DATE LINE:

When we started planning DRUM-MER #6, the content was to be such that we were referring to it in the Master's quarters as our burning issue. Why?

One reason is Orlando Paris' original short story "Playing with Fire" (see page 6). Paris is the author of a book of homoerotic gay poetry, "69 Flights of Fancy" (Greenleaf), short stories for QQ magazine and travel articles for Ciao! For the past five years he has been staff book critic for QQ, a role which gave him the courage to write his first novel, about the repression of gays. With the exception of an article for Tail (about his hemorrhoidectomy, of all things), "Playing with Fire" is his first published venture into the world of S&M.

Another torrid topic is G. Calvin Magister's "Markings: A New Revolution in Body Adornment" (page 44), dealing in part with branding.

The really burning issue, however, begins on page 12. For some months, DRUMMER has promised to take you to a slave auction. We're finally doing it, although not in quite the manner we had expected. You see, 65 Los Angeles police officers-accompanied by two helicopters and various and sundry heavy artillery—crashed the party. We had considered running their version of what happened at the auction in place of our usual fiction section, for the finest writer in town could not begin to approach the fabri- cations of the LAPD. We had thought to reprint the Arrest Report in its entirety , faithfully retaining every misspelling , every grammatical and factual error.

We decided against this, however. Not because we fear retribution or continued harassment at the hands of Los Angeles' Blue Meanies, but because we benevolently hesitate to make the ridiculous even more so. Instead , we have reported on the events of the evening and the days following. Sadly, we are unable to use photographs of the slave auction. The police not only robbed us of our dignity but confiscated our film as well. We hope that they enjoy the pictures.

Meanwhile, do it to the beat of DRUMMER!

- JEANNE BARNEY

MALECALL / Dear Sir:

I have just seen my first copy of DRUMMER. I had seen it advertised some months ago in the Advocate, and I knew it was just another try at pulling money from a group of men very much in need of a respectable forum. There was no way I would send good money after a half-assed venture.

My apologies! Yours is a beautifully done mag. If the next issue is this good, I know you can keep it up. My admiration and respect, as well as my sincere gratitude, go to you.

The Advocate wears more than a little thin at times. It is the DRUMMER that touches MY lifestyle!

Scott Baltimore, MD

I was pleased to receive my Leather Fraternity membership pin and promptly stabbed it into a rather tender spot on a slave who happened to be in the house when the mail arrived. Thus bloodied, it now holds a place of honor on my motorcycle jacket.

And my best to the guys at DRUM-MER . What a fantastic job they are doing!

DRUMMER—only the second issue I've seen. It looks interesting and authentic, but then I take a look at New York's 'Leather Bar Scene" and start to won-LIFE Magazine?

Let's go down the line:

ANVIL-OK on that one, a great bar, but now operating on a "private" basis. Open from 11 p.m. until dawn, but no drinks sold. Tickets, to be exchanged for drinks, must be purchased at door. BARN—Closed 3 years. Unlamented. BOOT HILL-Trying to make it as leather , but not much there.

BOOTS & SADDLE—OK. A nice friendly bar. No heavy stuff.

CAVE-Long gone.

DUNGEON-Long gone.

EAGLE'S NEST-Still going strong, but more leather-followers than the real thing. Looks like it's going to suffer the tate of Keller's (see below).

EVERARD's—A turkish bath, not a bar. Leather overtones.

GAUNTLET—Closed 2 years ago. leather listing? A big flashy bar with mucho drag. Disco & dancing.

KELLER'S-Now a cha-cha palace. Very popular but no leather. Ten years ago, Keller's was struggling to make it and invited the leather crowd in. They came and made the bar No. 1. But af- ter a few years, the fluff began to drift in and they weren't discouraged by the management. Reluctantly, the leather guys moved on (we hate to surrender a good bar), and although Keller's still advertises as the place "where MEN Stop Posing and MAKE it. ", anyone coming from out-of-town is in for a sore disappointment. Now the same kind of transformation seems to be taking place at the Eagle's Nest, and it's too damn bad.

LOADING ZONE—Closed.

