To The Editor:

The third edition of DRUMMER was great, surpassed the first two! Particularly like the wild FF article, the "Born to Raise Hell" photos… the piss photo on page 18 is a real turn-on for W / S-oriented me. Wow! Finally the "In passing" bit, particularly on Kelway Pollack who is now my chief Master fantasy. Among "can do withouts" in the last issue was the Black Pipe article and your continued listing of the Vineyard in Asheville, NC at that Route 1, Box 593C address. Mail sent to that address is returned.

Again, great issue. Keep up the good work.

David Raleigh, NC

Dear David:

The third edition is the last one in which you'll see either the Vineyard listing or the Black Pipe article. Glad you liked the rest!

Editor:

Casting eyes for the first time on DRUMMER was, in many respects, an eye-opener. I'm amazed at the many aspects of enlightenment. I would specifically like to congratulate with high merits all who helped to make its launching such a success: editor, printer, artist, writers, etc. There is certainly much work connected with this.

Name and Address Withheld

Dear Sirs:

I am enjoying your magazine very much. I found Robert Payne's article on "Shaving your slave" of great interest.

Two years ago I experienced the sublime act of submission. My master shaved me from head to toe, and still keeps me shaved.

Aside from a sexual turn on, it has become a social statement of my subservience. Any further info or ideas will be appreciated.

Humbly Shackled, Shaved & Serving Mountain View, Calif.

Gentlemen:

P.S.-I agree with Fred from Wyoming on the one hand-I certainly don't like advertising for the "National Socialist League," but on the other hand, I agree with you about not censoring it. I in no way agree with this group, but I believe nonetheless that it has as much a right to advertise in DRUMMER as any other group.

Keep it up. James Koffel

Dear STUDS and all:

Sixty-five percent of "Male Call" is self-congratulatory! I'm not disputing this, but it's a stunt as old as the hills to publish such stuff. Completely outdated. Readers look for variety. I'm sure the Editors concerned could do a better job. You're not telling me you don't receive a better variety in letters, for I'm sure you do. I wrote after the first issue came out.

Harry Vancouver, B.C., Canada

Yes, and we ran part of your letter in the second issue. We run congratulatory mail because that's what we receive. We also have run the task-taking letters. All two of them!

A correction for DRUMMER.

The Ranch is not a leather bar nor are leather types welcome!

Kindly remove The Ranch from your publication.

Al Provincetown, Mass.

Dear Sir:

I am your typesetter and I want to express how much I enjoy typesetting each new issue of DRUMMER. However , I must confess, this is not an easy task since so many of the articles really turn me on which creates a difficulty for me: it is difficult to see the keyboard behind my huge hard-on. Maybe I should go to secretarial school and learn to type by feel … but that may cause a new problem: sticky keys!

A. J. Laurent Los Angeles, Calif.

Mr. Payne,

Thank you for sending the copies of DRUMMER. A correction on DRUMMER will appear in our January-February newsletter which is on its way to the printers, informing our members that we goofed and that you are still publishing DRUMMER. Since the newsletter will be mailed right after the Christmas mails, this should "clear" you with our members for the New Year.

Regret the poor information earlier received from our member-

Best, T.A.I.L.S.

They'll know.

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DRUMMER 4

Tuesday was one of those typical early winter days in the Midwest, sun obscured by a continuous cover of scuttering clouds and bone-chilling winds sweeping unobstructed from the Canadian north: a restless limbo of weather

edgy with strange but suppressed desires.

Throughout the day, each had been pensively preoccupied with plans for the evening session; calculating, discarding selecting. Now they were together and ready to choose the eveni

level. Apprehensively, he held the uncomfortable position.

Taking two lengths of half-inch nylon straps, the taller Thaao mounted the table and securely anchored Manuel's wrists to the pipes. While doing so, it was inevit

FOR THE NEXT FIFTEEN MINUTES, MANUEL EXPERIENCED SUCH AGONY AS HE HAD NOT BELIEVED POSSIBLE FOR THE HUMAN BODY, EVEN HIS TOUGHLY MUSCLED ONE TO ENDURE… MANUEL'S SCREAMS DISSOLVED INTO A COARSE WHIMPERING-

fastened first in the back, just under the two firm buttocks, and then to<br>the front, lifting Manuel's low-swinging balls to fasten it behind them, thus thrusting them out in an unnaturally predominant position. When Manuel glanced downward,<br>those vulnerable genitals dominated his line of vision, so tightly stretched was his helpless body.

away under his own power.

Manuel needed every second of the extra long fifteen-minute respite in order to bring his mind and body back into some sort of equilibrium. He didn't see how Johnny Todd, who was up next, could think of anything to equal or even come close to what he had already experienced. Yet his heart beat faster when he caught the evil glint in the all-American boy's eyes, saw the evil beneath the fixed smirk on the innocently handsome tace

Moses, whose turn was next, could scarcely wait for the "rest period" to pass before demanding that Manuel assume the same position on the<br>table as had Thaao. In only a matter of seconds, the hapless victim found himself once again hanging from his spread, aching wrists. Moses placed<br>a long, low bench in front of Manuel and adroitly jumped onto it.

"Me, I choose "Me, I choose … the legs!" Thaao<br>announced. "Start timin'!"

"The tits for me!" he gloated.

He selected a hard-rubber-headed reflex-testing hammer from the first aid supplies and violently kicked the table away from under the balls of Manuel's feet, bringing an involuntary gasp from his victim's throat as his entire weight was unexpectedly supported only by his widely spread<br>wrists. Moses, Johnny and Dicko<br>circled the naked body of their athlete colleague, fascinated with the way this suspension threw into high relief the various muscle groups of the strong young body, highlights and shadows accentuated by the glare of the fluorescent lights.

"Start timin'.

He moved in against Manuel and ordered him to lock his legs around his own muscular chest, enjoying the feel of cock and balls just beneath his chin as he had Dicko fasten Manuel's ankles tightly around his back. Next he called for two clothespins from the janitor's closet, and Johnny was quick to oblige. Brushing the thick black hairs away from Manuel's right<br>nipple, he viciously clamped one<br>clothespin to that tender tuft of flesh. A low groan was heard from deep within Manuel's throat, and his cock jerked slightly against Moses' thick black neck.

"O.K., y' motherfuckin' brownie, now it's my turn!" Johnny suddenly<br>shouted. "I wantcha t' kneel on this fuckin' bench with yer legs tight<br>together, and stretch that fuckin' spic body forward on yer elbows with yer

wrists crossed!

Once he had taken this position,<br>Manuel's body formed a kind of bridge, his ass high in the air. Johnny taped the thighs together, then fastened them to the bench itself. He repeated the fastenings just below<br>the knees and at the ankles. Wrists were then tied tightly together and also taped to the bench, as were the fore-arms just below the elbows. Head hanging down, Manuel was staring at his own free-hanging genitals and was glad that those precious appendages, at least, were not in a vulnerable position.

Edging the others aside roughly, Thaao carefully aimed the sharp-<br>headed hammer. Then, suddenly, he landed a blow just a fraction of an inch below Manuel's right kneecap. The effect was devastating: the hanging body arched convulsively and a piercing shriek reverberated around the room. Another immediate strike, unerringly aimed at the<br>same spot along the left patella,<br>induced a similarly uncontrollable

The process was repeated on the left nipple, and then the torturer fiendishly grabbed hold of each<br>clothespin. A humorless smile played around his lips as he initiated a routine of simultaneously pulling and twisting them. Each new pressure added pain to the utterly helpless body of the victim, and his moaning provided a continuous obligato to the scene. He felt that his nipples were being relentlessly ripped from<br>his chest. But he was also aware that his cock had become almost completely erect against Moses' broad black shoulder and, glancing down at<br>the other young athletes, he saw that their cocks as well were nearly all erect. Later, he would wonder about this phenomenon.

"I surely do hope y' took a good<br>shit today," he heard Johnny saying, cuz what I'm gonna do is give that nice tight asshole of yours a good

workout!"

reaction.

