I am Tanya.

Me. They called him Bububu. A fucking insane name, he's from Mali or Zanzibar, I always forgot to ask, anyway, a black-assed nigger, built like a moose, always grinning and chewing gum, what's he got to laugh about, he lives in the dorm like a king, has his own room, the dorm matron changes his bed linens every three days, the guy's got money coming out of his ears, his dad or maybe his granddad is some local chieftain, why he even ended up in a dorm, he says his relatives insisted, said he needed to live in Moscow among people, not in some rented flat, who the fuck can understand the ways of these Africans.

But he's a good-natured guy, always ready to lend money to poor students, but at a predatory

interest rate — a third of the sum. What fool came up with the idea that Jews are the main moneylenders.

Saturday evening, the dorm is empty, the girls have scattered to their fuck-buddies, the guys are all over the place. The negro has a small vestibule between his room and the corridor with a shower and toilet, we don't knock here, it's not a royal palace, so I just barged in like a simpleton.

Whoa-ho! Bububu was methodically pounding a painfully familiar ass.

I recognized that ass immediately, even though I'd never seen it naked. Apologies for the vulgar cynicism, I was hotly and hopelessly in love with this woman. No, let's not lie, the word 'in love' doesn't fit here. I wanted to fuck her, anywhere, in any position, anytime. I'd look at her during seminars and mentally undress her, sometimes degrading her, sometimes admiring her. I called her the Snow Queen to myself. And she was a queen — beautiful, well-bred, unattainable, I'd seen a few times what kind of cars the uncles came to pick her up from the university in. What chance did I, a student from Orenburg, poor as a winter sparrow, have.

I took out my phone and started photographing the scene.

"Come later!" Bububu grumbled discontentedly. "Can't you see, I'm busy!"

The Snow Queen slowly turned her head and looked at me.

Tanya. When did it start? I was in my fourth year, my father financed a six-month internship in London. My friend Lenka studies in England, I moved into her apartment. For Christmas, Lenka and her boyfriend went skiing in Switzerland, they didn't invite me, it's not in my nature to invite myself, so for New Year's in London, I was alone.

I was doing my internship at a technology college, one of those trendy new educational institutions for all sorts of newcomers — Russians, Chinese, Malaysians, and others, terribly expensive and pretty useless. My group consisted exclusively of Chinese and Ukrainians, I didn't get along with them.

On December 31st, around eight in the evening, I was ready to climb the walls from boredom and melancholy. I went out for a walk. The streets were deserted, the weather was nasty, drizzly and windy. I was heading back home when I saw a negro selling ice cream. I found it funny: ice cream in such weather.

The negro was blue from the cold.

"You're good," he suddenly said in broken English, feeling my gaze. "You're white, you'll have a tasty dinner now in a warm little apartment."

"Nowhere to sleep?" I asked.

"Nowhere," said the negro and stared brazenly at my chest.

I don't know what came over me. I'm a well-brought-up girl from a decent family, my dad is a big businessman, my mom teaches solfeggio at a music school. I had a two-year relationship with a boy, we broke up shortly before my departure for London, calmly, without drama, the feelings had run out. I'm not prone to adventurous acts, otherwise my parents wouldn't have let me go to another country. Probably, a woman's pity suddenly awoke in me.

"Come to my place," I said.

"Let's go," said the negro.

"Can I take a bath at your place?" the negro asked when we entered the apartment. "Very cold."

"You can," I poured myself a martini with juice. What kind of madness has come over me?! Now I can't even kick him out.

"You smoke weed?"

The naked negro stood in the middle of the room, the necessary item in an elevated state.

"I'll call the police," I said.

"Why police?" said the negro. "You want a gangbang?"

He hugged me around the waist and kissed me on the lips.

He fucked me on the table, then in bed, then under the table, then on the floor, then in the bath, then again in bed. When I was already mindless with lust, he tore my anus. In the morning, I looked at him and thought: "And I didn't even ask his name."

Me. The pics were cool. I looked at them all Saturday evening and all Sunday. The Snow Queen, writhing under a negro's cock, was impressive. I was ready to imagine her with anyone, but not with a stinking negro from the dorm. It's a nasty feeling, of course, to rejoice when a beautiful chick is in your clutches, but pleasant.

