning me that women were bathing in the bathhouse. However, having cooled down a bit and having drunk vigorous kvass, I thought - is it worth it to offend a good and conscientious woman? Especially since my landlords didn’t tell me anything about this either? Or maybe it's okay here? Then I immediately remembered, apparently I read about it somewhere, that in general on the territory of ancient Rus' for many centuries baths were common, both men and women washed there at the same time.

True, in the time of Peter the Great, a ban on joint washing was introduced, but in many places people continued to wash together. Perhaps, until now, this tradition is followed by the inhabitants of the village of Pregradnaya? And what actually happened? And then, to be honest, I won’t hide that wasn’t it intriguingly interesting for me, at that time still a young guy, to look at various naked women? Therefore, leaving, I thanked the hostess for a warm and good bathhouse and went out into the street.

It was already getting dark. After walking some distance, I involuntarily looked back. The bathhouse, as if nothing had happened, stood in its place, on the river bank, among huge burdocks and fragrant currants, like a fairy-tale hut, full of magical secrets, secrets and mysteries, like an entrance to the other world.