Manuel panicked. He knew that he could in no way endure the humiliation of being raped, and was<br>about to signal a withdrawal from all further activities. But then he realized that Johnny was moving

For the next fifteen minutes<br>Manuel experienced such agony as<br>he had not believed possible for the human body, even his toughly<br>muscled one, to endure. Thaao<br>brutally rapped a pattern of taps around the perimeters of those two kneecaps, switching from one to the other, and each blow was like a spike driven into a cluster of nerve ends. Manuel's screams dissolved into a coarse whimpering, his sweat-glistening torso twisting violently this way and that, his cock and balls<br>flapping about wildly.<br>When, blessedly, "Time!" was

From his jeans in the locker Johnny took a dime, then got a bottle of Coke from the machine in the corner. He snapped off its cap and called for<br>the timing to begin. Thaao and Dicko<br>and Moses crowded close, sensing a truly unique experience ahead. Sure of the audience's total attention, Johnny caressed the naked butt in front of him with his left hand for a moment, then slipped it into the deep, hairy valley and found the<br>tight anal opening with his middle finger.

this phenomenon.

He had been wrong, however, in thinking that there could be no greater pain, for Moses now demanded a safety pin from the trainer's first aid kit. Opening it and stretching it out straight, he pulled<br>the right nipple taut with the clothespin, then began pushing the point of the safety pin in a circular pattern around the periphery of the aureola. Each pierce of the pin brought a scream from the victim, so effectively locked into position that<br>he could in no way pull back to avoid the continuing torture, even when his tormentor switched and repeated the entire procedure on his left nipple.

finally called, Thaao got in a few gratuitous licks by removing the four lengths of adhesive tape as slowly as possible, taking off a maximum amount of body hair in the process. The table was returned beneath Manuel's feet. Thaao mounted it, and released his captive's wrists from the overhead pipes. Manuel col-<br>lapsed into his arms, gripping his nude body tightly for several minutes while waiting for his trembling to quiet down. He then moved abruptly

Manuel squirmed uncomfortably at the penetration, trying to find words for his inevitable capitulation. Before he had a chance to shout it out, however, Johnny withdrew his finger. With his right thumb over the opening of the Coke bottle, he shook it vigorously for a moment or two, agitating the gaseous contents. Then,

Only the call of "Time!" prevented his lapsing into a state of complete

hysteria.

with an abruptly sudden move, he thrust the open end into the lips of

Dicko, who would have his first opportunity as torturer during the next and final round, had been a highly intent observer during the evening. He matched Manuel's reactions with his own experiences of the previous night, remembering the lashing his butt had received from him, and gleefully formulated his plans. So, now that it was at last his turn, he was more than ready.

erection, excruciatingly increasing the pressure on the balls. Maintaining the gentle massage on the thickly extended organ with one hand, he all of a sudden flicked one of the tightly imprisoned balls with the middle finger of his other hand.

the virginal anus.

The explosion of icy, prickling bubbles into this tender area caused Manuel to lunge forward and cry out, but Johnny was prepared for this and held the bottle firmly in place. Manuel felt that his whole lower intestinal tract was on fire, being eaten away, but his frantic movements only increased the awful hurt. He could not believe it when he noticed that he had developed the hugest hard-on of his entire life. It was as if his cock belonged to someone else.

Manuel let loose with by far the shrillest scream of the evening. That snap on his ball blazed a trail of sheer agony straight up his spinal cord to the base of his brain, exploding there in a shower of shattered nerve ends.<br>Before he had time to take a breath there was a flick on the other ball, and the agony of the first was<br>doubled. Tears ran from his eyes, and he now knew what his breaking point was

With great anticipation he, too, had Manuel kneel on the bench but then forced him onto his back, legs bent unnaturally under him. Several turns of two-inch adhesive tape over mid-thighs and under the bench<br>effectively locked the legs into position. Another strip went tightly around his waist and the bench. After pulling Manuel's arms tautly above his head and fastening those to the bench as well, Dicko was ready.

Now thoroughly enjoying himself, Johnny applied an even greater<br>pressure which thrust the ever-enlarging shape of the bottle deeper and deeper into the body of Manuel, now stretched out flat, belly pressed into the unyielding wood of the bench, chest resting on folded and secured arms. The feeling within him was that the bottle, relentlessly moving further and further into his colon, would pentrate through his stomach wall and impale him to the<br>bench itself. Stinging bubbles seemed diffused throughout his entire system, and a sweetish flavor in his throat stifled his gurgled cries.

Wave upon wave of pain coursed through the husky young body as Dicko rapidly flicked one ball and then the other, never ceasing his manipulation of the tumescent cock. Manuel was too exhausted from squirming and screaming to utter the words necessary to call a halt to the proceedings. It is quite possible that<br>the shouted word "Time!", as it cut through his curtain of anguish, saved his sanity.

With immense concentration he approached Manuel's immobilized,

naked body.

"Me for the balls!" he announced. As the timing began, he took a long half-inch strip of the nylon webbing and made a noose at one end. Pushing the now-flaccid cock to one side, he picked up the Chicano's scrotum. He slipped the noose over the balls and anchored it as close to the body as it would go. Then he started winding it around the sac and moved downward, forcing the balls ever more tightly into the constricted , glistening area. Manuel's breathing became rasping and irregular .

Manuel knew, as they were once again ending the session with a<br>shower, that he had endured far worse torment than Dicko had the night before. And Moses and Thaao and Johnny, whose turns as victims were yet to come, also knew it. Now added to the original game was the element of revenge as those who had served as victim grew in number and, yes, in hate.

The bottle was slowly withdrawn and the bindings removed from the reddened, tender flesh. Manuel twisted into a sitting position, then stood up-gingerly. His rear end was too tender to accept the weight of his torso. Only his enormous erection, focus of every eye in the room, remained as evidence of his ordeal. That, and an unspoken rage of revenge to be directed, when his turn came, against one Johnny Todd.

When it seemed that the small portion of the sac left containing the balls would burst from the pressure exacted on it, Dicko tied off the<br>nylon webbing. Then he began massaging Manuel's cock into an

As a result, the showering was even more subdued than the night before.

continued in next issue…

NECROPHILIA

At my mother's funeral five years ago, I discovered how deep my feelings against undertakers are. I suppose we are taught subliminally from youth to distrust the mortician, not only because of the dubious business practices of a large segment of that industry, but because we are positive that they must have ulterior motives for entering the profession . My mother had died in a boating acci- dent, still young and good-looking. I was con- vinced that the morticians, being inured to death, could not possibly be sincere in their pious attitudes, and I had a sneaking sus cion that they were carrying on with Ma in the backrooms after hours. backrooms after hours.

Two days after returning to Los Angeles from the funeral, suspicions intact, I was coincidentally cast in a horror film about necrophilia. We were to shoot for a couple of weeks in a working mortuar halls. I remember a cute little dress extra coming in for one day's work and burbling to their make-up man at work on a customer, "Oh, what a great prop!" "No, dear," I said, "that one is real." I was immediately sorry because I had to hold her head over a basket, but oddly enough she didn't leave the shoot.

My observations of the people actually working in the mortuary did much to modify my original views. The fact that staff and clientele were all black had no bearing, except to provide additional color. At all times they were careful and considerate, both of the deceased and the family. After several weeks of close contact, I could be sure that they weren't acting around me. Knowing as I do that man's every strange impulse can be so- cially rechanneled, as when the urge to cut or destroy assumes social benefits in the form of surgery or sculpture, I concluded that a fond- ness for the dead could likewise be put to good use. Undertakers certainly do take a big mess off our hands at a time when we are unable to handle it ourselves, incapacitated as we are by strong emotion.

I actually developed a great admiration for the little cosemtician whose client outweighed him by 140 pounds. Getting a face from our make-up man, I watched him struggle to get a woman into the jacket of a blue suit while a fat, black preacher ignored his difficulties by busying himself at catching flies. Finally the little man asked him to help hold her up in a sitting position. The preacher jumped back a foot and explained, "Ah don' touch no dead bodies!" Disgusted, I pushed away the eyebrow pencil and walked over to put her coal

This article should not be interpreted as editorial judgment, pro or con, of necrophilia. We are discussing it because it is a progression beyond the usual S&M relationship in which there is limited control of another. In the necrophiliac romance, the control is total. The active partner can, and often does, carve up his subject and will, and he need not relate at all. He doesn't even have to say, "I love vou!''l

There was one washed-out blond around the premises who didn't seem to have too much to do. When I asked him his function, he told me that he was an assistant director and technical advisor with our company, that he'd been hired because he was a mortician.

I couldn't help it. I asked him, "And are you a necrophiliac, too?"

He didn't answer the question, but his ears turned bright red. Late shoot and after I had spent two days nude shoot and after I had spent two days nude painted white as a corpse, he began asking me for dates. I declined the invitations.

