Long did not dare to write a story. But once again, having seen on TV this respectable lady who does not want to grow old, who now occupies a transcendental position, still could not resist the temptation to plunge into the memories of days gone by. Of course, I will not reveal the name of this woman under any of the worst torture.
So, the heyday of soviet stagnation. I just finished the first course of the institute. And one must happen, immediately after the session fell ill. And when I got accustomed, all my fellow students had long since left for all sorts of practices and construction teams. And now, having passed the sick-list to the dean's office, I walk around the empty corridors of my alma mater.
Already heading for the exit, suddenly I stumble upon a secretary of the Komsomol committee of the institute.
“I need you,” he grabs me by the sleeve and begins to find out who I am and what I am. I know who he is. And how could he know the average junior student.
“You go to the conference,” he says. And none of my excuses are not taken into account.
- devour for free. There will be a free buffet, - he finishes me with the last and most weighty argument.
And now the starving crowd of the same whorls, like me, in the huge hall of the palace of sports, in anticipation of a freebie gnome, scream hysterically in hundreds a sip:
- Lenin! The consignment! Komsomol!
Then, one after another, the most boring speeches from the tribune of veterans breathing incense follow. On the next seat, a girl so frantically clapping her hands frantically paws. Although, according to my then-notions, what kind of girl is there? She is seven years older than me. It turns out this is quite simple. Each one has a red cardboard box on its chest, where the “Mandate of the conference participant” is written in gold letters. And under these letters the surname is the name of the patronymic, the year of birth and the name of the primary organization, thanks to which everyone got on this Sabbath.
In the first break, squeezing to the free-style buffet, we not only met, switched to you, but I, like a humble servant, dragged her bag and all sorts of other clothes that for some reason she did not want to pass to the wardrobe. Well, of course, after the end of this most important event, I was condescendingly allowed to bring everything that I had been carrying all day to her home. Then it was called carry girl.
In the meantime, this most accompanying thing was happening, it gradually became clear that my new acquaintance was a former nurse who had recently graduated from the Higher Party School and just a couple of days ago was appointed an instructor of the Komsomol district committee.
The once luxurious mansion on the Moika embankment was still pre-revolutionary. Entering the main entrance, we long climb the stairs with shabby walls.
“Hush, sir,” she presses her finger to her lips.
- To, like a mouse. The neighbors do nothing but listen and listen, in a whisper, fiddling with the key for a long time, opening the front door of a communal apartment. Then, in small steps, he leads me by the hand along a long corridor with two rows of doors, constantly showing gestures that I do everything as quietly as possible. In St. Petersburg there are white nights, so there was no need to turn on the light. Passing by the common kitchen, we find ourselves in her room.
Neat little room, only very tiny. A writing desk with a chair by the window, a small wardrobe and a half-bed. There is nothing more to fit there.
Razuvayas, I inadvertently drop a shoe.
- Quiet! What are you like an elephant? There are ears everywhere! - dismantling the bed, it hisses at me ...
All day, carrying clothes for her, I wanted it, did everything for it, hoped and was afraid to believe that it would be so. Frankly, I had to work hard. And so, closing her eyes, she was lying on her back. It's amazing how she anxiously embarrassed. The crimson cheeks glowed in sharp contrast to the dazzling white body. Quite heavy breasts, slightly rolling to the sides, shuddered slightly from intermittent breathing.
I kissed her crimson cheeks, barely touching her lips, caressed her neck.Covering his palms, squeezing his chest, enjoying their natural elasticity. Gently stroking his stomach, lowering his hand lower and lower, until his fingers buried in the silky pubic fluff. Reaching the sex lips, cautious touch opened them up, admiring the delicate pink color of her inviting flesh.
She never even moved, only her breathing grew deeper and deeper by the minute. My member has long been ready to burst from overstrain and impatience. Linger was no longer strength. Pushing her legs with my knee, I, breathing a little, sank down on her, feeling how I was beginning to enter her body. She somehow got close, tense all. Frozen from sweet exhaustion, I pressed a member right into her.
Helplessly choking, she suddenly rushed under me with her whole body. I had a lot of work to keep her. And suddenly, she screamed. But I could not stop. Ignoring her screams and attempts to break free, I moved and moved. And she responded to my every move loudly:
- A-A-A !!!
