What did Brezhnev mean by this?

I'm not American you fuck. Are you also deformed like him?

The degenerate left
This is why we have to fight marxism, it promotes homosex and all kind of degeneracy

He sucked off their souls.

>When the Chinese ambassador says he doesn't feel like kissing today

yeah but fake and gay

the reason for Castro cigars

>that moment when Brezhnev tried to kiss Carter
lmao

Knowing Carter he probably offered to suck his cock too

It was a way to test their willpower and devotion to the communist cause

>Leo please. Everyone is watching Leo. You have to stop, they're going to start suspecting us.

kek

I assume this is bait but I still want to point out that homosexuality was considered a disease and illegal in the USSR, the exception being a brief period at the start. There was a time when communists looked at homosexuality and promiscuity as capitalist/elitist degeneracy. Of course the modern Western left is very different.

Brezhnev's USSR officially was socially conservative on most issues and very opposed to "degenerate Western influence" in general.

People just think that intimate relationships between men are gay but they weren't considered as such in countries where gayness doesn't exist.

>Central Party Committee? More liek Lemon Party Committee, amirite?

...

This thread inspired me to write something
>My name is Erich Honneker. I am the current General Secretary of the German Democratic Republic. I am not an eloquent man. I am often mocked for my formality. They say I am stiff. They say I serve socialism not out of love, but as an automaton performing his programming. They think there is no passion inside me. They are incorrect. Within me is the soul of an artist; the soul of a lover, even. I know you may find that a funny. I find it funny as well. However, I do not allow such amusement to show on my face. The advancement of socialism requires its figureheads to conduct themselves with absolute control over their feelings. I feel I have served the cause of socialism quite well throughout my career. I On extremely rare occasion, however, I allow myself a respite. I allow myself to express the true feelings within. This is one such occasion. The date is November 11th, 1982. I have just learned of the death of Comrade Leonid Brezhnev. It is no exaggeration to say I wept for hours. I have composed myself now, and sit down to write of a very special encounter I shared with Comrade Leonid years ago. That night was like this one, a night where I allowed myself a respite from formality.

>The date was October 7th, 1979. It was a true red letter day. It was a celebration commemorating the 30th anniversary of the creation of the German Democratic Republic. The culmination of the ceremony would have Leonid Brezhnev, General Secretary of the Soviet Union, embrace with me and we would share a respectful, deeply socialist, kiss. In the run-up to the ceremony I confess I was deeply anxious. I am ashamed to say I let some of that anxiety show. In the 11 minutes we were forced to wait as the photographers set up their equipment, I checked my watch no less than three times. Just when I felt I would check my watch a fourth time, the great double doors of the stateroom opened.

>And there he was, walking into the small room with an entourage around him. My heart skipped a beat. Leonid, my lion. The light of my life, the fire of my loins. There he was. He stood in dark blue suit. Medals from his service in the great patriotic war tinkled with every step he took.

>“Comrade Erich! Guten tag! And Guten Deutschland! You, and all the proud soviet citizens of the German Democratic Republic have had an exemplary year. Quotas have been smashed time and time again. Peace and tranquility reign. Your wall stands tall and strong against western imperialist aggression. You, my Erich, are the envy of all the soviets today.”

>If only he knew how right he was. Inside, I swooned at these words, though, of course, I let not an inkling of my feelings show on my face. But then again, perhaps he did know how I felt inside. There was something... impish in the way Comrade Leonid met my eyes. The hint of a smirk. A twitch in the eyebrows (and what eyebrows they were!). Was he flirting with me? No. There's no way the General Secretary of the Union of United Soviet Socialist Republics could be flirting with me. Shame on you Erich for entertaining such foolish thoughts! And yet...

>Yet, when we approached one another. Leonid moved like a hound pouncing on a Fox. Two long strides and he took my shoulders in both hands. Fingers, strong fingers, wrapped around my shoulders, and Leonid pulled me close in one smooth but firm motion.

“It is time”, said the General Secretary. And he closed his eyes and subtly parted his lips.

>Comrade Brezhnev smelled of cigarettes, vodka, and a harsh, gasoline-like cologne. But at that moment, I could have sworn I was in a field of fresh wildflowers. My heart soared. I parted my lips in return. And regretfully, for I would no longer be able to feast my vision on the face of Comrade Brezhnev, closed my eyes in turn.

>Leonid pulled me forward again. Our lips touched. Fireworks. Unconsciously I lifted my hands to his shoulders. In a wild moment I thought of pushing him away. In less than the space of three heartbeats my resistance melted away. He was in complete control, and I loved him for it. He pulled me forward. Closer and closer. And I suddenly had the wild notion of opening my mouth.
I love my wife Margot dearly. I have done my duty as a husband almost a dozen times, and as a result we have produced several children together. But never have the two of us shared anything but the most perfunctory of kisses. Leonid though, he knew how to really kiss a man.

>I opened my lips, and then I opened my teeth. A clearly very skillful tongue entered my mouth, and probed within. My tonged matched his. We sparred like two fencers at the 1976 Montreal Olympics. The contest continued for what felt like hours, but couldn't have been more than a few seconds. Every time I felt I had comrade Leonid beaten, he'd riposte and probed deeper into my mouth. At last, I had no choice to concede. I let my eyes roll up into my sockets and went limp. Leonid held me firm, and gave a small chuckle before releasing me from his lip lock. My head lolled backward, and accepted his domination.

>His grip slackened. Unsteady legs were once again called upon to support me. Cameras flashed. My consciousness returned to me fully. Had the press seen everything? Was Leonid really so brash? Did he even care what the public thought of him. But even as the thought crossed my mind, it disappeared from importance. Who cares what the people saw. All that mattered was what we had shared.