It must be mentioned that, in researching my role, I talked to a resident shrink at USC. My re

I asked what the actual sex act was and he replied, "We know that mutilation is often involved , but we really don't have too much information about it."

"Why?"

"Because we don't see too many necro-philiacs in clinical practice. Most of them go quietly into the enbalming business. But the theory is that this severely traumatized indi- vidual is incapable of any kind of emotional involvement and, obviously, necrophilia requires no conversation at all. And perhaps the mutilation is a form of revenge on the dead parent for his or her early departure.

As we all know, though often bound and gagged during sex, Ms require some dealing with both before and after!

Several months later, when the picture came out, Robert Payne showed me a letter from an undertaker in Santa Barbara. I sent a note back, telling him about the picture. I was hoping he would come on so I could satisfy my curiosity about necrophilia and, perhaps, find out what Dr. Mike couldn't tell me.

The reply was an invitation to his place of business, so I drove up to Santa Barbara. He wasn't bad-looking and he seemed to have no difficulty in talking to me, at least in social superficialities.

We went into his prep room where, on the table, lay an exceptionaly good-looking blond youth of about twenty-two. He was nude and in the conventional repose of death, hands clasped on chest. His legs, however, were spread, hanging down over the gutters from the knees. His cock was shrunken, flaccid, and his balls looked as though they had fled back up into his abdomen.

I learned that he had drowned in a surfing accident, and the similar circumstances to my mother's death made me absolutely certain that I did not want to touch him. My host asked if I wanted just to suck cock conventionally in the Sample Room, the "samples" being coffins, not corpses. That I also declined and I left the man—both of us, I'm sure, confused and perplexed.

I drove back down the Coast in a rather numb state until I saw the pretiest backpacker hitchhiking. His conversation was gleeful and joyous, and his cock was alive and hot when I -William Wulfwine

SMOKE FROM JEANNIE'S LAMP

Before getting into it this issue. I must take exception to some remarks made by a writer for one of the bar rags. In a recent copy he comments, "S and M is a subject believed to be only a PHYSICAL BATTLEGROUND, in most people's eyes, who seem afraid to venture SOUTH of MARKET, to its bars, restaurants, and bath houses. We all know that it exists and either condone or condemn its purpose . Somehow a picture has been planted (sic) in the eyes of the NORTH of MARKET folk, that all who make this sector of our city their stomping grounds are into perverted sex and own every kind of specialized tool made to perform it."

"Perverted sex"? Just whoinhell is this bird that he feels qualified to label as perverse the sexual practices of another human being or group of human beings? Inasmuch as he was writing for a gay rag, it's logical to assume that he is himself gay and thus long the target of attacks by those other self-styled experts on human sexuality who maintain that any activity other than male-female missionary position is "perverted

The gay struggle for equality in and by a mostly non-gay world has been a lengthy and tedious one, and it continues . But how much easier it would be if our brothers fought with us and not against us!

Dear Jeannie:

Recently some new terminology began appearing in ads, and no one I've talked to here in the Midwest knows what it means yet. The term is "Aroma" and it is always capitalized and in quotes.

B.H. Toledo, Ohio

Dear B.H.:

"Aroma" refers to the various brands of synthetic amyl, such as "Jac-Aroma," "Locker Room Aroma," etc., which have proliferated since The Blue Meanies discovered to what nefarious uses amyl was being put and yanked it off the market. Even "real" amyl, incidentally, was a synthetic made from isoamyl alcohol. The "Aromas" are made from isobutyl . Sometimes the "ayes" have it; with amyl and the "Aromas," the nose has it!

The following letter was addressed to lovable of Robert Payne, who turned it over to the resident Answer Lady …

There are a lot of terms I do not quite understand and so am asking

Since I have never had any S / M experience, is it possible to have partners who might be old hands but who are understanding, tolerant and patient?

Is it unusual to not want to inflict bodily pain on the partner, but only to give pleasure? I am at a loss, a little, as to how the pain can give any pleasure. Or does it happen that after the threshold of pain has been reached pleasure and enjoyment follow? This is unclear.

Can one really rely on total discretion from partners? Will some partners possibly stoop to blackmail or the sort?

How does hot wax fit in? Won't it burn?

Are rods for beating? Are branding irons actually used by some?

What is the purpose of stiff body brushes?

What are bits? How are they used? How are ball stretchers applied? Can they be physically harmful?

What does an anus stretcher look like? Can it, too, be physically harmful?

Could not the use of catheters be dangerous and lead to infections?

Is there really such a thing as fist fucking? Have read of same, but thought it was fiction. Can some anuses really take a fist and an arm?

Do people actually enjoy being chained or tied to fixtures or suspended from a ceiling?

Wouldn't beating with chains maim a person?

Do some partners enjoy shaving the pubic area, ass, entire body?

What does "giving head" mean? I have an idea, but I'm not sure.

What is the point of laxatives except for digestive purge?

All these questions stem from both interest and from total ignorance.

R.T. Watertown, New York

Dear R.T.:

Whew! You ARE curious, aren't vou?

Let's begin with a brief but basic discussion of sadomaschochistic sex in general.

In all aspects of human relations social, sexual, psychological, etc. … some people are the stronger, the more dominant, the more aggressive and, obviously, others are their opposites : weaker, more submissive, more passive. Sexual S&M, then, is merely a carrying of real life to the nth degree. As some take pleasure in exerting psychological dominance, and others in bending beneath it, so, too, is there pleasure to be gained from sexual dominance and submission .

Although severe pain is not integral to an S&M relationship, there is almost always some pain involved . This may be a combination of physical pain inflicted by tangible objects and the socio-psychological pain of, say, humiliation in front of one's peers. Or it may be just the give-and-take of physical pain before or during sexual activity. For the most part, however, the amount of actual pain increases or decreases according to one's enjoyment, ability to handle it, etc. It's a very exciting thing, almost like an adrenalin rush, to know that you are totally in charge of another human being. This feeling alone is often the end to justify the means, for it is in itself an orgasmic experience.

Continued on next page …

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MENTION DRUMMER

213-413-3573

2518 Sunset Blvd. Los Angeles, CA. 90026

Now to some of your specific questions…

One is probably less apt to run into a blackmail situation in S&M than in more conventional sex practices for the simple reason that S&M, by its very nature, requires ultimate trust and confidence on the part of both partners. This is not to guarantee that there aren't a few nuts out there. I'm convinced that Little Boy Blue hid under a haystack to get away from some dude who was onto what the kid was doing with the sheep in the meadow and the cow in the corn!

Hot wax does not "burn" in the sense a lighted cigarette does, but you definitely know it's there. Light a candle and let some of the wax drip onto your arm. The sensation is not unpleasant unless it's the police who happen to be doing the paraffin test!

Unfortunately, space really does not permit comprehensive answers to all of your questions. I'll refer you, instead, to Robert Payne's "Care & Training of the Male Slave" and to previous issues of DRUMMER: "The ABCs of S&M" in #1; "Golden Shower Festival" in #2; and "FFofA" in Issue #3. I guarantee you that these handy source materials will tell you everything you always wanted to know about S&M and weren't afraid to ask!

IEANNIE BARNEY

CALIFORNIA

SCENE

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This is one of those shows where the cast changes so often that you really can't tell the players without a program! In its most recent incarnation at The Body Shop in Los Angeles, Sundai Sterling replaces Jerlene Rome in literally and figuratively groping for the answer to the question posed by the title. Billed as the "First original nude show for the modern female," "Naked Waiter's" cast vastly outnumbered the audience the night we were there, but they delivered the goods like real troupers, giving their all to the six or seven of us in attendance.

Created by Jack Cione from his best-selling book of the same title, the male nude revue came to L.A. direct from a record three-year run at the Dunes in Honolulu where, I understand, the gentlemen waiting tables were sans sarong. At The Body Shop they're clad in lava-lavas, those Dorothy Lamour threads without the top. Fret not; the wrap-arounds unwrap when the waiters hit the stage, adding the only dimension. long, short, thick, juicy (I know that's not a dimension!) … to an otherwise

Who, you must be wondering, is Sundai Sterling? From our program notes we learn that the blonde chanteuse is a newcomer to acting and a newcomer to the show who stepped into her mistress-of-ceremonies role on four days' notice and "made it what it is today-a show that opened on four days' notice." We believe! We believe! Sundai is to "Naked Waiter" what Barbie is to Mattel: 100% plastic! She'd be funny if her incredible ineptness were studied, high comedy but, alas, she's for real. Poor thing! When she's not tripping over the microphone cord, she's feeling in all the wrong places (would you believe under the armpit?) for her male associates' genitalia.