NINE PLUS—Moved 4 years ago to 138 Eleventh Ave. (cor. 21st St.) This is a private club, open only to members and guests, but 100% all the way. Nine Plus has just won the Brotherhood Award of the year from the A.M.C.C.) Very popular with out-of- town leather and bike members who are always welcome.

John PiCADILLY-This is now called WARE-Dallas , TX HOUSE PIER 51. Some leather.

PLOWBOY—Closed. Was never leather. I just picked up Vol. I, No. 4 of the RAMROD-Best leather bar in the dockstrip area.

ROADHOUSE—Now a restaurant, lost the leather image years ago. the RAMROD (the address you list would be a side entrance to the Ramrod

SPIKE BAR—Leathermen's choice. No. 1 leather bar in New York. Your listing, however, should read "11th Ave & 20th St." More club colors hang in the Spike than any other bar

STRAP—Lots of back-room action, but not much leather. Enough to qualify, though

TY'S-Primarily for the young set. Popular . But any leather is suede. called BILLY THE KID.

There are some newcomers which NYC visitors might check out:

CANDLE-309 Amsterdam Ave., fills the need for a leather bar on the Upper West Side. Gives special leather prices, and welcomes Leather Club Nites

RAMP-11th Ave at 18th St., sells GILDED GRAPE—How did this get in a some leather toys and also Locker

MALECALL / Dear Sir:

Room. Has a "backroom" upstairs. RAWHIDE—West Ave., foot of Christopher St., welcomes LeatherClub activi-ties , should make it as the successor to Keller's.

Two tavorite restaurants of the leather crowd deserve mention:

BEAU GESTE-239 Third Ave. Leather welcome. Reasonable prices. Some leather undertones at the bar.

FEDORA'S-239 West 4th St., good Italian food at reasonable prices, a long-time favorite of the leather crowd.

Gentlemen, I am sending you this information not as a criticism of your listing , but in the hope that you will provide up-to-date information to prospective visitors to New York City. This is a time when leather is more meaningful than ever. New York's Bike Clubs are better organized and flourishing as never before—so is the whole Eastern seaboard for that matter—and the word "Brotherhood" is on more lips than ever.

HANK New York City

Thank you for the pleasure you have given me with Issue #5 of DRUMMER. It's very hard to see how there could be improvements in your magazine, yet each issue seems to be better than the last

The play "Isomer" was really far-out, and reminded me a little of Beckett's work. It was much enjoyed.

But my real favorite in the issue was "Babysitter" by Phil Andros, whose work I have admired for a long time, through many novels and short stories, and I congratulate you for having add- ed him to your list of excellent writers. I like his wonderful sense of humor and his characterization and timing; he seems to be able to stimulate the imagination even more than most porno writers, and his background must be vast and varied. I have never cared much for hustlers, but if I could find an intelligent humanist like Phil Andros, I sure as hell wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life with him. His insights into the cramped quarters of human nature are always profound and penetrating, and I am especially glad to see him turn his pen to S / M; there have been signs of it in his earlier novels and short stories, and I can only hope that having begun on these lines again, he will decide to write more stories on the theme which interests me more than any other. What he writes really has the ring of truth and experience to it.

Thank you again for your last issue. You are succeeding in bringing leather and S / M up to its rightful place.

Sincerely, J.C. San Francisco, CA

From your Volume 1 Issue 5, I have gotten the impression that your editors have been beaten to the point that they don't care what they let go to press, or, they're all slaves and, therefore , will print anything they read in the "Gay Book of Astrology."

Mars, not Pluto, is the ruling planet of Aries and, being one myself, I found your printing of this bit of misinformation decidedly irritating.

You see, Arians are also capable of seeing through bullshit like a plate glass window and will tolerate it almost as long as they will a boiling oil enema.

Your magazine looks very nice and well put together—so does the Good- year blimp—let's hope you're not going to fill DRUMMER with the same stuff!

Michael of Madtown

I liked Rex Vidor. The New Orleans bar where we met was mixed: fluff and leather, but practically everyone wore jeans. It was a study in Southern subtlety.