And screamed at the top of her lungs. Shouted somehow plaintively, helplessly, with wide eyes, painfully clutching my nails in my shoulders. And the look was some kind of frightening, insane, not seeing anything.
She jerked even more, sharply spread her legs wider, lifted, wrapped them around my lower back, and tightly pressed me to her. I tried to free myself, but nothing happened. Shuddering as if in convulsions, she finally stopped yelling, stopped for a moment and, relaxing, let me go, dropping her legs exhaustedly. As soon as I moved, she just threw me off.
Then she lay motionless again with her eyes closed. And I sat there, unable to realize what it was now. But it did not last long. She opened her eyes, stood up and sat down beside her.
- You did not have time? - took in my hand is still a tense penis.
- Oh! - I cried out in surprise.
- Quiet! - She made a terrible grimace, leaned over and took it in her mouth.
The sexual revolution in our country did not yet take place, and the mores were strict. At eighteen, I was no longer a virgin. But this happened to me for the first time. But for a woman in those days, blowjob was considered the height of the fall. Yes, and the vast majority simply did not know what it is and how to do it. Not using her tongue, not swallowing deeply, she simply clasped her head with her lips and sucked it like popsicle.
- Deeper! - I asked and tried to press her hand on the back of her head.
- Hush, you! They can hear! - she threw back her head. Then she leaned over and continued.
Madhouse of some kind. A couple of minutes ago, I screamed at it, now again the silence mode. Indeed, a madhouse. A woman sucks my dick, and instead of completely relaxing and having fun, I'm trying to understand why you can't make noise,
Still, her mouth was stronger than my thoughts. I was shaking in orgasm. She put her hand on my stomach, so that I didn’t particularly twitch, diligently drank everything to the last drop. Then she straightened and carefully checked to see if there was anything on the sheet.
Got what I wanted and okay. It went, of course, but it is. After what happened, some kind of emptiness arose between us, if not alienation. Under various pretexts, I began to prepare the ground to slip away. She did not particularly mind. I quickly got dressed. She got into her feet in soft slippers and put on a robe over her shoulders.
A minute later, we again sneaked down a long corridor. Again she hissed, pressing her finger to her lips. In fact, it already seemed to me that a treacherous neighbor was hiding behind each door, peering through a keyhole or pressing his ear to the door.
To understand what was happening was impossible. And then it just dawned. She is not in the house that the neighbors hear everything, they know and understand everything. Her brain is completely shut off at this moment. She just flies away. Flies so far that he does not hear or see anything, and most importantly, when he returns, he does not remember. She is sincerely convinced that everything was quiet, without any extra mouse squeak.
My head was spinning when I realized all this. I looked at the woman in front of me with very different eyes. Yes, and she actually was even nothing.I again terribly, unbearably wanted her.
The corridor is over. She opened the front door to let me out. And then something creaked at the other end of the corridor. She turned sharply in that direction, turned her back on me, and froze in fright. In this case, so appetizing otdyryla his ass that I drool flowed.
I don't know what came over me. It was an explosion of uncontrollable desire. I pushed her in the back, forcing her to bend over, and pulled up her robe above the belt.
- Crazy? Not here! - She barely managed to lean on the wall with her hands. In an instant I lowered the pants down to my knees and, feeling for the still wet entrance, entered it with a sharp push. She convulsively arched her back, sticking out her ass even more, wanted to say something, but instead ...
- A-uh-uh !!! - It went all over the corridor. Letters are very difficult to describe the sound that she made with her low female baritone all over her throat. She did not scream. She stretched out her neck, howling into the emptiness of the corridor. And I wanted her to cry even louder. Fully surrendering to my desires, I was still somewhere in the corner of consciousness that some door might open, and a curious neighbor would appear in this long corridor. And all the doors can open at once. But her neighbors were obviously very tactful people. Of course they heard and understood everything. But so no door opened. At some point I felt ridiculous when I imagined how she would greet them in the morning, catching herself with sly looks, without understanding the reason at all.
I was so broke up that, swinging, with all the dope, slapped a hand over her bare ass. The slap came out so ringing that it echoed back from the other end of the corridor. She did not even respond. She was now somewhere far away. And maybe somewhere deep in yourself. Running my hands under the robe, I caught her dangling breasts, and with a force began to pull them on myself, trying to put her even deeper into my penis. She howled louder.
I didn’t expect from myself that I could end so violently, and most importantly, for so long. She wriggled like a snake, continuing to howl at the top of her throat.
