Farewell to Russia

People began to leave the USSR back in the mid-1970s, but that was mostly Jews, or, as they said then, “following the Jewish project.” Later, people in my circle began to prepare for departure. Since they were not Jewish, they entered into marriages with foreigners and thus left. At one time, I had such a chance. The decision was difficult to make, and accounts of life abroad were conflicting. I don't know if I would have left if it weren't for the persecution, albeit sluggish, by the KGB and the police a set on me by them. And if I knew that a couple of years after my departure from the USSR, Perestroika would begin and everything would change.

Different thoughts came to me. Having gone there, will I be there alone or will there be many different and interesting acquaintances? One Swiss friend, to whom I told about my plans, answered me this way: “People do not emigrate because of sex.” Looking back, I will say that he was right. And what did it matter to me that in the West there is freedom for my sexuality, there are gay bars, clubs and all that?

Before leaving, fate seemed to tease me. Quite easy meetings with straight people began to happen often, just on the street or somewhere else. I remember some occasional guy, not at all gay, whom I met in a shop when I was buying port wine and who wanted to come to my house. We drove for a long time, through the whole city ... We drank together at home, then went to bed. Fuck... In the morning he said to me: "uh, just don't tell anyone in particular what we were doing here."

Then there was a naval officer, whom I met late in the evening, when the transport was no longer running. I invited him to my place, and we walked for a long time to my house. At home, he asked - "do you want me to be with you?" In general, we drank and lay down together. We fucked.

And in the end, literally on the last night in my house, when it was already torn apart, everything was taken out, there was nothing left there except a bed and things scattered on the floor, I went out in the evening to take a walk to the lake, which was nearby, and right there met a Russian soldier who was hanging about. We immediately went to my place, began to drink. Then we went to bed, but his dick didn't get hard. He began to apologize and say that it was my fault, because I gave him too much wine to drink (“the second bottle was superfluous”), and therefore he did not need it. He said: "wait a little, now I'll sleep for an hour and the dick will get like wood, and I'll fuck you." And so it happened. And in the morning he fucked me again. And there was a feeling that this was almost the norm of life, because there was no embarrassment, no feeling of inconvenience, and this fucking between men in those days was not called in any way, it had no name. I won’t say that there was just such a paradise, but however, what I am writing about - it was.

And there was a premonition that all this would not happen in the West.

The train bound for the great western capital has started moving. With bated breath, I drove past my dear suburb, stood in the vestibule, smoked. I wanted to pull the stop, get out and run there, to my place, to the already half-broken house ... Then there was a stop in Pskov, and when I stood on the platform, a wild idea arose - to leave the train, leaving all the luggage in the carriage, to return back home.

And that night on the train I didn't seem to sleep at all. I smoked in the vestibule all the time.