Return to Russia. Heady nineties

 

So, in the mid-90s, I packed my things and went home. No one in France really noticed my disappearance. I also said goodbye to this country easily and did not miss anyone.

But Russia was already different. You couldn't go back to your past.

During Perestroika and later, television and newspapers intensively “enlightened” people, launched the knowledge about homosexuality to the broad masses, to the mob, to the common people, and they launched it and continue to launch obsessively, intensely and aggressively. Now almost everyone knew everything about faggots almost from kindergarten - “orally”, “anally”, “active”, “passive” and so on. Once I was walking behind two boys about ten years old and overheard their conversation. In conversation, they figured out the difference between pedophiles and pederasts.

Everyone knows everything, including those who need not know it. Once in France, one of my friends said: "There is no mystery here." Well, now in Russia there is no mystery too.

I remember in the 90s I turned on the TV and heard this: “Now we will take a tour of the gay places in London.” They are drawn to this topic, terribly drawn! Although these same "faggots" - you will not find them however hard you tried. I often ask, where are your "faggots", about which you are so fucking crazy, where are they? In response, they mumbled something vague.

I am traveling in a compartment of a long-distance train with one unattractive man, we are traveling together. He tells me: “It’s good that you ended up in my compartment, otherwise it could have been someone like Boris Moiseev (famous pop star, gay), he would have pawed my legs” (oh yes, who would want to paw your legs!).

Another problem was the physical degeneration of people. If before walking down the street was a feast for the eyes, a pleasure from looking at dashing guys, strong, tall, broad-boned, with protruding buttocks, now, even with all sorts of pumping up, I see some kind of degenerates. Small, petite, non-sexy faces, thin fingers, flat asses, trousers hanging behind like a curtain. Men from the Caucasus also degenerated. For example, Dagestan has become populated by short men with average height of 1.60, most of them. Uzbeks used to be tall too, now I see only small ones. Bloody hell! I read on dating sites - there are thirty-year-old men weighing 55-58-60 kg!

However, these changes did not happen overnight. In the 1990s, there were still remnants of the past. Even then, there were attractive guys, normal men from the Caucasus, there was Yeltsin's freedom, a lot of eateries, beer pubs, wineries, where people easily entered into conversations and got to know each other. There were no cell phones that were constantly in hand. The ears were not plugged with headphones. (These mobile phones and headphones will return to you like a boomerang in the face!)

There were many Chechens. I once asked one of them - are you a Chechen or what? He smiled and immediately asked: “Listen, what do you want, mate? So tell me, don't be shy." We then had sex. I approached a tall Caucasian guy of a sporty type on the platform and asked something, he also smiled, and his dick got hard. How nice!

There were a lot of stalls, chaotic trade, cheap eateries open around the clock. At night you could go outside and see life.

Once I went to a stall and asked something from the Azerbaijani guy who worked there, like "where are you from." He immediately told me to wait five minutes for him to close the stall, and together we drove to my house. We fucked in different ways and a lot... 

Another time I saw in the evening, already in the dark, an Azerbaijani, a guy selling watermelons on the street. And I was drunk and even walked with a glass of wine. Immediately, somewhere in the dark, I took his dick in my mouth. But he protested - "you don't need to put it in your mouth, I want to fuck you in the ass." We went to an old car standing nearby, right at the crossroads, where there was a stream of people, the seats were laid out there, I lay down, and he fucked me in the ass. Moreover, some other merchants knew and saw what was happening there, in the car. No problem!

The last case of dating “in the old style” happened to me at the end of the 1990s. I couldn't sleep, and I was drunk. At about one in the morning I went to our metro station. Everything was already closed. There's a guy hanging around here who's stuck and can't get home. A Russian, also drunk. Good guy. Married. I invited him to my place, told him that at my house we can add booze. We came, drank, started talking about women. He told me that he likes to lick. Well, pussy, of course.