Rex took me home, boozed and stripped me, and told me to lie face down on a fur rug. I did, and Rex took a shower. He came out dripping and threw himself on my back. I was nineteen then, and though my cherry had been long lost, the box it came in was still tight as a tit clamp.

Rex reared and bucked like a bronc or, rather, I did and he stayed well in the saddle. His long chestnut hair fell over my face on either side. I could feel those denim blue eyes drilling into the back of my head.

Rex shoved a sniffy in my nostril, and then, just before his orgasm, I felt a sharp burning pain in my armpit. From a pile of wooden matches, Rex had struck one and held it to my skin. Naturally, I thrashed around; there was a smell of burning sulfur and hair; my ass contracted. Rex dropped his load deep in my writhing gut.

Fortunately, the amyl had saved me from getting pissed off and the hell out of there, and Rex and I became friends. But I had to admit, much as I might have liked to be, I couldn't be his lover. I was turned off by Rex's little fun thing with the matches, though it obviously gave him a better fuck. I didn't disapprove ; it simply wasn't my bag.

A month or so later Rex told me he had found Gary, who did dig the scene. Suggesting that I might want to watch, Rex invited me to his place on St. Ann Street for a session.

How did you find Gary?" I asked.

"Simple," Rex replied. "We were sitting beside each other in Daisy's, and when I went to flick my cigarette he kept his hand right where it had been, covering the ashtray. I brought the butt closer and he still didn't move. The burning tip was a bare quarter-of-an -inch from the back of his hand. I looked at him, thinking maybe he had left his hand there unintentionally, per- haps drunkenly, but all he did was smile back at me, coolly, knowingly.

"I flicked the ashes," Rex continued. "He didn't move a muscle. I drank and smoked furiously; the prospect of what was about to happen excited me, and my jeans were bulging. I saw, too, that Gary was now erecting beneath the pale skin of his jeans. Neither of us spoke. Gary kept smiling.

"You didn't put your cigarette out on his hand there in the bar?" I asked, grinning

"I did," Rex replied, "and just as we could smell the flesh burning Gary shot, right in his jeans. I did, too. We walked out together, cum staining the

"Well," Rex went on, "to make a long story short, we shacked up that night, and I found Gary liked the match bit on his tits, his balls, his ass and, best of all, on the head of his cock.

"He didn't flinch?" I asked in amazement

Of course he did, but a little clothes- care of that. I knew he was okay: he stayed hard as a piston.

"You can't just go around burning a guy with matches and cigarettes, protested. "You'll run out of virgin flesh.

Rex laughed. "Don't worry," he said, "since then we've become pretty sophisticated. As I said, come by around midnight tonight."

Wild tigers couldn't have kept me away. When I arrived at Rex's he met me in leather chaps, boots and an open vest. He was a real turn-on.

'C'mon into the playroom," he said.

"I'll get you a beer.

I walked into playroom. The light was a dim purple, and it took a minute for my eyes to adjust. When they did, finally, I saw Gary. He was attractive, early twenties, I'd say, and he flashed me a sexy grin. He was flat on his back on a table, held by a chain around his neck, belts around his chest and waist, and chained cuffs from his wrists to the walls. His head was propped up so he could see. Gary's ass hung just over the end of the table, but was held in place by widespread shackles from his knees to the ceiling. Lines from his ankles to rings in the floor were taut.

Gary was totally immobilized in the sling, his most vulnerable parts exposed and open to any attack.

I was tempted to run my hand over his great stiffened cock, but Rex came in with my beer and a filthy wet jock- strap.

"Just pissed on this," he said. "It should keep him quiet." Rex grabbed Gary's blond hair and yanked backwards . Gary opened his mouth. Rex stuffed in the jock. "Taste good?" asked Rex.

Gary groaned, as in ecstasy, his eyes following Rex's every move.

Rex, too, had a beer, and we drank together, ignoring Gary. He suggested that I strip for comfort. I did, seeing then that Rex was coming fully, impressively erect through the wide gap in his black chaps.

"Just relax and enjoy it," he said to me. "When I'm done with him I'll make him give you the best blow job you've ever had, but for now I have to get to work."