Speaking of genitalia, the show also boasts Lord Jim Essex, Mr. Hawaii of 1975 and the only original cast member left. Lord Jim boasts a brick shithouse bod and, in the program, "My greatest asset lies in love-making and if anyone can find a better lover on this continent, I will pay them $100." Enough of this boasting! After seeing Lord Jim's abundant assets, who needs money? Proof, proof!

Pam Lane is unique to "Naked Waiter" in that she has talent, lots of it. She's a fine comedienne with flawless timing, a good singer, fan- tastic dancer, great stripper, sensa- tional looking, and considering the material she's got to work with, all that ain't easy. (We talked briefly after the show. I got the distinct impression that she'd like to get the hell out.)

What a female impersonator is doing in a "show for the modern female," I don't know. Aside from the fact that Gari Alexander is male (when she whipped off her G-string to prove it, the one and only woman in the audience and her husband took off like a shot), she's likely to hold a limited appeal for the "modern female.

Maybe she and Lord Jim explain the fact that, tiny as we were, the audience was predominantly gay. Make no mistake, Gari is a very funny drag. She excels at ad lib and evidently has concluded from her script that any improv will improve. Although the name Daquiri St.

John suggests a second female impersonation , this gentleman stripper is anything butt. Not only does he sit on his talent, he bumps and grinds it around. As a matter of fact, wherever you may personally draw the line, I guarantee that Daquiri will cross over and gross you out.

Linda Dominice and Hyacintha Dacuna complete the female strip cast. Linda, a contortionist, gets all tied up in knots during the show, and Hyacintha has the unusual habit of starting her strip bottomless and working slowly up from there… sort of an anticlimactic climb.

Last, but certainly not least, the Naked Waiters are of such variety in shape and size that at least one has got to grab you. Metaphorically speaking, that is.

From all this, I'm sure you've decided that the Tony Mudara presentation , insignificantly produced and directed by Lee Hewitt Witten, is a "Miss It" item. Wrong! See "What Do You Say To A Naked Waiter?" even if it means giving up your evening at the M / B Club. (Forgive me, Keith.) It's so bad, it's hysterical. The cast knows it's bad; you know it's bad; the cast knows you know it's bad; and you know the cast knows you know it's bad. (Shall we take that around one more time?) If this show catches on with the gay community, it's bound to become the sleeper of the year. What do you say to a naked waiter? To him and the entire cast from me, I LOVE YOU!-Russ Malloy

A NAKED WAITER TALKS BACK

Having just been a naked waiter myself, I finally found the definitive answer to the question "What Do You Say To a Naked Waiter!" It is,

"You're under arrest, honey!" Just before the finale of the first show on a Friday night in October the L.A. Vice Squad, including one woman officer and assisted by 12

Continued on page 38

Orumer goes to a leather sabbat

The hall is filled to twice, three times its capacity. Good thing that someone had the foresight to open up the patio. All the leather aficio-nados are gathered for the rites of the year, hanging loose, expressing their sexuality in explicit visual terms. Cruising is heavy at the Hawk's Leather Sabbat. At one of the booths the Accu-Jac loop is into the middle of sexplaining how to attach the various size sleeves to the suction hose.

"I don't have any trouble making out," claims the dude on the TV screen, "but let's face it: there are times when I'm just not up to going out." A Leatherman permits his slave, securely fastened to a leash, to watch for awhile. He gives a couple of tugs on the chain, and they disappear past the dildo booth into the crowd. A dude in a jockstrap and a Dodgers cap is dancing with a telephone lineman . Around where the black brothers are selling chili and beans in a jungle hut, the alley hosts two bikers taking turns pushing their dicks into the face of a kid wearing a dog collar. Four balls slap rhythmically against his chin. Some salivaruns out of his mouth and drips in long strands to where his hand is pulling on his foreskin. The Mr. Leather contest is the highlight of the evening, and whenever the contestants are off-stage their presence

MONORS

LET MY PEOPLE COME

"Let My People Come" has finally done just that. After a three-year romp at New York's Village Gate, it ejaculated on the West Coast at L.A.'s Whiskey A Go-Go with the San Francisco opening scheduled for February at the On Broadway. Promoted as a "sexual musical," it is also sexual satire and, even more, a plea for sexual understanding and freedom with what could be a heavy message masked by good, dirty fun. It's ballsy, blatant, no-holds-barred fare, yet through it all the scrubbed, apple-pie youth of the cast pulls everything off (But everything: unless inflation has hit the birthday suit, the costume budget is a producer's dream!) and still retains a naivete seldom seen since Marilyn took those damned pills.

How many ways can "fuck" and "suck" be mouthed in the course of two hours and still come across honest, poignant and outrageously funny? Earl Wilson, Jr. has found the means with some of the cleverest lyrics to hit the musical stage of the '70s. If his music is forgettable, the blame can be laid on the words. Nothing is sacred and no sexual orientation, deviation, aberration or perversion is left unexplored. S&M devotees will appreciate former Colt time.)

Besides Greg, the program lists eleven additional cast members (although there are never twelve people on stage). "Cheaper by the dozen" is apparently producer / director Phil Oesterman's motto… or has he failed to recognize the subtle distinction between raw talent and talent in the raw? Sad to say, but those groovy bods and bared buns, however appealing, begin to take on a telling shade of green as the evening wails on.

But it's all in good spirit, and there are exceptions. Robin O'Hara, as a school marm, in "Fellatio 101" instructs her class in the finer aspects of that art by passing out bananas to four female pupils and one incredible transvestite. She's frantic and fabulous in the only dialogue sketch of the show. Musical vignettes, with sex the only thread, follow one another cabaret style: in "The Ad," multi-talented Hy Conrad places a series of classified ads, each consecutively more jaded than the one before (for the Los Angeles Times, he's self- described "small but clean," but by the time he gets to Screw his organ "weighs nearly half a pound."); Christine Rubens, of Rubenesque proportions and the New York cast, expresses her fantasy of becoming a Hollywood porno queen in "Linda, Georgina, Marilyn and Me," a dream she later realizes at the top of Act II, "The Show Business Nobody Knows;" and Marion Ramsey, by far the best singer of the group, belts out the plaintive "Doesn't Anybody Love Anymore?" (To answer her question, she might try upstaging the rest of the cast in a less unprofessional manner before some of the more seasoned veterans bump her into the orchestra pit on her very professional ass.) Robin, Hy and Christine merge later in the program to sing "The Cunnilingus Champion of Co. C" a la the Andrews Sisters.

Surprisingly, the best music of the evening is contained in three "gay" ballads. "I'm Gay," sung by Greg Kolb and Brian Miller, with an especially fine arrangement by arranger / conductor Billy Cunningham, announces for the first time to the folks back home the truth the title indicates. Later, Bryan sings the lonely "Take Me Home With You" to hustler Greg and, finally, Marion Ramsey and friend Irma Kaye duet "And She Loved Me" as Robin O'Hara and Wesley Ferguson perform a nude, lesbian adagio. The over-amplified title song winds up the entertainment with full company tearing up the club to wild applause.

Despite sloppy direction, some mediocre performances and poor choreography (Is Phil Oesterman a choreographer too? What a talent!). this lewd, raunchy sexfest should not be missed. Earl Wilson, Jr., you're a fucking genius!

Russ Malloy

The Brand that delivers the Action!!!

The aly pico

For those who pursue the best!!!

200' Regular 8mm Color We first discovered this hot young buck in a local park. He had all the classic looks of that bloodline known as "Mandingo", a light chocolate colored race of superbly muscular men and magnificent women. Upon questioning him, our first impression proved correct; his blood lines were pure Mandingo. We have captured this fantastic young buck as he performs his daily workout and MORE. Watch his rock-hard muscles tense as he works his enormous manhood through every possible pace. Action you will watch over and over.

HUUGN

No. 556 200' Regular 8mm Color First spotted on a basketball court at a local university, this hot young college superstud quickly proves his jockstrap is too confining for a growing young man as he soon brings his oversized mantool out in all its glory. Discarding the strap, Allen spreads his long muscular legs to give his giant young balls more room. Two gushing orgasms prove this man is one great stud!!!