When I left her, she exhaustedly slid down the wall to the floor, nuzzling her nose. I pulled on my pants and, until she recovered, I jumped onto the landing, slamming the door behind me.
Years have passed. What years are there? Decades. My head is already gray. When I watch on TV how this very solid lady is now speaking, I can not tear myself away. I look into her face with some kind of maniacal attention, trying to catch the expression of my eyes. I can miss any of the most interesting film or program, but when they show it, I will never leave the screen. To my satisfaction, they show it often.
Of course, I have for her a long-forgotten episode from the Komsomol youth, having accidentally met that, she would never have known. But I would not like to finish the story. I am not so naive as to believe that I was the only one whom she invited to herself. Moreover, I admire the inhabitants of this communal apartment. The times were what they were. After all, there could be a mean little soul among the neighbors. One denunciation could completely break the girl's career. But since she was able to take her place on the transcendental Olympus, it means that this did not happen.
That's what Leningrad means! People treated each other with understanding!
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Yes, still good. And Peter
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“The time of the development of Soviet social life”. A person who did not live in the USSR immediately wrote.
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And why is she shown on TV? Is this Matvienko?
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Cho, plyat, smarter than everyone, do you have to shout to the whole market? After all, the author said that no names.
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OK, Sergey. Simple and sincere, as in life.
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Zhenya fucking, yes aftar spetsnak led the reader, Schaub surnamed the last name. Terra Incognita here and in the affairs :) And you cho her in those days not vidad? Vigilant, not stupid, a woman already then walking over the corpses. And it gave only for promotion, as senior literary comrades instructively told me) well, but the author might have turned the tales into art, just as she brutally drank did not advertise.
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Maybe you're right, the other name on the mind does not even ask. But he added or not - here I am not sure.
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Read disgusting. I am always shocked by the admiring lisp about time, about which they have no real idea. I don't give a damn, this is a sketch about a real person or made up from beginning to end. I have never lived in Leningrad, however, I have been there a couple of times. Who wants to know the truth about that time, thank God, everything is on the Internet. But the fact that neither the author nor the commentators did not have time just to get acquainted with the realities of those days, obviously. However, I am not surprised. If on Russian television idealize this abomination, then inevitably there are so-called literary works written to match. The site of erotic stories is not a place for polit. educational program. I could write a lot of things, but why throw beads in front of pigs. Learn mat part.
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I was born in Leningrad in 1956. And I lived in this city all my life. I know the times from and to. I also know that any provincial who once visited St. Petersburg already considered himself a Leningrad citizen. I will say more. Life in Leningrad has always been very different from life in the rest of the country. Even a Muscovite, let alone from the periphery, could never understand Leningraders.
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I was born in 1958 and grew up in Baku. He left the territory of the USSR in 1991. So I know about the cesspit under the cliques of the USSR, which gave oak, too well. That is why he was treated with pity and disgust for nostalgic for this abomination. And the last. It is the lovers of the stinking scoop who most of all are looking for fascism in the Baltic States, Bendera in Ukraine, enemies in Georgia and further down the list. Do you know why? They live in the past, which was not, no, and not necessary. In short, love for the scoop and, as a result, modern Russian patriotism, spiritual braces, the desire to reassemble the land, even under a different name, is not ideology, but psychiatry. There is, you know, such a term in psychiatry as delusional reality, that is, when a person creates for himself a world similar to ours, but with a slightly different reality. He, as it were, closes himself in this parallel world, and the further he does not want to get off the tree, the more he moves away from the realities of our being. I understand that when a person writes so-called porn stories, he tries to realize fantasies on paper that cannot take place in real life, that is, create a kind of delusional reality. So there is a fool about incest, BSDM. In principle, it is harmless, because in reality he will not go to fuck his mother or choke and cut into pieces to satisfy his sexuality. But when he writes about a beautiful scoop, everything is much more complicated, because by virtue of the fact that de-Sovietization was not carried out, as in the Baltics, from nostalgic moods, love for cannibals Stalin, Peter I and Ivan the Terrible, psychological discomfort from the end of the faceless and horrible, but in FIG nobody needs, grows the thirst of revenge, that is, the very teeth of the dragon from all the famous tale of Schwartz. And this, dear, blood.