From a nearby table Rex took a tiny blowtorch, the kind I imagine jewelers use. It lit with a small whoosh, and Rex adjusted the flame from orange to blue, holding it in front of Gary's face.

You want it?" Rex asked.

There was fear in Gary's eyes now, but he nodded assent and Rex brought the torch briefly between his nipples, pulling it away as the hairs on Gary's chest began to burn. Then again and again, in short little swoops, Rex bore in with the flame until the hair had been completely removed.

"Now the fun starts." I had noticed Gary's armpits were clean; the result, I would guess, of an earlier session. There was only one place left to go.

Rex turned off the torch and set it aside, producing a three-inch ball stretcher which he put on Gary with no tenderness at all, yanking hard on his scrotum to pull it far enough out to accommodate the wide leather strap.

Gary was super hard. His cock was fairly long and reasonably thick, and it stood up from his body with raw naked pride.

Rex then showed me the cock ring he would fasten on Gary: it had sharp needle-like prongs on the inside, bound to cut into flesh when properly secured. It went under the bottom inside edge of the ball stretcher, over the base of Gary's cock and was snapped tightly into place.

Rex tied a short cord around the ball stretcher. To a hook at its end he fast- ened a pail.

"This is where we piss," he said. "I'll get us some more beer."

We each drank three more beers, sharing a j, smoking cigarettes, talking, ignoring Gary. It was Rex's party, and there was no reason to feel sorry for Gary. Gary remained steel-hard every minute, and there was a look of extreme happiness on his face. His cock I spoke for him.

Within a half hour Rex and I had each pissed twice, and the bucket was filling. I thought the strain on Gary's balls must be excruciating, but as we pissed a third time he only looked at us with beaming pleasure. I'm sure he would have smiled but for the jock-strap in his mouth.

Rex disappeared to the kitchen, I thought only to get us more beer, but I heard the hiss and soft noise of his gas stove lighting. He returned with beer. Then he relit the jeweler's torch and moved in on Gary's crotch. Slowly, methodically, he removed all of Gary's pubic hair. It stank, of course, but the torch never lingered long enough in one place to burn severely. The closest Gary came to a serious burn was when Rex played the flame slowly up and down and up and down the underside of Gary's raging hardon, letting the blue heat linger a second too long when it reached the turgid head.

There was a muffled shriek from Gary's gag, and I could see Rex's cock leap ferociously at the sound. Rex extinguished the blowtorch. We drank our beers, and once more we both pissed. The pail was full, dragging

Rex then produced a can of Crisco and began fingering Gary's asshole. The pail swung from side to side, sloshing piss on the floor. Suddenly Rex unhooked the bucket, untied the rope, and with his thumbs deftly shoved Gary's balls into his ass. He unsnapped the ball stretcher and poked the balls even more deeply into him. Then, with his belt, Rex brutally whipped Gary's ass, causing the hole to contract and clamp around his balls, until Rex was satisfied they they would not come out.

Without pubic hair, Gary's skin now showed blood dripping slowly from around the cock ring, but Rex ignored it. Instead, he produced two spring clamps and carefully fitted them onto Gary's nipples. I could see they were vise-tight; the tips of the nipples were swollen nearly to bursting. When they were positioned to Rex's satisfaction, he played with them, batting them back and forth to ensure their staying in place. They stayed.

Quickly Rex yanked the jock from Gary's mouth and replaced it with a bit which he fastened securely behind Cary's head. Into Cary's mouth and down his throat Rex forced a red rubber tube from an enema bag. Gary gagged at first but as the tube settled into place deep in his esophagus, he breathed deeply, moaning softly, his eyes glistening with fear

Rex shoved a funnel into the free end of the tube, asked me to hold it, and then slowly poured the pail of piss into Gary. We could see his stomach distend as it took nearly a full gallon.

"He'll just have to hold it," Rex said. "He's too hard to piss, and if he throws up, he'll drown in his own puke." Cary

was hard, rock hard. Rex pulled the tube from Gary's throat and stuffed the jock back in with the bit. "If I think he deserves it, I'll ram a catheter up his prick to his bladder later on. For now we'll just let him enjoy it."

