Der Vorgang 17398
mariia_bs@excellentua.com
Mariia
Der erste Kontakt 17398
Anzahl der Mails: 8
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| Hello. I have long thought what to write to you and did not dare to do this. But I gathered with thoughts and you received this letter.
My name is Mariia or just Maruska. I am 34 years old. I live in Ukraine. I think you ve heard about my country in the news. I work in the field of beauty (manicure, visagiste) and help people look better. This is a very interesting, creative work and I always find myself in communication with different people. I will not talk much about work now, because we will always have time to talk about it later. In my free time, I like to do sports. I very rarely drink alcohol and do not smoke, but I normally communicate with people who smoke. I ve never been married and I don t have a children. I love sport and I lead a healthy, active lifestyle. I m not afraid of household chores. My house is always clean and smells delicious food. Because of my job, I don t have time to meet men on the street. To be honest I m even a little shy about it. This is why I decided to search for my man on the Internet. I have been to Europe several times and noticed that the attitude to women there is different. In other countries men love and respect their women. I won t say bad things about Ukrainian men, but in general, most of them don t appreciate what they have. I used to work hard and support myself. I don t need financial assistance or a sponsor. I need a serious man who is ready for a serious relationship. I, like any woman, have my dream! Dream of being happy. I need a simple man who will love me and on whom I can always rely in difficult times. All I need is someone who will love me and never betray me. I m not looking for a pen pal friend, and once again, I m only interested in a serious relationship. If you are free from relationships and ready for a serious relationship, then we have a lot in common. I think that in our time, distance is not a problem. We can always get on a plane and fly anywhere in the world. I ll send you some of my photos so you can see what I look like. I will be waiting for your photos too. I hope that I did not make a mistake when I wrote to you, and I will get your quick response. Your new friend Maruska. |
| Hello my new friend Hermann. When I saw your letter, I was very happy.
If you wrote to me, then we can continue our acquaintance. How are you? What is your mood? What are you doing now? I m all good. I am in a great mood, because I wrote to you and received your reciprocity. I m sorry if I kept you waiting for my answer. Recently, I have a lot of work and I try to take advantage of this opportunity. Especially in such conditions, when there is covid-19 in the world. I don’t really want to talk about this topic, but I hope that the coronavirus has not harmed your daily life as much as many other people? I really liked your photo, you are a very handsome man, I would like to receive more photos from you in the future. Of course, I will try to send more of my photos too. But I would like to know you better, tell me about yourself. Well, now, I would like to continue our acquaintance. I m sure it will be interesting for you to get to know me better and I hope that you, too, will reciprocate and tell me about yourself. As you already know, my full name is Mariia or simply Mari. I am 34 years old and I hope that age is not a problem for you? I have never been married as I am very serious about starting a family. That is why, at this age, I was unable to create my own happiness. I was born and live in Ukraine, the city of Dnipropetrovsk. Have you heard about this city? I have already said that I work in a beauty salon (stylist - manicure) and really love my job. My profession is helping people change for the better and I am happy that I can do this. Beauty requires sacrifice, but we try to just make women beautiful with our skills. I can talk about this in more detail, but I think we will talk about it later, of course, if you want. I m sure you re wondering why I m not looking for a man in Ukraine and why I decided to get to know you? I decided to take my friend s advice. She met a man from Australia online. They talked a lot, corresponded and after a while decided to meet. She fell in love with him, but was very skeptical. She flew to him in Australia and after two months, they returned home together. She introduced him to his parents and he personally handed them an invitation to the wedding. She also introduced me to Bred. In him I saw a completely different person and a different mentality. Both in dealing with people and in relation to people. I liked it and I realized that I want to meet a foreigner. With a man from another country with whom I can connect my life. You are very different from Ukrainian men, and I have not seen potential partners in them for a long time. I want to meet a person from another country and since we decided to continue our acquaintance, the best way to do it right now. Nowadays, we rarely meet people who want to meet on the street or in a cafe. Increasingly, people use the Internet for this. I also decided to try and I was lucky. I met with you and I want to continue to get to know each other better. I am an educated girl, I have a higher education. It is this education that gives me the