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And where did he run away in 1991, to Germany or overseas? (You can not answer, I somehow do not care). The fact that he escaped and did not see all the porridge of the nineties and subsequent years can not be compared with a normal stable life. Probably, there are many clever people behind the knoll, writhing themselves as experts and understandings of our past and present life. But hell there, you are only deceiving yourself and others. Nothing we can neither understand nor feel. Do you think the more you crap your homeland, the cleaner you look? It is unlikely, rather, the opposite. Clever people, who understand that what, how and to what - do not scream at every corner, that here we are disgusting, but there is paradise over the hill. Because it is not true, everywhere its problems and difficulties. Only foreigners do not rush to hayat themselves and their lives, and our countrymen are splashing with poisonous saliva.
The story is quite simple, not glorifying anything, a small episode of the past life. But for the countless rati of the obsratels, this already, like a red rag to a bull, is already a reason for all butting.
Sergey has a lot of similar stories, what did this greyhounds bring down?
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I will not hide - in the United States.
Only now before it was on the verge of life and death in the construction battalion, where he got, since the institute had no military department, and then more than 7 years in the black lists of the office, when not only was the road to the top closed, but for the unwary the word could fly out of work, and there the law on lassiness (during perestroika, they obviously forgot about me, since the people began to speak out more feasibly, and they began to offer me a few places for a lot of big money). Therefore, Sumgait-88 and Baku-90 were for me, as they say, deja vu. So I still consider my departure 25 years later as a deliverance. Do you know what thoughts were when I came to New York from this nightmare? Let it be hard, let me die of hunger, but no one will drag me back there, they won't push the plane. The worst is over.
If you lived in a scoop, as in a glass tower, having become like a famous sculptural group of three monkeys “I do not see, I do not hear, I will not say”, then I felt the power of the stinking scoop that went through you with a roller. Yes, I am grateful to America for the fact that I could start my life from scratch, away from this abomination and idiocy, when every party-gebeshno-nomenclature trash could wipe your feet with impunity about you. Nostalgic for the scoop is to disrespect yourself (and respect for others, clearly, begins with respect for yourself), it is to yearn for the fact that those who were taller than you could wipe their feet on you, and you, in turn, wipe your feet about those below (what is not the model of hazing in the army?). Spetsbolnitsy and special distributors for brackets. Naturally, those who lived in this glass castle did not know how to do so because the party thought for them, they turned out to be at the bottom of the trough. They had completely recaptured the desire and ability to build their own lives and solve their own problems, instead of waiting for others to do so (party, parents, friends, colleagues ...). You yourself deserve this result. As for me, whether I live badly or well here, but I and only I decide what I should do and how I plan my life, because all life here is based on the fact that you and only you are responsible for the consequences of your decisions. . That is why I say that the cesspool of the USSR cliqué gave oak, dragging millions of idlers and losers, and this phrase naturally causes a pathological hysterics of finished scoops thrown on the side of life that they want their unfortunate people to spare and drink vodka in the gateway with the saying "Oh, there is no you great sralina!". That's why I say that nostalgia for the stinking scoop is a psychiatrist.
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And the last. I do not care for your life today. I am interested in my current life here and now. I solve my problems my problems myself. I wish you the same - to solve your problems in your own country. These are not mine - these are your problems. I left and snapped.But what I experienced there, what I went through there, I am not going to forget or forgive. For this, as they say, is God's judgment.
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Interestingly, the Russian Empire gave the oak and the Revolution of 1917 also occurred because of such people who did not give a shit back to their homeland. They say goodbye is not washed Russia, the country of gentlemen - a country of slaves. Yes, still read the letter of V. Belinskono to N. Gogol. Here is a tin.
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And more about pitichkah. I respect myself a little to call the scoop my homeland. Especially for you an educational program or you are joking. Those who left before July 1991 on an Israeli visa were automatically deprived of Soviet citizenship, and even forced to pay 500 rubles. But that's not all. The old people were given a pension for 6 months, and then let them pay you a benefit America or Israel. About customs bullying and miracles with refusal (thank God, after 1988 nobody was denied), I am completely silent. About how those who left in the 70s (and even until mid-1988), as soon as they applied to the OVIR, were immediately dismissed, and then an article about parasitism. So, when Menkto dares to name the USSR homeland, I perceive such statements as spitting. He and only those who have no idea of respect for themselves, can call the USSR their homeland.