Rex patted Gary's stomach, gently stroked his cock, then suddenly punched him in the belly. The jab must have pulled on Gary's balls, strained his abdomen, and made him choke all at the same time: his forehead broke out in a fierce sweat. He groaned. His eyes watered. His eyelids clenched with pain. But his cock remained rigidly hard.

"Come with me," Rex said, and we walked out into the kitchen, leaving Gary to his thoughts and the expectation of what was likely to happen next, to his fears and his joys.

On the stove, its end lying red-hot in the high gas flame, was a brand. It was about 18 inches long with a wooden handle. Rex picked it up and showed me the design: it was a capital "R" with a circular pointed crown above the block letter, about one-and-a-half by three inches. It glowed red-white.

"Rex," Rex said. "Get it?"

I got it, and for a split second I was Then I realized that this was afraid. probably exactly what Gary wanted. The thought of Rex burning his brand onto Gary's ass sent the blood surging through me. Rex saw my cock jump.

"You like the idea, huh?" "Yeah," I replied, "on Gary."

"It's on more than just Gary," Rex said, smiling. Again my cock surged. Rex's cock had never flagged. It was as huge, full and stiff as ever.

"Now I want your help," Rex said. "When you see me moving in, tear the clips off his tits. It will hurt like hell, and he won't even notice the brand. Okay?'

"Okay." We moved back into the playroom, Rex holding the brand be- low Gary's line of vision.

I stationed myself behind Gary, my hands on his shoulders, my cock resting in his hair. Rex stood between his suspended knees.

Rex nodded to me. My hands flew to the clamps and ripped them off, taking the skin with them.

Gary's scream was muffled effective-

The smell of burning flesh hit me at damn near the same second I heard the hiss of the red-hot brand searing into the cheek of Gary's ass.

Gary's whole body jerked within its confines but there was no slack in the bondage, and Rex held the brand in place.

Gary shot. Globs and drops of thick sperm spewed from his cock onto his body, from his belly button to his face.

Rex dropped the smoking brand into the empty piss pail and leaned into the vee of Gary's legs. He shot, and spurt after spurt of his white sperm slapped onto Gary's body. One clutch of drops landed on Gary's eyebrow and slid down into his eye.

To my surprise, I, too, came, my sperm shooting past Gary's neck onto his tan body. Again and again I spasmed, and I didn't stop for at least half-a-minute. Rex was still shooting, a drop or two of juice at a time now dribbling from the head of his cock. When Rex was finally wasted and I was totally wrecked, Gary's cock was still forcing out the last of his sperm.

Rex and I smeared all that sperm together on Gary's body, savoring with our tongues the essence of the scene, and then we collapsed with another beer.

Before that, though, Rex sloshed Gary's brand with rubbing alcohol and sprayed it with an antiseptic. He gently extracted Gary's balls from his ass, re- moved the bit and jock from his mouth, and kissed him long and hard. couldn't help noticing that Gary, still slung and exhausted to the point of near unconsciousness, kissed Rex back.

"If he behaves," Rex said to me with a smile, "I'll brand his other cheek some day.

Though his pain must have been fierce, Gary grinned, and his cock lunged upward again. The anticipation had just begun.

A RICHLY ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE INTRODUCING THE NEW LINE OF ABUSIVE FURNITURE FROM THE DUNGEON IN SAN FRANCISCO WHICH BRINGS TOGETHER FOR THE FIRST TIME A PRACTICAL GUIDE ON WHERE TO PURCHASE AND HOW TO USE THE STOCKS, RACKS, CAGES, BEDS AND OTHER FURNI-TURE SO IMPORTANT TO B&D AND S&M SCENES AND GAMES - COMPLETE WITH NUMEROUS PHOTOS WHICH ILLUSTRATE, INSTRUCT, AND STIMULATE!

This magazine, a publishing first, features detailed descriptions and illustrations of 20 pieces of abusive furniture manufactured by The Dungeon in San Francisco. In the more than 150 photographs, an exciting group of models demonstrate just how each rack, stock, cage, etc., can be used to enrich the various aspects of the S&M scene. The magazine is 81 / 2x11 inches in size and is priced at $4.00.