ability to speak 2 foreign languages ​​- English and German. But to be honest, I don t know German as well as English. I will talk about this later and in more detail, of course, if you are interested. And also, I heard that there are many scammers on the Internet, but I don t know what to say about them, because I m not interested in them at all and I don t know anything about them. I think that this will not affect you and me, and we can start our communication with trust. It is very important for me! Hope you agree with me too. I don’t want to bore you with my big letter, and it’s probably time for me to finish it. But I would like to leave a positive mood in our communication. If you have any questions, you can always ask me them, I will be happy to answer you in the next letter. I would be glad if you tell as much as possible about yourself and your life. Don t forget to send me as many photos as possible. I hope that we can continue our communication and you will like it as much as I do. Your new friend Mariia. |
| Hello my friend Hermann! Sorry if I m not answering you as quickly as
I wanted, but don t get me wrong, I can sometimes stay late at work, I hope it s not so scary? =) How are you? I hope nothing bothers you now! Please tell me as much as possible about what is happening in your life, it will be very interesting for me how your days go and what you do, what is around you. You really arouse my great interest and I read your letters with great pleasure! I am still glad that you answered my letter, I was really afraid that you would simply ignore me and I would never wait for an answer from you. But how good it was that everything happened the other way around, right? =) Unfortunately, due to the time difference between our countries and my work, where I spend most of my time, our communication is not what we would like. I perfectly understand that you would like to receive messages from me more often, I also want it madly! Don t get me wrong, I really try to respond as quickly as possible. I would like to tell a little more about myself. I graduated from the pedagogical institute and received the profession of a teacher of foreign languages, in particular English. I speak this language very well and can communicate fluently in it as well as in Ukrainian. Tell me about your education, what did you study at the institute? Now, unfortunately, young people in my country believe that they do not need education at all and do not at all strive for any knowledge. Do you think they speak correctly or not? I would be interested to know your opinion on this matter. I was born in the city of Dnipropetrovsk, in this city my parents were also born and I lived there all my childhood. Some time after my birth, my parents divorced. After that, we can say that only my grandmother raised me, because my parents were constantly traveling for work. My father worked as a truck driver and my mother worked as a nurse in the hospital. These are very difficult professions that make you completely immerse yourself in them. When I was 7 years old, my grandmother took me to her. As for my parents. Unfortunately, they are no longer alive. This is a sad topic for me, but if you want to talk about it, I will tell you. I think that now the moment has finally come when I want to change my life once and for all, namely, to find my love! In recent years, I have been a lot disappointed in men and for this I was alone for a long time. Still, I am one of the simple girls who do not pursue wealth. I have been living alone for a long time and earn money myself. In simple words, I know what life is worth. I really do not like people who use other people, deceive and betray them. Since childhood, I have loved to play sports and watch my figure. At school, I attended various sports sections. She was engaged in artistic gymnastics and athletics. Now I work in one of the beauty salons in our city (I work as a manicure master) Of course it takes a lot of time and labor. But I love my job. And what are you doing? (tell me more) I think a person should do what he likes. Do you agree? Perhaps you have some hobbies and I would be interested to know about them! I like to give people a good mood. If everything is good at work, sometimes I allow myself to go shopping. I love to go shopping, this is my weakness, probably like any woman. I often like to visit the cinema, go to theaters. In general, I do not mind and always in favor of entertaining myself in search of new emotions! Maybe this was the reason why I decided to write to you? They say that changes are for the better. After all, no one knows how everything will develop? I am very glad to be your friend and will try to become something more. I hope you don’t get bored with my questions? I will finish writing this letter and wish you a good day! Don t forget to reciprocate! If possible, send a photo! I am glad that we are in touch now, your friend Mariia =) |
| Hello my dear! How are you? I feel good, but I still worry about our
communication. I hope I don t get you, I just want to communicate with you. I ll wait for an answer. Your Mariia. |
| Hello my dear Mariia, it was late morning, and I was putting up a fresh pot of coffee when I heard the first meow. It sounded awfully close, as if from inside the apartment instead of the backyard one story down. Then I heard it again, and there was no doubt.