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Well, it’s quite an exhaustive explanation of his biography, on the basis of which, supposedly, a fierce anti-Sovietism was born, and outrageous rage on his FAMILY and on us, who still live in it today. I'm not stupid enough to not understand the difficulties of your destiny and, to a certain extent, you do not sympathize. I knew quite a few people, and with a more complicated fate, living in their homeland today and not intending to water it with mud. A lot of people with a difficult fate. Many of them, having lived in Germany, came back (in particular, one in the next house) and were satisfied that they could live their time in their native land.
But understanding the various troubles of life, however, I cannot but call a traitor — a traitor, a detractor — a detractor, a mud dreamer — who he is. Neither I, nor the peers living next to anyone under any cap got stuck, honestly worked there, where fate brought, they created what their descendants use to this day. I think they live in a similar way abroad. Once again, I stress, do not amuse yourself with the illusion of some connoisseur of our life. All this is very much like a deftly slyapannuyu evil propaganda.
Try to direct your energy to criticism of the Obama team, who took this year seriously to strangle our country. Only to hell on the snout.
P. S. Now I will ask the moderator to remove your enemy propaganda. At the same time and my answers. There is no place for such disputes.
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Read carefully your comment. I think you do not fully understand. I was born and raised in Baku, and therefore I have nothing to do with Russia. Read again. Where did I write a word about modern Russia? I am interested in the post-Soviet space only from the USA (the country where I live), Israel (the homeland of my ancestors), Azerbaijan (where I come from) and Georgia (where, like in Azerbaijan, there has never been anti-Semitism). Therefore, Russia for me is not the subject of any interest. We live in parallel worlds. As for Obama, I did not vote for him. The question is not for me.
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If you, Guest, and somewhere left, then this is purely your personal problems. I admit that in some period of your Soviet stage you are fatally unlucky. It happens.
For information, US Army contract servicemen arrive at training points, where on the very first day all piercing and cutting items are taken from them. They do not have the right to listen to the radio and watch television for the first three months. Not sure, but it is possible that the first three months of correspondence with a citizen is prohibited. About the exit into the city and say nothing.
The first 24 hours do not allow recruits to sleep, driving them to different departments ... while their mentor sergeant yells like a cut ... After 24 hours, everyone is subjected to a test, where their answers are compared with the information already available.
It is a logical question - where does this information come from?
I will answer - at the end of the 90s I watched a report (on German television) about the first day of a recruit in the US Army.
And this is not classified information. The local officers kindly explained to their European allies why the recruits were so rotten in the first three months. It is officially forbidden to hit, so they do not beat, but you can humiliate ... and they do it professionally !!!
Why, like a prison, right after getting off the bus, they are selecting piercing-cutting objects, including hairbrushes, I hope clearly?
That's right, to avoid suicides!
It is worth writing a couple of lines about the orders that prevail in private prisons in the US ... even there it is forbidden to beat, but ... you know ... you need ... to maintain democratic principles.
I was born in the USSR. I have very positive memories from this period, especially there is to compare the level of corruption with that and today's time.
I can state with a clear conscience that we have problems and even a whole lot ... But our neighbors have them ... all over the world ... maybe they have their own, but they have.
And now there are our fellow citizens who are bursting abroad, declining now the Russian reality.
Flag in their hands. Every creator of his own happiness!
PS: It remains only to understand why this particular US citizen hangs out on Russian-speaking sites? American erotic fiction is not enough?
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The petty little soul that a quarter of a century ago found a warm place torn apart for parts of the motherland. But apparently in the soul some shame is waking up for his wretchedness, if you try to find an excuse even in porno ... not a coward and a traitor.
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Eugene, why not a place. Let the people honor it, sprinkling the saliva of this former Bakuman. He was angry at home, which he had never really had, so he went to the roof that he reached the erotic website for politics. They are all blue there. Well left and left. No, itching, anyway, the tentacles are pulling here.