An all-male trip through the Dungeon's world of S&M with 12 hunky masters and slaves. These studs, whether dominant or submissive, really dig these racks and stocks and know just how to use them. The agony of joy and the joy of agony induce the ecstasy of S&M.

THE DUNGEON • 1141 Folsom Street • San Francisco, CA 94103 Please send me:

S&M Dungeon Devices @ $4.00 per copy.

Enclosed please find $ ______. Please add state tax where applicable.

Check ____ Money Order

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I declare that I am an adult being 21 years of age or over. I desire to receive sexually oriented ad material and authorize you to mail me such advertisements, unless and until I notify you in writing to stop sending me such advertisements. I prefer to receive this material in plan envelopes, rather than having the words "Sexually Oriented Ad" or any similar information appear on the outside envelope. I am purchasing th against the seller or any other person in any prosecution or litigation. I will not resell the material or furnish it to minors.

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FVISITIVE

The first of the "Falconhurst" series was "Mandingo," written by Kyle Onstott. Mr. Onstott also wrote "Drum," "Drumson" and "Master of Falcon-hurst ." Lance Horner co-authored "Fal-conhurst Fancy" with Onstott and, when Onstott died, continued the series with "Mistress of Falconhurst," "Flight to Falconhurst," "The Mustee" and further adventures in slavery in locations other than Falconhurst plantation . But it is with only the Falconhurst series that we concern ourselves at this point.

These books have been called morbid , fascinating, revolting, interesting, sadistic, unforgettable, terrible, appalling and trash, depending on the reviewer . By comparison, the South of "Gone With the Wind" seems to be on the level of the Lawrence Welk Show. This article on the Onstott-Horner version of slave-breeding in the old South many bearing lines as big as their titles: "As Electrifying as Mandingo" and "Not since Falconhurst has there been … "So much for the also-a place like. rans. Let's take a look at the real thing.

What is a Mandingo? "They were a Mamitic tribe of Western Sudan, handsome , strong, sturdy and robust, of rich copper color and were more Moorish than Negro. They were, however, lumped with the true Negroes and enslaved when the slavers were able to acquire them," according to Onstott.

The series is set in rural, pre-Civil War Georgia. Falconhurst is a backwash plantation, unstylish and provincial , but extremely prosperous. Great cauldrons of gold dollars are buried on its grounds in soil that was long ago used up by cotton crops. Its main crop now is human beings, slaves in varying degrees of color. Falconhurst is known as far away as New Orleans for its fine. strong, beautiful blacks, sold in caffle once a year by their owners, the Maxwells . There is young, blond Hammond Maxwell and his aging gout-ridden father, Warren Maxwell. Mrs. Maxwell has long gone to her reward and the place lacks a woman's touch.

Hammond acquires a Mandingo named Mede short for Canymede. Most of the slaves, you see, are named for famous people.) Mede is stripped down and harnessed to a plow to strengthen him as a giant "nigger-fight-Along the way, Hammond also acquires a wife named Blanche, sister to a somewhat-queer Charles who not only dies his sister but shares her attraction to male slaves. The rest of the cast around Falconhurst includes Lucretia Borgia, the housekeeper, her twin sons, who are had by everybody, a veterinarian "nigger-doctor" for the livestock and a passing parade of hunky and overripe breeding slaves of various sexes.

Blanche is ignored by Hammond and, in her neglect, forces the Mandingo to service her (along with the twins). It is no surprise when the heir she produces is (gasp!) black. Ham-mond kills his wife and child, then boils Mede to death and pours the resulting cauldron of soup over Blanche's grave. At the close of the book, he takes off for the "Texies" to forget his disgrace.

Mandingo was made into a play which starred the late Franchot Tone and ran for one night. More recently it was a movie, and a sequel is now being filmed by the same studio that made a bundle on the original.