WTF?!! I texted my roommate. You got a cat?! I’d made it clear when she moved in: no pets. “But I want a kitty so bad,� she said a couple weeks later. I suffer from allergies � through spring and summer I have a persistent itch in my nostrils, and the lightest bit of pollen or dander or even a freshly mowed lawn sets off sneezing spells that leave my entire body sore. I was also concerned about the smell. And besides, the landlord forbade pets. It’s a friend’s, Jenny texted back. I’m only taking care of it for a few months. Don’t give me that bullshit, I keyed my reply, then backspaced over it, reconsidering. I have a tendency to overreact, to exacerbate conflict. Instead I went for calm and firm, and maybe slightly paternal. We need to talk. Later that afternoon, in the kitchen between our bedrooms, we talked, leaning on opposite counters. Jenny (not her real name) kept her eyes downcast, and when I told her she was being inconsiderate and disrespectful and this was not the way grown-ups behaved, she said, “I know. I’m sorry.� I’d expected an argument, but her posture was one of submission, as if I was her dad, or a schoolteacher. But I wasn’t her dad, and she was an adult woman, even if I was twice her age. I was left somewhat unsettled. In the end, I told her she could keep the cat, but she better take care of it properly. “Thanks for not being hard on me,� she said, before disappearing back into her room. “I thought you were going to kick me out or something.� That conversation was the longest we’d ever had. We were unlikely roommates, a Craigslist arrangement: I, a near-middle-aged man, several years divorced, with adolescent children of my own. She, a twenty-year-old recent college grad. We were living in Gravesend, an unremarkable neighborhood in a remote part of Brooklyn, where restaurants, bars and coffee shops are scarce, and when the friend I’d been living with moved out, finding a new roommate wasn’t easy. At first, I had a parade of eccentrics, men who seemed to have something to hide, smelling of whiskey, with slurred speech, crooked teeth, telling me about jobs as investment bankers or corporate accountants, claims I found dubious. One man, a flashy young Georgian, took one look at the room and grew alarmingly aggressive as he tried to force his cash deposit into my hand, even after I explained that I wasn’t ready to make a decision just yet. He left just as I was about to call the cops. So when Jenny showed up, I was inclined to like her. She looked like a typical post-college young woman: hair dyed reddish-blond, large earmuff headphones over her ears. She walked with a kind of childish languor, as if it hadn’t fully settled in that she was an adult. Her speech tended to the monosyllabic. I showed her the room. “Sweet,� she said. I showed her the bathroom. “Sweet.� Then she asked what she needed for moving in, and I told her: proof of employment, credit report, rent plus security deposit. “Sweet,� she said. I assumed this meant she had all those things, and at first, it appeared that she did. She told me she worked two jobs, as a clerk in a stationary store in Midtown Manhattan and as an art-school model. Several days later, she brought documents attesting to her claims, and it all seemed to check out. She moved in a couple weeks later, with the help of her dad, whom I found affable in a way that put me further at ease. Some time after she moved in, I met her boyfriend, who seemed about my age. “He’s an artist,� she told me afterward, unsolicited, as if that explained something. I did have some mild concerns. I wondered why she would choose to live here � a part of town where she had no friends or family � and with me, a man twice her age. But I needed a roommate, and for the most part, she matched my criteria: stable enough to pay rent, normal enough not to stab me with a kitchen knife or steal my meager possessions. She wanted to be a writer and filmmaker, she said, and was hoping to get into NYU’s film school for graduate studies. There was something familiar about her, almost bland, like an unremarkable extra who might appear repeatedly in so many movies, which meant she was safe and normal and predictable � exactly what I needed if I was to share my home with a stranger. It was soon after the cat incident that I began to notice she was home more. In fact, she rarely seemed to leave her room. On days I worked from home, I’d hear her throughout the day, in short bursts of action � the turning of the microwave at ten, the fridge opening and closing at eleven, the doorbell with her lunch order at noon. It didn’t bother me; I barely caught glimpses of her. If she’d lost her jobs, it didn’t show so far: She was always on time with rent, and she appeared to have enough money to buy groceries and order in meals. But I wondered, if she wasn’t going to work, how was she supporting herself? One afternoon, a couple weeks after Jenny took in the cat, I heard her voice and then a male voice I did not recognize. It was definitely not her boyfriend, whose voice was high-pitched; this one was deep, almost gruff. I was in my room, working, and I heard someone enter the bathroom, and then the toilet flush, and so I opened my door a crack for a glance. In the hallway, emerging from the bathroom, was a short, squat man, gray-haired with a bald temple. The man disappeared into Jenny’s room across the hall, and I felt a