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“They have not forgotten and learned nothing” (c)
Re-read Efremov's “Hour of the Bull” and the Orulea “Animal Farm”. Maybe something will come. I don’t have to do propaganda. Boring If nobody understood that such stories as this is propaganda, then there is nothing to say. Raskaz frankly lying. If no one wants to admit it, then due to the fact that the scoop has not died, it exists inside. As they say, a girl can be brought from the village, but how to get the village out of the girl? I have my own way, you have your own. Yes, my native language is Russian, but I have absolutely nothing to do with the post-Soviet space. I was able to move on only because I managed to look at myself from the outside, compare there and then and here and now and burn out of myself what you call the motherland, and I call the unclean past. I repeat that after I was deprived of citizenship just because I wanted to exercise my right to live where I consider it necessary, I do not consider it the birthplace of the USSR, and therefore when someone pokes me, I take it as a spittle. First apologize and return the pension to the elderly, and then we will decide how to treat you and whether you should call your homeland or not. So there is nothing to translate arrows. Someone here wrote about orders in the American army. In America, there is no mandatory appeal. There go only under the contract. They are well paid, plus after the service they receive benefits such as paying for college. Not everyone stands. But they can also interrupt the contract, although they are deprived of many benefits.In the USSR, they were taken to the army against your wishes, everyone. In the USSR there was a construction battalion, that is, in fact, free slave labor, which has nothing in common with protecting the country from a potential enemy.
I have long understood that the world is on three pillars:
1. Normal people solve their problems themselves, and fools teach others.
2. They love to give advice full of idiots.
3. The world is not black and not white, but colored.
You can not throw mud at their homeland - absolutely true. It is only necessary to accept reality as it is. Otherwise, it is very reminiscent of the novel by Robert Sheckley "Ticket to the planet Thranai."
P. S. In truth, I don't give a damn about whether my comments will be deleted or not. Those whom they refer to have read them. As for potential readers, it will make them think, and, maybe, look at the world from another bell tower. Or they will leave a communistarium full of malice and sincere indignation. Yes, how dare he !!! (yes, I always dared to call a spade a spade, whether someone likes it or not). Or simply shrug their shoulders and pass by. “Everyone chooses for himself” (c)
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On spit, on spit ... Only who really does not give a damn does not sprinkle anger ... He passes by. And do not forget that everyone has their own opinions, impressions and feelings. Which a smart person will, if not respect, then at least not humiliate.
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OK. Tricky question. For what purpose was the story glorifying the USSR published on the site of erotic stories? In order to cause nostalgic moods or provoke a scandal? If the story was published for a similar purpose, then there will always be a person like me who will tell the truth. Unfortunately, those who are not able to adequately perceive reality, who do not want to accept facts at all, and therefore believe in nonsense from zombie TV, will stop their ears and shout - “get out”, “he throws mud at our homeland”, “us America wants to strangle "and further in this spirit. Consider, I have never dropped to hysterics and mate. Moreover, I have never mentioned any of the post-Soviet states. It's just not my business, since I have my own problems above the roof. My opponents, instead of responding in essence, began to not even mud the country where I live, but simply write nonsense. My principle is that if you don’t know something, keep quiet, because I myself will be ashamed of myself. Unfortunately, my opponents have demonstrated a rarely ignorant ignorance, both on issues related to the USSR and the USA. Moreover, I am surprised at the absolutely inadequate reaction to the facts and the unwillingness (or inability?) To analyze. It is with critical thinking that the path to independent thinking and independent actions begins, that is, the ability on the machine to withstand propaganda. I merely cited facts and formulated my views, beliefs and principles.
P. S. I highly recommend reading the book Gorin S. and Kotlyachkov A. “Weapon is the word. Defense and attack with the help of NLP ". You will not regret. After reading this book, you will realize that I was enraged in this story and why I, although I usually pass by, decided on a similar educational program.
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Poor thing, but where in the story was the glorification of the USSR? I did not find a single paragraph.
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He apparently believes that there was no sex in the USSR :) And the people there could not love, dream, please, but only languish ... And since they did it there, then this is already a glorification.
What distinguishes the Russians is the breadth of the soul, which a Jew who thinks only about the welfare of his stomach will never understand.
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Clearly.
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We love our history and our country, but simply because it is ours. Our Rush.That is so different: powerful, broken, drunk, purposeful, bloody. It's like love for parents who are not chosen ...
You vividly demonstrated what they do not like Jews all over the world. Jews have no homeland, they have a homeland where they feel good. It is a pity that among the Russians is full of such Jews.
Are you trying to prove to everyone that we are all idiots, and our country sucks? You are a strange person ..