IMMER views the Flicks

MORE MOVIE REVIEWS ON PAGE 44-

MARATHON FILMS RELEASE OF A PSYCHO FILMS production. Conceived and directed by Roger Earl. Director of Photography: Ray Tamargo. Editor: Robert Shaw. Sound: Bud- dy Holloway of Holloway Studios. Featuring Val Martin, Quave Dalton, John Detour, Steve Richards, Eric Lansing, Tiger John, David Andrews , Paul Joseph and Craig Roberts.

Born to Raise Hell

What can you say about a movie that's so hot it's being handled with asbestos gloves?

For openers, we can say that it makes "Sextool" look like "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm." Even the Sire of "Sextool," Fred Halsted, has commented that "Born to Raise Hell" is the best S&M film he's ever seen. No small praise, that, coming from the Stud who is the acknowledged Master of the S&M film genre.

Prior to the start of the film is a disclaimer stating, in part, that "This theatre is not responsible for any psychological effects to the viewer. There seems to be a considerable willingness, however, to accept responsibility for the psysiological effects, and there will be many a throbbing organ in the "Born" audience. It must be noted here that an occasional writer has pointed out the obvious lack of throbbing organs in the film itself, also pointing out his own ignorance about this specialized area of sensuality. As S&M devotees will attest, it's the scene and not the sex that counts.

Be that as it may, there's plenty of scene and sex for even the most jaded viewer or doer. Every act that can possibly be committed on, in, or to a human body is, including some that I would have bet against. Early on I was tempted to add to "Born to Raise Hell" the subtitle, "Forced to

Drink Piss," (Mercy! I've not seen so much urine outside of a hospital in years; it's a wonder that poor child wasn't permanently jaundiced!) Then I revised my thinking to "Live to Sniff for it sometimes seemed as Amyl. though that were the only thing that kept some of the Ms alive and breathing (I do wish I had a piece of the popper profit from this picture!)

Over and above the ingenious and seemingly endless methods of sucking , fucking, stripping, whipping, shaving, slaving, eating, beating, and so forth and so on, there are some truly marvelous touches. The cast is introduced not by the conventional credit lines, but by means of names tattooed on various parts of the anatomy. Val Martin never, ever removes his symbolic black hat, not even when he tenderly kisses a battered M. The use of road signs provides amusing punctuation to the action. We're warned about the amyl, for example, by DANGER / GETTING BLASTED AREA. CAUTION /WIDE AND LONG LOAD alerts us to yet another peril, while CAUTION/ DEPT. OF WATER AND SPORTS SPORTS speaks for itself.

The camera work is excellent, particularly in such shots as a close-up of a confined cock and balls which makes us realize better than Gray's Anatomy how mighty like a street map is the human circulatory

My major technical complaints have to do with some bad miking and some even worse editing. Where the majority of the action, for example, takes place in a leather bar, the carryover of the obvious bar conversation to the privacy of Val's apartment is confusing. And the film has been cut in such a way that, unless you're prepared for it, you miss the importance of the kid telling Val he's the son of a cop, thereby almost totally invalidating the dream sequence and Val's getting it in the end

Still and all, "Born to Raise Hell" has something for everyone, includ- ing offense: its detractors are legion, alas, and in some circles it's the film you love to hate. It is worth seeing, but you're going to have to check your local paper carefully for play dates. Although it showed without incident in San Francisco, and a print has gone to New York's Museum of Modern Art, the film has already been cancelled once in both Los Angeles and Atlanta. It's been tentatively rescheduled for the latter city in February, but the political climate seems to be dictating the L.A. opening. So far as I know, there's been no problem to date with Chicago or New York.

Remember some years back when "A Man and A Woman" was being touted as the movie to see "-with someone you love"? Well, "Born to Raise Hell" is the movie to see with someone you love to beat. Or be beaten by.

- Sidney Charles

DRUMMER 15

MORE MOVIE MAYHEM!

Nobody was better at blood, gore and pure S & M than the Boys in the Arena. Hollywood showed us the way with the Italians following on their hot heels using magnificent bodies and dubbed-in dialog. Here are a few examples in the 'We-Who-Are-About-To-Die' epics. Those Romans-or whoever-really knew how to show the kids a good time!

DRUMMER SALUTES THESE SINEWY CINE SUFFERERS WHO HAVE GIVEN SO MUCH TO ENTERTAIN US. In the next issue we bring on the Cowboys and Indians … The Indians seldom won, but they knew how to entertain.

"The goal of the city is to make men happy and free"… Aristotle on San Francisco. It is printed neatly and pasted up on a piece of shiny white paper tacked to the door, up the stairs over a bar that isn't called anything.

A man in leather shorts passes by on the landing. His legs are cinched into his trunks with pieces of rawhide that run crisscross along his thighs. The binding impresses rectangular striations that bulge white and retreat with geometric precision into the innermost confines of skin covering skin. He disappears through another door. I flash for a moment on a magic theatre where such men are included among the players, conniving in continual performances of freeform sexual repertory before the most appreciative audiences.

The door swings open. Chuck Arnett is standing there explaining that he is in the middle of washing his clothes. He is back-lit by the sun streaming in a window through which I can see a motorcycle tire looped over a light fixture which illuminates a perfectly blank piece of tin. From a few old holes dripping rust, the neon buzzings of previous designations spark briefly and cloud into my vitreous humor. "It's called the No Name, you know."

We walk into his studio. He writes. down some graffiti he's read some- where "muscular stud" "large cock" "piss trips" "need domination ." He's been drawing, sketching , painting, some-times sculpting since he came to San Francisco some 15-or-so years ago.

"Shaw's, that was a leather bar in New York in the '50s before any place was called a leather bar or anybody even knew what one was." Chuck remembers it very well. He hung out there a lot. Black jackets, motorcycle boots, snap-brim hats shielding the searching eyes: hulking shadows undulating in chains and leather strayed accomodatingly into his vision.

Brando started it. 'The Wild One' became a cult film. It played for nearly a year in some theatre over on the West Side. I saw it 20 times maybe.

Sprockets snapped into position, meshing with the whirling gears of a luminous projector. The pavement receded into the dust, the rate of its departure coincident with the visual life of the gasoline vapor that trailed after it. The Leader of the Pack, alienated as hell, archetypical American loner, the cool dude, fucking Mary Murphy, Mom and Apple Pie in one deft, terrorizing stroke. An orgasm on celluloid, specks of silver nitrate ejaculating into the country siring a new cult.

On a dark corner at the edge of the Warehouse District, away from the cashmere sweaters, buckle-backed jeans and the steps of The Madison, the progeny came together, gliding off their gleaming machines and regarding themselves in their sleek dark costumes in the parallax of chrome bars and steel pedals. This was the Tool Box. Sometimes they

called it "Marlboro Country." Chuck came to town with them. He brought his tools, and one afternoon he used them to impress into the walls of the clubhouse the taces of those who carved out the western territory.

A leather strip snakes down Folsom Street. For a short time it coiled around the Red Star Saloon, "a very hot bar." Along with Chuck, most fanciers of life along Folsom remember . The posters that touted the delights of that rare establishment found their way onto the john walls of leather maniacs everywhere. They stand tribute to a man who captured the mystique of another time zone with a few scratches of his pen: the Arnett touch, loosed in the land. It's visible these days in another bar, a block over from the strip.

The Ambush enjoys a reputation as a mellow bar: not too crowded, sleazy, frequently heavy. It stands alone on Harrison Street asserting its independence, fashioning its allure by looking around the corner for some new head space. The hard core from the No Name and the Ramrod don't all come around. Some wander in from time to time to freak on Salsa, drink another beer, play a little pool, fuck around and cruise the drawings on the walls. Arnett's men dominate the place. Transmogrified from their gig at the Tool Box, they have their pants down and their crewnecks off and they're spreading their asses and fist fucking the hell out of each other. Marlon into S&M.

"Galleries are funeral parlors for art work." He's drawing a dude twisting a leather throng around his cock. His pen hits the paper hard. "I show my work in the bar because that's where the people who know me go and can get off on what I do and sometimes even buy something. In the bar, the original art work for the Red Star posters is framed over the door leading to the john. A price tag next to it reads $200. Behind the door, a drawing dangles over the urinal and sometimes provides inspiration for the more hang-loose among the Ambush clientele. Black scratches ply the pressed pulp into yielding up a fierce man wearing a leather hat, handcuffed to a chair, his ass being fingered by the dude who was trapping his cock with the leather thong. New members of the troupe freaking freely, continuous erotic performances courtesy of the magic markers wielded by the master mind-fucker.