In short, I got doggy style on the couch, and he took care of my ass. He put his fingers in there, tried to put his fives in, then licked the ass, fucked, again stuck his fingers and palm, fucked, licked the ass, fucked, fucked to the point of insanity, licked the ass again, pulled out the sperm with his fingers and smeared it on my ass, licked, fucked, etc. Wow - he wanted to lick а pussy, but licked my ass!

Exhausted, we collapsed and fell asleep. In the morning, as expected, he had a hard-on, and he fucked me. The most intense situation was later, when I gave him tea in the kitchen. He looked at me with wide eyes, trying to understand what had happened and who I was. But he quickly packed up and left. I then wondered - how did this happen? After all, he is not at all gay!

In fact, the majority of straights, except for congenital cunt-addicts, maybe two-thirds of straights could well fuck with men alternatively, if it weren’t for the pressure of public opinion, if this topic wasn’t forced on male society and on society in general.

Then came the 2000s, a completely different era. You won’t meet guys like this one again by chance, men from the Caucasus were kicked out, their place was taken by small and completely sexless Uzbek guest workers, young people, as I already wrote, physically degenerated, besides, they became some kind of stupid and aggressive. Everything has moved to the Internet.

Yes, and I got old. But about very recent times - somehow later.

Discovering Turkey

 

In 1986, when I was already living in France, a friend of mine suggested that I go with him on a tourist trip to Turkey. I remember that at that time I had a Soviet “permanent residence” passport, and I had to apply for a visa for Turkey. Russians in those days did not travel to this country, as they travel en masse now. They were not seen or known there. So my visa application at the Turkish consulate in Paris was an event even for the consular staff. And in Turkey itself, it happened like this: I once stood at the entrance to our hotel, and suddenly I hear some people telling each other (I understood a little Turkish) that Russians were staying here, in this hotel. We were such a curiosity!

Turkish resort Kilyos:

 

Türkiye beckoned and attracted. It seemed that many sexual fantasies could come true there. And the main thing is that there are men and active men there. This has been confirmed. We bought a trip for one week to the Black Sea resort of Kilyos, 40 kilometers from Istanbul. So we had a rest on the beach and, in addition, we took walks in Istanbul twice.

Turkish soldiers:

At the Kilyos resort itself, we also made acquaintances. We were lying on the beach together, there were Turks or Turkish soldiers (there was a military unit nearby), and they would definitely pay attention, whistle, say something in their language. Sometimes they will sit down next to us, and we will begin to explain ourselves in different languages. Once we were lying like this, sunbathing, and two Turkish soldiers stuck to us. Just as if we were girls. And just like with girls they made a date for the evening. We had one room for two, so my friend went first with one of the soldiers. After a while, he came out ecstatic. With "mine" we had so far sat and waited on the bench, but now it was our turn. Everything was fine, my soldier fucked me, but after that he still began to beg for some kind of gift - "give me this, give me that." I didn't give him anything.

Istanbul. Taksim Square:

We went to get acquainted with Istanbul. During the day we went back and forth, did not know where to look for “adventures”. On one street, my friend popped into a store for some reason, and I remained waiting for him at the door. Suddenly I saw that a crowd of Turks gathered around me, mostly young people. They stood and looked at me. They looked at me lustfully. I was even embarrassed. A little later, we slowly walked along the main street past a cafe with tables outside. The waiter came out, a young guy, and stared at us. In one hand he held a tray with a teapot and cups. With the other hand, he began to wave to one of his own, so that they urgently came out to look at us. At the same time, his tray overturned and crashed to the floor. Then I thought - what was so special about us? Just blondes wearing jeans, that's all. And do other European men also catch the same stares on themselves and do Turks react to them in the same way?

But what about women? We asked some of our group. It was said that in the city the Turks silently followed them for miles, just walked behind them for several hours, without bothering them in any way and without making attempts to get to know them, they were simply happy at the sight of them. However, they also followed us more than once and walked for a long time. We felt the tail. We had to stop, go to the store, somehow get rid of them.