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You again did not understand. I do not belong to Russia. As for the Jews, no one wants to live in a second-class position. In the 70s, the most frostbitten people left - despite the refusal, to be persecuted, to be harassed at customs, to the threat of arrest for parasitism. At the end of the 80s, the door was opened, at first the refusers jerked, and behind them the vast majority. Those who did not leave before the end of the scoop, slowly moved during the 90s. So in the mid-90s, my Moscow relatives and my classmate, who was married to an Armenian woman, had fled from Baku as a result of certain events (there, in Tver, they poked fingers at his children — they broke up in 1994). Today, as I understand it, a new trickle of the remaining units has begun. So soon the dream of the sovok idiot will come true - juden fri.
A normal person creates himself in the first place an acceptable habitat. If you die of hunger and sit in the mud, you will forget about your spirituality in a moment. I do not give any advice to anyone. You have your head on your shoulders. You have access to the Internet, where there is any information. I could give you links to websites where they frankly laugh at your spirituality. I could give you links to sites where the owners explain at the level of nonsense explain what irreplaceable leadership leads to. But why insult your patriotic enthusiasm? You have already stepped on a rake and still remember with horror the dashing 90s. I apologize, when I sometimes get on the Russian forums, I fall into a stupor. The impression is that this is the maximum of the XVIII century, this is archaic. The whole world has long been mobile. Someone moves to the other side of the world, someone communicates with his employer via Skype and ICQ. There has long been an urgent need for long-haul flights. We live in one common world where borders have become blurred. Therefore, all this husks are aimed at allowing local dictators and kings to manipulate the population of their countries. We live in a free world. If someone does not want to live according to the laws of this world, then they do nothing with it. It is simply ignored. That's all.
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I agree with previous opinions that the author only theoretically knows what he is writing about, because then he still walk under the table for sure! Well, the first mistake immediately catches the eye of the author's not known mate. - Sent a junior student kouursov to the conference! So for the author's note, I would say that then it was called a gathering of the Komsomol, with small variations, but the essence was such. And secondly, that a consciously living citizen will never call those beautiful years “soviet” T, that then the suction for a woman was considered very shameful, it is true. And as a summary, I want to tell the author that you lost a lot, that you didn’t live in that magnificent, as you insultingly said, "owl" time! 90% of those who lived then, will confirm to you one-on-one, that then the people lived much better and more friendly than they are now! Then all the porches lived in harmony with all the porch celebrated and knew all about all. And now? You do not even know who the neighbor behind the wall is not to mention the whole entrance.
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Ladies and Gentlemen! For the inattentive repeat again. I was born in Leningrad in 1956. lived all my life in this city. I know the time from and to. Passed all that could go. I really want to offend those who accuse me of ignorance. But I will not do that. I was struck by something else. The inadequacy of the public.Judge for yourself, an ordinary erotic story, caused an explosion of emotions of political debilism. I do not idealize that time. Himself have suffered enough. But I also do not want to reproach him. After all, there was a lot of good. I have the impression that most of those who wrote comments and a story did not read.
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You must have been scolded by my comment. But you scared many readers with your “scoop”. Of course, then everything was not smooth and permissive, as it is now. For you, it's just a Jude to call that beautiful time “soviet”, if you really then consciously lived. You can understand the young people who know about that time only because of the tricks of the TV, but that the person who passed that time called him a "scoop"? If you really lived then, you probably received the best education in the world. and you know that Australia is not Austria and Antarctica is not Antarctic !!! It is believed that this is the same many current students, not to mention schoolchildren !!! Did you want a western education? Get your morons who believe that the Ural Mountains are in Portugal! The story can also be erotic, but here you are touched by many as a living thing!
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I answer. The scoop is the scoop. I will explain the "charms" of that time. I became captain of the fleet during the Soviet era. And next to me was the pompolit appointed by the “native” party. From cops. Who does not understand anything, climbed into all the cases. And when I sent him, I wrote denunciations. "Beautiful" was the time!
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and this is especially for people like you. This man, who served in the Soviet camps for his book "Punitive Psychiatry" from call to call, and expressed absolutely clear and to the point.
Alexander Podrabinek
A letter to Soviet veterans
https://podrabinek.livejournal.com/40401.html
I could write a lot of things about the blockade of Leningrad, about the punitive battalions, about the special hospitals and special distributors, and about the famine in the North Caucasus and the Sverdlovsk region during collectivization, and about free slave labor of cons and construction workers. This is so, offhand. But why? Alexander Podrabinek said more than enough. Scoop - he scoop is.
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