The dryer drones expectantly into the final moments of the permanent press cycle. We move toward the door. My eyes scout the landing for a pair of blond thighs bound in leather. Downstairs, under a sign proclaiming only anonymity, a gloved hand formed into a tight fist pulls firmly on a large studded dog collar which encircles the neck of a dude wearing a checkered shirt. The glove melds into a jacket, the focus of a leather outfit designed to fit firmly over a well-muscled body. He glowers under the hat forced low over his eyes. a hint of trips to come. They disappear down the alley, walking a perpendicular to Folsom Street.

See page 20 for ARNETT'S MOST FAMOUS POSTER… bob opel

D BAYTH DR ANNOUNCING CATALOGUE NUMBER THREE $2.50 LEATHER FOREVER's All New Catalogue #3. Bigger and Better than ever! Fully Illustrated. All Clothing and Leather Novelties Pictured on Live Models! Hundreds of new items … Jewelry, Accessories, new Leather and Latex Novelties, Boots, Ladies' Leathers. 1702 Washington Street San Francisco, California 94109 Phone (415) 885-5773 ank Americard, Master Charge, American Express, Diners Club & Carte Blanche - give account number & expiration data

The Leather Fraternity

ENGLAND

LONDON, M. Leo. 29, 5'11", 154, White, 7", Knowledgeable, Needs to be taught respect and beaten into passive ways. Box 060X

NORTHOLT, MIDDLESEX, M. Leo, 33, 5'11". 164. White, 7". Knowledgeable, Often in U.S. 164. White, 7". Knowledgeable, Often in U.S. Qualified houseman, butler, valet, Box 066.

HOLLAND

AMSTELVEEN. M. Aquarius, 41, 6', 165, White, 5' 2'', Old hand, Travels in U.S., Canada, Europe, Box 275.

LATE ARRIVALS

CALIFORNIA

HOLLYWOOD, S. Libra, 42, 6'1", 185, White, 7", Experienced to turn you on. Seeks husky, youngish slave to train completely. No heavy pain, a little love. No fems. Be humble. Box 071X.

HOLLYWOOD. S. Cancer, 32, 5'11", 170, White, 9", old hand, S&M film superstar wants to dominate ultra masculine partner, 30 to 50. No fems, fats, Box 185P.

LOS ANGELES. S. Libra, 37, 6'4", 200, White, 71 / 2", Knowledgeable will respect limits, of husky, masculine slave with hairy chest. No fems, scat, heavy scenes. Must be discreet. Box 205M.

FLORIDA

LAKE WORTH. SM. Pisces. 36, 6'1", 175, White, 8", old hand. Can endure much in either role and want no nonsense partner who knows what he is doing, Into heavy S&M, regular sex. No fems, amateurs, Box 1251.

PENNSYLVANIA

BUCKS COUNTY. M. Taurus, 48, 6', 145, White, 6", knowledgeable. Wants relationship with clean, intelligent man with leather tastes. No hardcore S&M, drugs, fats, blacks. Box 252C.

WAYNE. MS. Leo, 47, 5'7½", 145, White, 7", knowledgeable. Seeks sincere, straight-appear ing, respectful master, 30 to 50. No fats, blacks, redheads. Box 296G.

All inquiries concerning THE LEATHER FRATERNITY, or letters for forwarding to FRATERNITY members, should be addressed to: THE LEATHER FRATER- NITY, P.O. Box 8444, La Crescenta, CA 92324. Members of the FRATERNITY may contact other members whose listings appear above by putting their response into a STAMPED, SEALED envelope . In PENCIL, write the member's box number on the front and send it to the FRATERNITY. Your letters will be forwarded the same day.

(CIRCLE SYMBOL DESIRED)

Don't have to ask the bartender for a scrap of paper and to borrow a pen. Hand your friend a card, he'll never forget you. With or without your picture, he'll have your name, phone and a symbol to tell him what you're interested in. You don't need to say a word. Beautifully printed on deluxe thin-plate white social cards, enough to last the whole wonderful year!

WITHOUT PICTURE 795 BOX OF 250 CARDS…

WITH PICTURE 195 BOX OF 250 CARDS

You won't find our Fraternity on any campus

This is not to say that there isn't a practitioner or two at good old State U, but the LEATHER FRATERNITY will hardly be on the list between Phi Delta and Sigma Chi.

Definitely not a school sponsored organization, the LEATHER FRATERNITY is a select group of interested, and interesting, Leathermen the world over. These are guys who are into what you're giving-or getting, as the case may be.

Moreover, the LEATHER FRATERNITY is a guaranteed, discreet method of meeting people who balance your particular wants and desires without your having to suffer the possible embarrassment of asking dumb questions in a heavy leather bar … or in the student lounge between classes.

There are numerous advantages to membership in the LEATHER FRATERNITY Elsewhere in this issue you'll notice listings of Fraternity members. As a member yourself, you'll have the privilege of contacting those members who appeal to you. You, too, will have such an ad listing … absolutely free. During the term of your membership you will receive DRUMMER at no charge … and that's worth fifteen bucks right there! Plus, as a member, you can purchase a full year's gift subscription for a friend for just $10, the usual six-month rate. And remember these benefits are available ONLY to members.

The cost? Surprisingly low … just $25 a year. Interested? Then simply fill out, clip and mail the coupon below. Wouldn't you really rather be a Fraternity brother than a sorority sister?

The Leather Fraternit

POST OFFICE BOX 8444 LA CRESCENTA, CALIF. 91214

I'm curious. Enclosed is a buck for more info. I understand this will apply to my year's membership fee if I decide to join. Lay it on me. I know when I'm whipped. Enclosed is $25 for my fee. Start my DRUMMER coming, send my application, and all the benefits of membership and make it snappy initial

rather apologetic regular men in blue, stopped the performance and began handcuffing personnel of the Meeting House Cabaret. Those arrested , ostensibly for displaying nudity where food and liquor were being served, included four waiters clad in sarongs briefly doffed on stage; the superstar who sang and displayed his 12' talent; two muscle-men , a boy juggler, a drag queen and a comedienne, all of whom stripped; and another woman who, as emcee, never took off her clothes. The producer, Gerald Gordon, was also arrested as an accomplice to the above crimes but was not handcuffed

(cuffs being discretionary, after all). The audience of about 150, which included Mr. Blackwell and other members of the press, were mostly irate. They gave the performers ovations as they were led off the stage, and several chose to remonstrate with the officers, but to no avail. The Vice expressed amazement that no one followed their lead in demanding refunds. I was only stunned that when the houselights came on, half my station stood up with badges.

Of these, one young woman carried the drinks I had served her in a Mason jar as she pointed out all the men who had been nude on stage, and she was very good at putting the cocks together with the faces (The jar was to show headquarters that if she'd had a good time, it wasn't because of the liquor.)

The cast was given the opportunity to dress, but we waiters were not allowed to get our pants or shoes. In pairs, escorted by pairs of patrolmen, we were driven in separate cars to

Wilshire Division.

The attitude of our escorts was one of mild embarassment, although the girls complained of verbal harassment from the Vice. At the station, booking was delayed until someone could find a copy of the municipal ordinance we had allegedly violated An extra clerk was summoned to help type the booking information. Those of us with local I.D. were released on our Own Recognizance, while the producers secured a bondsman for the out-of-towners who were subsequently released on bail of $1000 each.

Beginning at midnight, we were let out one-at-a-time every five minutes. We chose to regroup in the outside hall. In the brief lava-lava, if I sat down everything fell out on the bench, so I stood rather than get busted for indecent exposure in the station. (Some of the kids were a little leery of the photographers, but I told them to cover their faces with

When we met in an attorney's office the following Monday, we were full of questions. The producers had told us prior to the opening that there was no danger of arrests. On several occasions, they asked that a police representative view the show. The city had replied that this would not be necessary, that there were no violations. The police said at the time of the arrests that they were called in because "a woman complained .

We read the ordinance. It stated that it is illegal to show tits and ass "where food and / or liquor is being served EXCEPT IN A CONCERT HALL OR OTHER PLACE WHERE THEATRICAL ENTERTAINMENT IS NORMALLY PRESENTED." Since the emphasis is theirs, I must assume that the vice can't read phrases set in caps

The woman who complained was the chick with the Mason jar who had gone to the pay phone to ask for officers to aid with the arrests.

The exact definition of a theatre is vague enough that the City Attorney's office chose not to file charges. There was no arraignment, only a tremendous cost to the taxpayers.

To add insult to injury, the producers docked us for the two-and-a-half hours we spent in the can.