Next to a Turkish soldier:

 

Turkey was under martial law at the time. Many military men were seen in the city, they stood guard at all the monuments. You could come up and take a picture with such a soldier. When asked to take a picture together, the soldier gave a smile and, of course, allowed.

We rented a room in a hotel in Istanbul for one night (a seedy one, where you could bring anyone you like) and went to a gay nightclub. I vaguely remember what happened there. I only remember that four people accosted me at once. And they offered to go to fuck somewhere on the outskirts of the city. I then completely lacked the sense of self-preservation, and I went. We arrived at some wasteland, in the port area. Then I had to get out of the car so that they would fuck me in turn in this wasteland. And I balked, pretended that I changed my mind, because one of this company seemed to me completely unacceptable (fat, or what?). I could have said: "I want to fuck with these, but not with this." Well, I was a fool! I said that I would not get out of the car, I will not fuck at all. “Then where shall we take you?” they ask politely. "Back to the hotel." And they drove, and drove for almost an hour. They thanked, smiled and left at the door of the hotel. I still don't understand how it happened and how it ended so well. I could have tolerated the fat and "unacceptable" one, no big deal.

It was already three o'clock in the morning, the center of Istanbul, and I had not yet fucked with anyone. There were fewer and fewer people in the center. Suddenly, several guys literally run towards me from different directions at once. One ran up first, the other two muttered something like “oh, hell, I am too late! what a failure!" And the first one was, apparently, from somewhere in the provinces, a simple rural guy, in trousers and a white shirt. We immediately went to my hotel room (a dilapidated cheap hotel "Milan", three lira a night, but everything was possible there, you could bring anyone and do anything). Immediately we rushed into bed, and without any delay, he begins to fuck me. Fuck in the ass, no "mouth" there. It was good!

After that, the guy asked me if he could pick up empty beer bottles, put them in a bag and left. But - I really liked this picture, how three people ran across yhe street towards me ... And in general, the feeling that fucking with men is the norm of life.

(After a couple of months, the topic of AIDS will appear, it will reach the Turkish newspapers, which will spread throughout the country that this is a Western infection carried by Western gays.)

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.

 

Muhammad

Thirty years ago it was a bright summer night, a white night, I could not fall asleep, tossing and turning in bed, although before that I had already searched our entire suburb on a bicycle looking for a guy or man walking alone. It seemed to me that I didn’t finish my search, that maybe somewhere on the streets someone was still wandering around, not settled, having missed his train. And at one in the morning I got out of bed again, took my bicycle and went to the railway station. In those days, the station did not close at night, people were sitting and lying on benches in the waiting room. So I went in there and lit a cigarette, looking at those sitting and lying in the hall. I spotted two guys there - one tall, just about two meters tall, handsome Caucasian, the other small, unsightly. They also couldn't sleep on the hard bench, the tall one went out to smoke. It was then that I talked to him and got to know him. It was easy in those days.

They turned out to be Dagestanis, Avars. They came either to get a job here, or to go to college. The tall, handsome Avar was called Muhammad. He was then 23 years old. I immediately invited both of them to my place, told them that they could stay with me, live there. And so the three of us headed for my house. It was two o'clock in the morning, the sun was already rising, and when we got to the house, the sun was beating down so strongly. Muhammad in soldier's uniform:

 

At home, under some far-fetched pretext, I separated the little friend of Muhammad, who was of no interest for me, isolated him in another room, and lay down on the sofa with Muhammad. All this was in the order of things in those days, and only later Muhammad told me that at first he did not suspect anything about me.

We lay down together, but on the first night we did not fuck, but only rubbed hard and pressed against each other. He had a hard-on. Nevertheless, after such a mutual frottage, he guessed something. He guessed that I liked him and that I wanted something from him.