rush in my brain and gave an involuntary gasp. There weren’t too many scenarios for why a young woman would be entertaining a vaguely Soviet-looking gentleman who looked to be about her father’s age. I felt a kind of indescribable rage, almost like a personal affront. How dare she � in my home?! An hour later, I watched her escort the man to the door. She was wearing blue suede pumps and a very short, ivory-colored dress, somewhat crumpled, as if she’d just removed it from under a pile of laundry. She appeared to be going for a sultry, long-legged look, but she looked instead like a little girl wearing her mother’s discarded clothes. I felt instantly sad for her, and part of me wondered if I shouldn’t offer to help her somehow. Another part of me was so angry I wanted to evict her immediately. The rest of the day, I wrestled with my thoughts, my mind feverish with indecision: Should I say something? Should I tell her boyfriend? Should I call her dad? Was it any of my business anyway? I decided to wait, see if it happened again, and just a few days later, it did. This time, it was a tall black man wearing an ill-fitting suit and tie, like thrift-shop formalwear. He, too, emerged from the bathroom and disappeared into her room, and after an hour or so she escorted him to the door, again in the blue pumps and rumpled ivory dress. I took to Google: What to do if my roommate is a prostitute? More than what to do, I was seeking clarity on why it bothered me. Who was I to judge if Jenny chose an unorthodox profession? Why would I care if she used her room to ply her trade? Still, I couldn’t stomach the thought, and the Internet validated my discomfort. On Yahoo Answers and in Google Groups and various other forums people wrote about similar experiences, and the consensus was: Don’t let your roommate turn tricks within your home. It’s dangerous, it’s illegal, and it can bring nothing but trouble. I wondered about the practical aspects of her work: Does she have a Backpage ad? Did she use Craigslist? Could I find her on The Erotic Review? I imagined the conversation we’d have. “This isn’t a brothel!� I wanted to yell at her. “Where do you even find these guys?� Then I reconsidered, thinking I might speak to her in a more caring way. Sit her down for a talk. Maybe get some women’s organization involved. Point her in the right direction. Rescue her. Hermann |
| Hello my dear! How are you? I feel good, but I still worry about our
communication. I hope I don t get you, I just want to communicate with you. I ll wait for an answer. Your Mariia. |
| Hello my sweet dear Mariia, it was late morning, and I was putting up a fresh pot of coffee when I heard the first meow. It sounded awfully close, as if from inside the apartment instead of the backyard one story down. Then I heard it again, and there was no doubt.
WTF?!! I texted my roommate. You got a cat?! I’d made it clear when she moved in: no pets. “But I want a kitty so bad,� she said a couple weeks later. I suffer from allergies � through spring and summer I have a persistent itch in my nostrils, and the lightest bit of pollen or dander or even a freshly mowed lawn sets off sneezing spells that leave my entire body sore. I was also concerned about the smell. And besides, the landlord forbade pets. It’s a friend’s, Jenny texted back. I’m only taking care of it for a few months. Don’t give me that bullshit, I keyed my reply, then backspaced over it, reconsidering. I have a tendency to overreact, to exacerbate conflict. Instead I went for calm and firm, and maybe slightly paternal. We need to talk. Later that afternoon, in the kitchen between our bedrooms, we talked, leaning on opposite counters. Jenny (not her real name) kept her eyes downcast, and when I told her she was being inconsiderate and disrespectful and this was not the way grown-ups behaved, she said, “I know. I’m sorry.� I’d expected an argument, but her posture was one of submission, as if I was her dad, or a schoolteacher. But I wasn’t her dad, and she was an adult woman, even if I was twice her age. I was left somewhat unsettled. In the end, I told her she could keep the cat, but she better take care of it properly. “Thanks for not being hard on me,� she said, before disappearing back into her room. “I thought you were going to kick me out or something.� That conversation was the longest we’d ever had. We were unlikely roommates, a Craigslist arrangement: I, a near-middle-aged man, several years divorced, with adolescent children of my own. She, a twenty-year-old recent college grad. We were living in Gravesend, an unremarkable neighborhood in a remote part of Brooklyn, where restaurants, bars and coffee shops are scarce, and when the friend I’d been living with moved out, finding a new roommate wasn’t easy. At first, I had a parade of eccentrics, men who seemed to have something to hide, smelling of whiskey, with slurred speech, crooked teeth, telling me about jobs as investment bankers or corporate accountants, claims I found dubious. One man, a flashy young Georgian, took one look at the room and grew alarmingly aggressive as he tried to force his cash deposit into my hand, even after I explained that I wasn’t ready to make a decision just yet. He left just as I was about to call the cops. So when Jenny showed up, I was inclined to like her. She looked like a typical post-college young woman: hair dyed reddish-blond, large earmuff headphones over her ears. She walked with a kind of childish languor, as if it hadn’t fully settled in that she was an adult. Her speech tended to the monosyllabic. I showed her the room. “Sweet,� she said. I showed her the bathroom. “Sweet.