D D 1

ODE TO CAPRICORN

Love is sometimes like the night … Once the brightness has faded, We seem to forever Linger in darkness.

When we were united-You were I … and I was you. Why can't we Pass through the same door Again?

Song - R. PRITCHARD

WHO ARE TH 7

They're just some of the hunky young men from

() rentwood, 0

Want to see much more of them? We feature them and others in the world's most unique TOTAL ACTION films.

Send us your name, address and $2.00 and we'll send you our exciting catalogs.

G Bentwood,

Dept. D. P.O. Box 990 San Francisco, CA 94101 PLEASE STATE THAT YOU ARE OVER 21

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LIKE THE MOVIES, STAGE AND TV, THE FUNNIES HAVE THEIR MOMENTS IN THE S&M SCHEME OF THINGS-READ ON …

"GARTH" is by Frank Bellamy, John Allard and Jim Edger. The only paper we ever saw it in is The Menomonee Falls Gazette. It has a bloodthirsty story line accompanying its beautiful art. We offer you these few bits and pieces. Titilating, to say the least.

"FLASH GORDON" in its original run by its creator Alex Raymond was incomparable. Dale Arden was a drag, but Flash himself is indestructable. What villian could compare with Ming the Merciless? The terrible things he could think of to do to our hero!

There are two sides to every story, His and his. Following is Fred's; for Joey's more fictionalized account of their all-consuming passion, see Issue #37 of GayTimes.

I was talking to Robert Payne at the DRUMMER office the other day, and he asked me how it was going with Joey.

I met Joseph Yale in '69 in front of the Falcon's Lair, a leather bar in L.A. He was standing on the corner cruising the types going into the bar. I got out of my Ranchero and walked by in my army pants, noticing Joey's cruising eye and pretty, innocent blond figure. I took about ten steps, then went back and asked him if he'd like to follow me home…he did, and I fucked the shit out of him.

Not too long after that I asked him if he would be in my film, "L.A. PLAYS ITSELF." I needed a young boy, and it was about bugs and stuff.

He immediately said yes, and we proceeded to start shooting on weekends . Joey didn't know which way was up, as I was sticking my arm up his sweet ass. Anyway, I was fucking Joey at the time and living with my supposed lover of five years (we stopped having sex after the first six months but continued the fraud of SLEEPING TOGETHER and etc. for five years MORE)…tricking and filming Joey (who, I later found out, only made the film because he thought he could catch me)… I have not yet even PAID Joey his $500 or five percent for the film… ANYWAY we met. WE FUCKED we filmed … and then Joey split (for about two years), writing me off as a lost cause and the film as an excuse to fuck

I next met little Joey in '71 INSIDE the Lair and invited him home. (I was now living in my fantastic, soundproofed pad above the notorious SUNSET STRIP.) Things had gone well for me in the two years … got rid of the fake love and bought a groovy private house…so I bring Joey up to my fort and drop my pants in front of the fireplace and stand silhouetted in my jockstrap for his adulation… Joey knows somewhat about me already and proceeds to present himself for my consideration. I tied him to my bed as I lied to him and told him I wanted him to "LICK MY BOOTS, BABY" and implied no great physical dangers … ANYWAY … here I am, stoned in my fort, with really cute Joey TIED to my bed … SHIT… I forgot about my boots and found my WHIPS AND STUFF and proceeded to rape his neat tight body and force his incredible MOUTH to do all kinds of perverse things as I beat him with my vast array of SEX-TOOLS after I let this beautiful and TALENTED slave up, he RAN OUT OF THE HOUSE screaming at me … "YOU'RE A MONSTER NEVER, NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN"… that was not the first time I heard any kind of rap like that, so I dismissed his hysteria and walked him to the car saying . . "YOU'LL BE BACK"

(This is a postscript.) I recently found out that AFTER this memorable fuck (memorable to Joey) … my mind rotted out several years ago …

INNOCENT JOEY tells his friends all about this horrible evening how I forced him to commit unspeakable perversions (I DID) and tied him up and unmercifully beat him after tricking him into it (I DID) and on and on … seems we have some of the same acquaintances, and I start hearing about poor Joey and what a demon I am (I AM). HAHAHA… laugh at my friends. (Remember, "LA PLAYS" hasn't been released yet, so people are BUYING little … 5'1", the right CROTCH SIZE. Joev's remarks .) I tell them… "HE LOVED IT" … ANYWAY

I just learned he told some friends (who evidently think highly of themselves ) and they told him they were going to form a VIGILANTE SQUAD and RIGHT THE WRONG and FORCE ME into doing ALL THE DESPICABLE things to them…me now being on the receiver's (JOEY'S) end… JOEY'S friends are all studettes (usually with HUGE COCKS) and not at all on my level … needless to say, nothing came of THAT GROUP…had they been so naive as to try to attack ME and force ME into a slave's role (to avenge poor Joey)…I would not be responsible for their poor, torn apart corpses. all six of them I would chew up and spit out while I am reading HERMAN COMICS in the LA TIMES (the only good part) and pruning my aspidistra.

April '74. My buddy MITCH takes me to LARRY'S BAR after we did a sneak preview of the really hot SAIL-OR RAPE scene of "SEXTOOL" at the Vista porno house here in L.A… anyway, I felt good and the film looked hot, so I went out … I stay home a lot … and there at LARRY'S was little JOEY (who watched me for some time before he came up to me) ANYWAY … we said HELLO. each other how we were, I offered the usual bu'lshit of why don't he come home with me. . he says NO … I said "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" … he says I don't want to go home with you cause I don't want to get that beat up . I lied again . . told him I've changed and it would be a very LAID BACK EVENING … Joey finds it difficult to say NO to me … following me in his car he knew I was lying and he knew I knew he knew I was lying … ANYWAY … it seems in my bedroom is the infamous double iron-spring bunk bed that I had just filmed and put into the room…just hot naked springs to bite against

FRED HALSTED

DRUMMER visits Larry's

There are currently two top bars in Los Angeles that have become headquarters for the local Leather crowd. One is for fun and one is for real. The real one is Larry's, and the difference is that it was designed and built by Larry "The Mad Welder" Young who is as serious about S&M as anyone can be. His preoccupation is obvious the minute you pass through the front door of heavy prison steel. Once inside Larry's dungeon, complete with walls of gray stone and the largest collection of torture equipment and sextoys in any bar, you notice a distinct atmosphere of apprehension and expectation. The scene is for real, and nobody walks in unless he's horny to begin with. You can cut the sexual tension with a riding crop. -turn page, please …

There are shackles on the wall to make sure your slave stays in one place. Of heavy wrought iron, they fasten easily with a bolt or your lock. Either way, you know right where to find him.

DRUMMER Visits Larry's

CONTINUED-

The first object that catches your eye is an authentic torture rack weighing several hundred pounds and complete with steel shackles, chains and winch that will stretch more than your imagination. Hanging on the walls are various torture devices: hoods, harnesses, gags, whips, paddles, tit clamps, cattle prods, collars and chains. One of DRUMMER's favorites is the "ass spreader," adapted from an authen- tic vet's speculum, the self-locking device used to clamp open an animal's mouth. From the ceiling in a room just off the main bar is hung a Boot Hoist: military boots secured upside-down on a board suspended by a rope hoist and pulley. It seems to keep a lot of Ms hanging around.

For those into water sports, Larry's toilets are provided with steel collars and double sets of shackles strategically located. Locked in place, you'd have a hard time refusing even the "Big Apple," a red rubber inflatable balloon meant for the rectum.

(Larry's has one of these painful items providing a spot of color be- hind the bar.)

The bar seems to draw a social cross section of people who are united chiefly by a common interest in far-out sex. Although not all of the customers are participants, the percentage of those active in discipline, humiliation, bondage, water sports and / or scat is higher than practically anywhere in the country. Larry's intention is to set a mood that is super-heavy , bizarre, trashy. And it succeeds. The lights are dim and the music seems designed by its volume and careful selection of raunch-rock to discourage casual social conversation . "Ya wanna fuck?" is about all you can hear over the Heavy Metal Sounds

Surprisingly, with such a dedication to trashy sex, the bar is clean and good liquor is well served (even if the bartenders are often chained to the walls). Tuesday evening is Ban-dana Night, a special evening for one to denote his sex practice by the color and placement of his bandana. While not running a dating service, Larry, if he's present, is usually willing to tell you what somebody's trip is, and how heavy, so that you don't wind up with a scene that will break you.