He fucked me the next day. He fucked me in the ass. And in broad daylight. I don't remember how it happened. I only remember that I was very worried and at the end of the fuck I farted a little. "What! Are you farting here!" he said to me, laughing.

Muhammad stuck with me for two years. True, at times he went to his place in Dagestan, then again unexpectedly returned. Then everything was without warning - suddenly the doorbell rang - Muhammad arrived again.

I must say that Muhammad was not a fan of fucking in the ass. And in general he was not a lover of assholes. He was attracted to women. But it also cannot be said that he dreamed of them strongly. True, he once brought one to a room on the first floor. He fucked her, and I, hanging my head from the second floor, peeped. A disgusting spectacle! She lay like a mattress, and he screwed her. But, apparently, he needed it for the sake of prestige. Once I asked him, why the hell does your dick get hard when I touch it, if, as you say, you are only interested in women. He said: it doesn’t matter who touches, my dick always gets hard when someone touches it.

Muhammad during a walk in Leningrad:

In general, compared with modern Dagestanis, he was just Socrates. Modern people are short, dumb, not interested in anything, their speech is extremely poor. But Muhammad was interested in everything, he talked about something endlessly, chattered, asked something, played with words, liked to joke, made fun of us. Sometimes the bell at the front door downstairs rang, and we would go up to the window overlooking the porch to see who was calling. He would hang on one arm holding on to to the banister somewhere on the porch so that he was not visible, and then he would call again. Like trying to frighten us...Our house. Entry and doorbell:

We didn't sleep together like husband and wife. So, for a while we met in bed. But there were nights when we slept together until morning. And in the morning, having the morning wood, he fucked me in the ass, after which I happily walked to work with an ass full of sperm. Nice feeling! Morning, the birds are chirping, and I'm going to work, and the sperm strives to escape from the ass, it must be kept there ... I come to work, I talk to someone about serious matters, and I have sperm in the ass! “You are talking to me about some important matters, but you can’t even imagine such a thing that I was fucked in the ass all night,” I thought. Sometimes he crawled up to me in the middle of the night - “My dick gets terribly hard, I could make a hole in the couch right now.”

Yes, we lived together for two years, you can say ... And we fucked. I had to learn how to cook dinner, I had to feed meat to him. And in those days it was not an easy task! Somehow I managed. After fucking, he was hungry, sometimes at one in the morning it was necessary to pour out a bowl of soup with meat or fry a steak for him. I had to buy a new TV so that there would be some kind of entertainment at home.

And how he perked up when guests came to me! There were different kinds of guests, including foreign ones. He really liked this company. And I really liked that everyone likes him. One faggot managed to get him photographed in various poses in the nude. These photographs of thirty years ago remained. He also fucked this photographer, it seems. And the photographer licked his hairy ass. One of the photos taken by the photographer:

 

Muhammad had a sense of curiosity. He probably felt that the faggots valued him more than the straight ones. Because one day I was told that he was seen walking in the center of the city in the main cruising area. He heard from conversations where "such" people gathered. Apparently, he wanted to see if it would work. Although he did not cease to assure me that he did not need “all this” ...

It seemed to me that I squeezed everything possible out of the situation of living together with a straight man from the Caucasus. There could be nothing more. He needed to build his life, and not hang out with me and my company.

And he left. I saw him off at the station. We said goodbye. Just before departure, he sat down in the carriage by the window and began making playful winks at me. But when the train started, he suddenly rushed to the vestibule in order to say something to me again, but did not have time, because the passage to the vestibule was clogged with people and their luggage. So he didn't say anything.

But he said it later in letters. He went to his brother in Kyrgyzstan, where he worked at the state farm. It must have been very dreary for him there, and our life in my house seemed to be a bright and happy period. There are five letters of passionate confessions of friendship left. Terrible regrets that we can’t meet, that he can’t come to me in any way.

He only wrote that he was married in Kyrgyzstan. But without much joy about it ... Everything showed that he was eager to come back to me. Because:

"My best friend, of course, is you."