� Then she asked what she needed for moving in, and I told her: proof of employment, credit report, rent plus security deposit. “Sweet,� she said. I assumed this meant she had all those things, and at first, it appeared that she did. She told me she worked two jobs, as a clerk in a stationary store in Midtown Manhattan and as an art-school model. Several days later, she brought documents attesting to her claims, and it all seemed to check out. She moved in a couple weeks later, with the help of her dad, whom I found affable in a way that put me further at ease. Some time after she moved in, I met her boyfriend, who seemed about my age. “He’s an artist,� she told me afterward, unsolicited, as if that explained something. I did have some mild concerns. I wondered why she would choose to live here � a part of town where she had no friends or family � and with me, a man twice her age. But I needed a roommate, and for the most part, she matched my criteria: stable enough to pay rent, normal enough not to stab me with a kitchen knife or steal my meager possessions. She wanted to be a writer and filmmaker, she said, and was hoping to get into NYU’s film school for graduate studies. There was something familiar about her, almost bland, like an unremarkable extra who might appear repeatedly in so many movies, which meant she was safe and normal and predictable � exactly what I needed if I was to share my home with a stranger. It was soon after the cat incident that I began to notice she was home more. In fact, she rarely seemed to leave her room. On days I worked from home, I’d hear her throughout the day, in short bursts of action � the turning of the microwave at ten, the fridge opening and closing at eleven, the doorbell with her lunch order at noon. It didn’t bother me; I barely caught glimpses of her. If she’d lost her jobs, it didn’t show so far: She was always on time with rent, and she appeared to have enough money to buy groceries and order in meals. But I wondered, if she wasn’t going to work, how was she supporting herself? One afternoon, a couple weeks after Jenny took in the cat, I heard her voice and then a male voice I did not recognize. It was definitely not her boyfriend, whose voice was high-pitched; this one was deep, almost gruff. I was in my room, working, and I heard someone enter the bathroom, and then the toilet flush, and so I opened my door a crack for a glance. In the hallway, emerging from the bathroom, was a short, squat man, gray-haired with a bald temple. The man disappeared into Jenny’s room across the hall, and I felt a rush in my brain and gave an involuntary gasp. There weren’t too many scenarios for why a young woman would be entertaining a vaguely Soviet-looking gentleman who looked to be about her father’s age. I felt a kind of indescribable rage, almost like a personal affront. How dare she � in my home?! An hour later, I watched her escort the man to the door. She was wearing blue suede pumps and a very short, ivory-colored dress, somewhat crumpled, as if she’d just removed it from under a pile of laundry. She appeared to be going for a sultry, long-legged look, but she looked instead like a little girl wearing her mother’s discarded clothes. I felt instantly sad for her, and part of me wondered if I shouldn’t offer to help her somehow. Another part of me was so angry I wanted to evict her immediately. The rest of the day, I wrestled with my thoughts, my mind feverish with indecision: Should I say something? Should I tell her boyfriend? Should I call her dad? Was it any of my business anyway? I decided to wait, see if it happened again, and just a few days later, it did. This time, it was a tall black man wearing an ill-fitting suit and tie, like thrift-shop formalwear. He, too, emerged from the bathroom and disappeared into her room, and after an hour or so she escorted him to the door, again in the blue pumps and rumpled ivory dress. I took to Google: What to do if my roommate is a prostitute? More than what to do, I was seeking clarity on why it bothered me. Who was I to judge if Jenny chose an unorthodox profession? Why would I care if she used her room to ply her trade? Still, I couldn’t stomach the thought, and the Internet validated my discomfort. On Yahoo Answers and in Google Groups and various other forums people wrote about similar experiences, and the consensus was: Don’t let your roommate turn tricks within your home. It’s dangerous, it’s illegal, and it can bring nothing but trouble. I wondered about the practical aspects of her work: Does she have a Backpage ad? Did she use Craigslist? Could I find her on The Erotic Review? I imagined the conversation we’d have. “This isn’t a brothel!� I wanted to yell at her. “Where do you even find these guys?� Then I reconsidered, thinking I might speak to her in a more caring way. Sit her down for a talk. Maybe get some women’s organization involved. Point her in the right direction. Rescue her. Reiner |
| Hello my dear! How are you? I feel good, but I still worry about our
communication. I hope I don t get you, I just want to communicate with you. I ll wait for an answer. Your Mariia. |