A recent institution is Full Moon Night, held once a month when the moon has waxed to its fullest. On this occasion, which is a sort of costume party, everyone is encouraged to bring his serious trips out in public. Judges pick the individual, pair and group who reveal the most severe and real scene. Gag your M, hood him, brand him, chain him and drag him in. The prizes are worth the effort if you can show true class.

The purpose of Larry's is to render fantasies real. It is terrifying. Larry built it that way,

-WILLIAM WULFWINE

(Above) JERRY is kept chained to the ceiling during LARRY'S FULL MOON FESTIVALS. JERRY was a front-running candidate in the HAWK'S LEATHER SABBAT for the Mr. Leather title.

FULL MOON NIGHT at LARRY'S has been changed to a reservation-only status. You must get your free ticket in advance from Larry himself, and show up in Leather before 10 p.m. Tourists and voyeurs stand in line outside.

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The Leather BAR SCENE

ALABAMA

DOTHAN

The Upstairs …

ARIZONA

PHOENIX

Nu Towne Saloon … Van Buren near 48th Ramrod …

CALIFORNIA

| Saddle Club

Bunkhouse … | Headquarters

PALM SPRINGS Party Room 67-977 Highway 111 SACRAMENTO Montana Saloon 7604 Fair Oaks Blvd. SAN DIEGO

Bee Jay's …

| Riff Raff

COLORADO

DENVER

Our Den …5110 W. Colfax Triangle …

COLORADO SPRINGS

Box Car (on Nevada Ave. near Air Force Acad.)

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA

Barn … Eagle 904 Ninth St. NW Horseshoe Saloon 8th at Eastern, SE Louie's Spartan Lounge 305 Ninth St. NW

CONNECTICUT

HARTFORD

…61 Woodbine Warehouse …

Rusty's Roadhouse …

FLORIDA

FT. LAUDERDALE

Mary's / The Stud Shop … 17 S. Atlantic Blvd. Tacky's … Tacky's HOLLYWOOD

Tee Jay's …

JACKSONVILLE

KIKIKI Saloon … Ohio Bar …

GEORGIA

Mrs. P's …

Gold Coast …

ILLINOIS

Missing Link …

KENTUCKY

LOUISVILLE

Badlands Territory …116 E. Main

LOUISIANA

NEW ORLEANS Golden Lantern 1239 Royal St. Lafitte's in Exile 901 Bourbon St.

MARYLAND

Gallery 1735 Maryland Leon's 870 Peak Satellite 901 Aliceanna Shipmates 1735 Maryland

MASSACHUSETTS

| BOSTON Sea Drift Inn (a guest house) … 80 Bradford St. SPRINGFIELD

Quarry…382 Dwight St.

MICHIGAN

Interchange …

MISSOURI

KANSAS CITY

Pit …

MONTANA

BILLINGS

Frank's Hole … Cockpit …

NEBRASKA

OMAHA

Diamond Bar …516 S. 16th St.

NEW YORK

MANHATTAN

Anvil …

Cell Block 372 W. 11th St. Dungeon 835 Washington Eagle's Nest 21st St. at

The Leather BAR SCENE

OHIO

OREGON

PORTLAND

PENNSYLVANIA

Edison Hotel Bar …

TENNESSEE

MEMPHIS

NASHVILLE 265 S. Cleveland Entree Nuit …

Jungle Lounge …

TEXAS

WASHINGTON

SEATTLE

WISCONSIN

MILWAUKEE

…266 E. Erie Wreck Room …

WYOMING

CHEYENNE

Sam's Place …1600 Central Ave.

To the best of DRUMMER'S knowledge, all of the above bars are still alive and living in Leather. If you can keep us informed of openings and / or closings of Leather Bars in your area…or let us know what we have missed-it will keep us all informed of where the Leather Bar action is. Thanks.

CANADA

MONTREAL, P.Q.

Playpen South…

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In passing

DRUMMER MARCHES ON …

The first issue of the new year is as good a time for a progress report as any. DRUMMER has progressed beyond our wildest dreams, creating special, if desirable, problems. This, our fourth issue had to be upped eight pages, requiring being made over at the last minute. The press run is 25% larger than the last issue. We will have a British, European and Pacific distributor this time around. Incidentally, one reader in Fort Worth reports being charged $7.50 for a copy of DRUMMER at a local bookstore. This is flattering, but unnecessary . The letters section (SIR!) reflects a small portion of our incoming correspondence from around the world. It is gratifying to hear from so many old and new friends. The Fraternity is booming, with a Slave Auction (for charity) and an All-Leather run planned for the coming year.

"THE INFORMANT"…

We were amused to see in an editorial in a newsletter titled "The Informant," an attack on a book called "Beyond Success and Failure." One line quoted from the book, and to which they justifiably took offense was, "Homosexuals hate each other, both individually and collectively. They actively belittle and disparage each other, openly and behind the back; and denigrate the achievement of the others" (corrections in spellings, ours). "The Informant" then proceeds to prove the quotation accurate by attacking everyone and everything in sight. Their critiques are based on personal prejudice, and in our case, misinformation. On the last page of their mimeographed effort, they have given a San Francisco MD a mechanical masturbation machine as first prize for having the most complaints-justified or otherwise -against gay sources. We, and our attornies, have written to them, pointing out what shaky legal ground they were on, promising them a fat lip and / or a lawsuit, and to date we have heard nothing. At any rate, if you want to win a jack-off machine, make up a dozen or so accusations against anyone and send them to "The Informant." It beats jacking off.

ON BROTHERHOOD …

Here is some advice on making out from "THE CARE AND TRAINING OF THE MALE SLAVE II" and we believe it bears being embroidered on samplers, cast in bronze, scratched on john walls, carved on marble and even burned into willing flesh: "The Gay Fraternity is the largest in the world. It encompasses approximately a fifth of the world's population.

Whenever you go to a strange city, you have thousands of ready-made fraternity brothers. Find one of the gathering places of this ready-made comraderie-like a gay bar. Buy a drink and look at some of your brothers. Beautiful. You have something going for you that your straight counterparts do not. Screw up your courage and go over to talk to one of these beautiful people. That's probably where it all stops. You will probably instantly be classified as: 1. Desirable , but maybe someone better will come along, or, 2. Not desirable (according to one's fantasies) and not worth knowing because there is only a few hours cruising time. The beauty in question very likely will end up going home alone. So will you, if you take him seriously. We are all brothers, and, in spite of politics, religion , ethnic, racial or family backgrounds , we have a couple of great motivating tie-ins: a common sexual need, and in the case of Leather, similar tastes in its practice. Rejecting someone in order to bolster one's own ego is a cheap shot. You don't have to make it with everyone you talk to. But reach out, live a little. Even love a little. Whatever your sexual bag is, you are dealing with a brother. Act like one."

ROBERT PAYNE

ADVICE TO A NEW SLAVE

You have now given yourself or been sold to your new Master. Every Master is unique, but there are certain pointers and guidelines which to your new life easier. Remember that your entire life is now dedicated to serving and pleasing Him in any way He desires.

1. Obey your Master fully, immediately and silently (except for "Yes, Sir"). Do not attempt to understand the reason behind the command. It is none of your con- 5. cern.

2. Never question your Master in public. A Master is judged by the disobedient slave is the worst possible reflection on Him.

3. Every statement or question directed to your Master should contain the word "Sir," or "Mas- ter" if He prefers. It is a sign of respect and puts what you are about to say in the proper perspective . den to you from now on. Stand at all times unless your Master gives you permission to sit, then sit at His feet. It may be necessary for you to kneel or lie down to perform certain duties. Your Master will instruct you concerning this

Wear your chains and marks with pride. Your Master cares enough for you to want you identified as His property. slaves He keeps, and a hesitant or 6. Accept your punishment gratefully . You may have done nothing intentionally, yet you still need a change of attitude or bearing. Always thank your Master at the end of these sessions.

7. Sexual matters are exclusively your Master's concern. He will tell you what He wants and when. Never question His judgment . If He requires something which you feel is beyond you, relax and be quiet; He may be trying to help you become a better slave by expanding your experience in this area.

8 Forget any "limits" you may have had; those are for weekend slavery trips. Your Master wants to protect His property and will do nothing to endanger it.

9. Take care of your health. A sick slave is a burden to his Master.

10. Always be available to your Master , but stay out of His hair. He has more important things to do than supervise you 24 hours a day.

-DON

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Colorado

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Ft. Lauderdale

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Manhattan

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