Tomorrow is Monday, tomorrow I have an English seminar second period, taught by the deeply respected Tatyana Vladimirovna Nikitina, also known as the Snow Queen. I seriously doubt she remembers my name. At best, my last name. I wonder what her first reaction will be? Be surprised, stunned, teach as if nothing happened?

I decided not to make a plan of action. The first reaction is important, then you can understand what you can get from her.

The first reaction turned out to be quite promising. The Snow Queen glanced sharply at me and just as sharply turned her head away. During the class, I felt her attentive gaze on me several times.

"She'll offer money," I thought. "Money is good, I won't refuse."

A feeling of power gradually filled me. Just think, only a couple of days ago I couldn't even dream of ever sleeping with this woman, and now, essentially, I have every opportunity to make her my slave. Immorality, of course, doesn't play a big role in our time, but still, photos posted online of a university lady fucking a negro, that's a blow to her reputation. And possibly not just to her reputation. After all, something brought Tatyana Vladimirovna to that room in the dorm, some secret or some deeply hidden vice. I felt like a tracker who could unravel this abyss hidden behind the dazzling appearance of a noble lady.

"Tolokonnikov!" the Snow Queen said when the bell rang for the break. "Viktor?!"

"Yes, Tatyana Vladimirovna," I rose from my seat.

"Stay behind," she informed me in a businesslike tone. "I need to talk to you."

Tanya. I knew it would end badly someday. That negro, in London, left in the morning, refusing the offered coffee.

"Lend me fifty pounds," he asked. "I'll pay you back in two days."

Of course, he never showed up again.

I returned to Moscow, graduated from university, was hired by the foreign languages department, I was going to get married, my fiancé Pavel was making a dizzying career at the Foreign Ministry, though only four years older than me. I was learning to drive on Moscow streets, my parents gave me a cozy Mazda as a graduation gift. I was driving down Maroseyka when I saw a carefree smiling negro with a sign: "HELP FOR CHRIST'S SAKE NOTHING TO EAT."

I burst out laughing and stopped the car.

"Can wash your car," the negro flung open the door and sat in the passenger seat. "Shampoo on you."

An absurd feeling of duality, exactly like then in London, seized me. It seemed like I was watching from the side this strange woman, so unlike my inner world, ready to unquestioningly carry out any order.

We stopped near a store, the negro took money from me and went to get drinks. Then we drove to some shack where he apparently lived, and drank champagne. Or rather, he drank, and I gave him a blowjob. Then two more appeared, just as black, and until late evening I bounced on their dicks.

Probably, it's a disease, just not clear which doctor to see. This passionate desire to be someone else's thing, meek and unquestioning, always appeared suddenly, without any connection to external circumstances and especially without any motive. Only one thing was common — this desire was provoked by black men.

I've been leading this double life for 18 years. I broke up with my fiancé Pavel under a plausible pretext, my parents weren't very pleased, but they respect their daughter's right to choose. I live alone, from time to time for decency's sake I start romances with pleasant associate professors from our university circle, but, by and large, all my days and nights are devoted to waiting for that moment when I'm told to take off my panties and get on all fours on a table.

So, what's the name of this bastard who photographed me in the dorm? I looked at the seminar attendance journal. Viktor. Nothing special himself, but the name is significant. What do you want, victor in grubby jeans?

Me. We need to talk, said the Snow Queen.

"Of course," I replied, carefully maintaining composure, though my heart was pounding wildly from the excitement of what was to come.

"Not here," added the queen. "Come to my place at nine in the evening." She handed me a slip of paper with the address.

The Snow Queen lived in Krylatskoye. I checked the map — a ten to fifteen minute walk from the metro. I went to the dorm — to wash up, dress up a bit. Bububu was walking down the corridor, as usual, chewing gum and grinning at the whole world.

"What did you come for?" he asked.

"To ask for salt," I said.

"Salt?" the negro laughed. "Well, you're a joker!"

