The real story of relations with an American

The real story of relations with an American. In the 90s, like many girls who were disappointed in Russian men, I tried to marry a foreigner. Preferably for an American. My wish soon came true.


In the late 90s, I got a job at a company that assembled off-road jeeps. Things were going well: we actively cooperated with several foreign companies. There was only one woman in the team – me. I knew little about spare parts, but I spoke good English. Therefore, they took me to negotiations as an interpreter.

I was in my early 20s and still believed that I would marry solely for love. Therefore, she was in no hurry to “clamp” the first foreigner she met, among whom sometimes came across strange, even creepy shots. I was waiting for a man I could fall in love with – one that would give me goosebumps.

Soon I met such a person.

Almost office romance

His name was Don. Slightly over thirty, tall, lean brunette. He smiled sweetly and a little shyly. He seemed very modest, spoke quietly, kept himself reserved and polite.

I will say without undue modesty: I was a prominent girl – a typical Russian beauty with a long thick braid. Light flirting with foreigners was so familiar to me that it was perceived as part of the duties at work.

But Don was different. He did not allow himself anything superfluous – no empty smiles, no playful glances, no ambiguous jokes. Intuitively, I felt that he liked me, but it was annoying that he did not show any signs of attention. At first I thought that he was married, but no – Don was free. Then a friend scared me with speculation that “my” American might be gay … And then I seriously thought: I really liked Don, but I didn’t want to waste time on an unpromising guy. There was only one way out: to take matters into your own hands. I never took the initiative – there was no need for it. But in the case of Don, I had to reconsider my principles.

My initiative was taken adequately: soon Don invited me on a date. And not just anywhere, but to the hotel “Kazakhstan” – a 26-storey hotel, the hallmark of the city. It was in this hotel that foreigners have stayed since the 70s.

I already realized that he was not gay, and for some reason I felt scared: thanks to my mother’s upbringing, until the age of twenty-three I had not yet had a serious relationship.

I accepted Don’s invitation, but with one caveat: I will come to the date not alone, but with a friend. With this, I seemed to draw a line and made it clear that I was “not like that”. Don agreed.

I heard somewhere that if you decide to take a friend on a date, then one that is no more beautiful than you. But Julia, with whom we were then very close friends, was a real beauty. At first I realized it, but then I decided: let me find out at the same time how interesting I am to him.

Don lived on the 25th floor. When we went up in the elevator, I thought: well, everything, now it will be like in the movies. But the date went very nicely – it was almost friendly. There was no alcohol, and we drank tea with sweets. Don spoke some Russian, but I didn’t understand him well, so we spoke in English. And I translated for Yulia.


Don was a real gentleman. He paid attention to both of us, but I felt that Yulia, for all her beauty, did not particularly interest him.

By the end of the date, I realized that I had fallen in love. We continued to meet – already, of course, without Yulia. Soon we became close, and after that our relationship moved to a new level.


By that time, my mother was no longer alive, and I lived alone in a huge “three-ruble note” located in the elite district of Almaty. Don moved from the hotel to me.

When the euphoria from feelings began to slowly recede, I, to my horror, began to notice that I was not very comfortable being around him.

In everyday life, he was quite strange. What surprised me the most was that he threw a white shirt into the washing machine along with black socks. And then he sat down in front of the typewriter, and waited for her to wash.

When I, trying to speak as delicately as possible, made comments to him, he was embarrassed and said that he was used to living alone.

Don also had a real thing about hats and shoes. He himself was from California, lived in New York, and Alma-Ata frosts scared him a little.

At the flea market they bought him a hat and a warm coat. He wore things with pleasure, but dressed, about to go out into the street, very strange. First he put on a hat, and then he put on his shoes. His hat fell off his head when he bent down. He picked it up and put it on his head again, it fell again, he picked it up and put it on again and again.

I once bought chicken eggs in the store. I wanted to put them in the refrigerator, but Don saw that some of them were dirty, was horrified and took the package to the bathroom. Hearing the splash of water, I followed him, and saw that he was carefully washing each egg with soap. He was not so wrong, but then it seemed to me wildness.


But they were all flowers. It turned out that Don has a rather evil tongue. He could easily offend me: somehow, on a walk, I flared up and went ahead. He soon caught up with me and apologized. But a minute later he said that I was fat, and that he would marry me only when I lost weight.

It was a shame, but I really wanted to go to America. On the advice of Yulia, I bought Chinese diet pills, and in a month I lost more than 10 kilograms. Don kept his promise: as soon as I put the figure in order, he proposed to me.

Wedding and departure

We got married in Almaty. Signed, and went to celebrate the celebration in the mountains. Don was very nice and attentive. I felt like Cinderella, and I was sure that I had found my happiness.

Soon Don had to leave for the USA. He called every day, sent faxes. He said that he misses him very much, and I myself felt that I miss him very much. When we were far apart, our relationship improved. Don did not say offensive things, joked, showered me with compliments.

I was waiting for an invitation to apply for a visa. But problems arose with this: the company in which I worked suddenly broke up, and something incomprehensible was happening with Don’s work (he did not say what exactly). I got a job in the civil service.

Our “romance in letters” continued after the wedding. It was my only outlet at that difficult time.

Soon everything got better. Don sent an invitation, and I quickly got a visa to the United States. I cried at the airport: I was sure that I was leaving forever.

Don met me at the New York airport and we drove to his place. On the way, he said that he lost his job and sold his house in California. It made me tense, but he reassured me – he said that he had found another job. I found out much later that he got a job as a deratizer.

When the euphoria subsided after the meeting, everyday life began. We lived in a small apartment, which was very difficult for me to keep clean. Don was used to throwing things around, and I gradually got tired of cleaning up after him like a child. For some reason, his desire to create coziness annoyed me.

In general, on “his” territory, he behaved more impudently – he was constantly rude to me, rude. He was late at work without warning, but at the same time controlled my every step.

Soon he began to reproach me for spending a lot in the store. I have never been wasteful – the 90s taught me to save, but Don, like Plyushkin, grumbled over every “extra” cent.

I also wanted to get a job, but he forbade it. He also forbade going out without him. Soon I felt like a prisoner.

The denouement happened on the eve of Christmas. I was decorating the tree and Don didn’t like the way I did it. He flared up and began to show how his mother did it. The whole process was accompanied by insults addressed to me. I couldn’t help it and cried. Don responded by grabbing the Christmas tree and swinging it at me. I ran to another room, then packed my things, took my passport, and left.

I wandered around New York for a long time. Then I was lucky to meet good people, with Bill and Jane. They helped me get back home.

At home

Officially, Don and I were still married. He filed for divorce. According to their laws, the husband has the right to part of his wife’s property, so he hired a good lawyer and told me that he would come to Almaty to sue me for an apartment.

He really came. He met some girl, and in order not to pay for the hotel, he lived with her.

I remember the trial like a bad dream. The most terrible thing was to look into the eyes of a once close person who swore love to me, and now he was trying to take away the last thing I had – to leave me without anything in my own homeland.

Fortunately, the court ruled in my favor. Don promised to appeal the court’s decision, and soon returned to the United States. I was ready for telephone terrorism, but he did not call.


I never saw him again.

Life of Russian WOMEN in the USA – Marry an American? CONS of personal life in America / the truth about America

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