So, what do we have, I thought, dousing myself with cold water in the shower. We have a university teacher Tatyana Vladimirovna, a smart and beautiful woman, whom some circumstances pushed into a dorm bed with a negro. For example, debt obligations. Then she could very well have complained to the person she owes money to, and in Krylatskoye, instead of beautiful sex, I might get beaten half to death.

Scary? I'm sorting through the stuff in my closet. Yeah, your wardrobe isn't rich for a social soirée.

Not scary, I thought. If she's in debt, she won't complain, knowing she'll be told: honey, that's your problem.

Power is a slippery slope, I'm walking from the metro towards the street indicated on the address slip. I have absolutely no idea what to do with this power that suddenly fell into my lap. Before university, in Orenburg, I had a girl, a bit dim compared to Moscow chicks. There was sex with her, ordinary, even rather boring. In Moscow, there were a few prostitutes, but also kind of on the run, one even told me, your time is up, hurry up, or you'll have to pay extra for an extra hour. By the way, this is the first time I'm spending the night at a Muscovite woman's place.

Tanya. I decided to dress like a whore from a brothel. White stockings, a transparent peignoir over my naked body, and shoes, no panties, no bra. The boy is very young, after all, about nineteen, undoubtedly he has no idea how to treat a woman.

Two things interest me. Will the obsession come over me, as it did with black men. And if it doesn't, can I awaken lust in myself, because I have no way out, I absolutely don't need those photos on the internet.

"Hi!" I opened the door. "Glad to see you!"

"Hello!" he greeted awkwardly. "Should I take off my shoes?"

"Take them off. Here are slippers."

"Shy," I thought. "Funny!"

He's sitting in an armchair in the living room, I'm standing in front of him. He's examining me carefully. Finally, I say: "Do you drink cognac?"

"I do," he says hoarsely.

I pour Hennessy into glasses: "Call me Tanya."

He blushes like a girl: "Okay."

"How do you prefer, kiss first, then a blowjob, or the other way around?"

"The other way around," he says, not too confidently.

I unzip his jeans and take out his cock. How funny, to control my own desire. After a while, he grabs my ears and comes violently in my mouth. I get to my feet: "To our friendship, my victor!"

Me. We're lying in bed and chatting. Tanya settled between my legs, from time to time she licks my cock.

"Fifty-four negroes over 18 years is impressive," I say. "They probably all merged into one big black mask for you."

"Don't remember the faces," Tanya laughs. "Just the dicks."

"You don't have a girlfriend, why?" she asks.

"You won't believe it," I say. "I'm shy."

"Why not, I believe it," says Tanya. "It's not such a bad quality. Someday someone will appreciate it. If you need it, of course."

"Don't know," I say. "Right now I need to fuck you in the ass."

"I don't mind," Tanya climbs onto my lap. "I like being bossed around."

Tanya. Viktor left for classes. I'm lying in the bath. Curious, this is the first fuck-buddy in 18 years whose name I know. Maybe I'm getting old?

I decided to play a risky game. I didn't ask him to destroy the photos, at night, while he was sleeping, I put five hundred dollars in the pocket of his jeans. I hope he understands I'm offering friendship.

Can't say I liked him very much in bed. He gets tired quickly for his age, perhaps. Something more important happened. From start to finish, I did everything myself — I awakened lust in myself, I behaved like the worst slut, I no longer saw from the side that cotton-stuffed doll that squeals with delight at the penetration of a black cock. Wholeness came instead of duality, and even if this wholeness lies outside accepted morality, I don't care. So, my essence is to be a depraved bitch. Now it's interesting to see if this exciting game will turn into life for the boy?

During my practices with negroes, I didn't often end up in gangbangs with other chicks, once, when three of them were fucking me on some dirty sofa in Belyayevo, a rather cute brunette crawled in on all fours, her name was Alice. We did a bit of lesbian stuff, I wasn't thrilled, for me there's nothing better than a hard male cock, but, saying goodbye, we exchanged phone numbers, after all, we're milk sisters now. Alice is about five years younger than me, as I guess, married and engages in these pranks for mercenary reasons.

I called her: "Long time no see. Want to have a cup of coffee?"

"Sure," said Alice. "I work near Taganka, come to the 'Shokolad