Subsequent volumes take Falcon-hurst through other overseers and even other owners. It is in "The Mustee, perhaps the best of these volumes, that

Warren Maxwell finally dies, although the motion picture version of "Mandingo " finishes him off by gunfire from a rebellious slave. In "The Mustee" Hammond is still in the Texies, Charles brings a giant blond German mustee stud to Falconhurst, Warren Maxwell is in bed with a stroke and Lucretia Borgia is running the place. The mustee's name is Bras d'Or (Golden Arm). He is the offspring of a young German cotton broker and an octoroon beauty from the island of St. Domin-gue . Over six feet tall and two hundred pounds of muscle, he was known as "the stallion" in his gym classes at school in other times. When his father died, he and his mother were sold. His owner kept him dressed in the height of New Orleans style for public display and stripped to the buff at home.

He is traded to Charles for a pretty Cuban boy, and Charles has decided to make a "nigger-fighter" of him. Soon after they arrive at Falconhurst, muted screams are heard throughout the old house. The servants peer through the keyhole and see a scene that turns their blood cold-especially that of the males.

"Please, Master Charles, no more, no more." It was Bras d'Or pleading.

"Go on, yo' goddam nigger! Beg, I tells yo'. 'N whilst yo' a-beggin, crawl on yore black belly." on yore black belly.

There is a swishing sound, the contact of a lash with flesh, and a yelp of pain.

"No more, for the love of God, no more, Master Charles."

"Yo' a-goin' to kiss my feet, yo' black bastard? Yo' a-goin' to crawl over here on yo' hands 'n' knees?"

"Yessir, Master Charles, sir! I will, but please don't strike me again."

"Don' strike me 'gain! Don' do this and don' do that! What the hell yo' think yo' for? Yo' for to do jes' I tells yo'

One of the servants sucks in his breath in astonishment and gazes through the keyhole openmouthed in fascination until another pushes him out of the way to look for himself. Through it all they hear the whip coming down on Bras d'Or's back, but now he's no longer able to scream. Finally it's quiet in the room. Then Charles says, "That's nuf for tonight. Git into bed.

Charles later tries to force money out of the old man lying upstairs, who has another attack and dies. Bras d'Or and the servants attack Charles and kill him violently. It is then decided that there must be a white man running the place or they will all be in trouble. So Bras d'Or becomes Herman Hengst, which is his real name, anyhow. He and Lucretia manage Falconhurst's slave-breeding affairs, doing some breeding himself here and there. At the end of the year, he takes the current crop of blacks to market in New Orleans. Unfortunately , he runs into Hammond Maxwell who is back from the Texies and on his way home. It is a wild but happy ending, with Hammond returning to Falconhurst to find the place full of blond mustee suckers and the crops harvested. Herman takes his new bride (another octoroon) to Germany where they can be free.

The literary style of the series is not only not bad, it is good. It shows a side to slavery that is seldom touched by contemporary writers. The Southern accents are amusing and believable. The immense success of the original "Mandingo"—2,000,000-plus sold of the paperback alone—indicates that its author(s) were barking up the right tree. There is something for everyone, from lascivious love to lynching. And for the devotee, there are other books available by Horner on the subject of slavery.

"Roman Rogue" is laid out in ancient Rome. So is "Children of the Sun," which is almost completely homosexual in theme. "The Tattooed Rood" and "Street of the Sun" are set in Haiti. Horner's latest, "The Golden Stud," an- other best seller, is again back in the old South but not at Falconhurst. There is usually a gay sidekick among the characters, and traffic in male-for-male slaves runs secondary to the books'

The ultimate fate of Falconhurst comes after many years and many hours of pretty exciting reading. We'll let you wade through these volumes yourself. Even if not considered monumental fiction, the series tells its story well and holds the reader throughout the telling. Falconhurst and its people show what American slavery probably was like. At least the authors' unusual approach to an even more unusual theme makes them worth exploring.

Scarlett O'Hara might have preferred Falconhurst to Tara.

DRUMMER FS

The whole thing started out innocently enough, if a slave auction can be called innocent. The Leather Fraternity had promised its members such a function as its first get-together. It was to be an occasion to meet other members and to show the Bike Clubs and Leather Community that we really existed. Two things were important. First, it should be private, not open to the "tourists," the non-leather people. No gigglers, no voyeurs, no strangers and no tickets sold at the door. And net profits from the sale of tickets, after paying for the hall and expenses, were earmarked for such charities as the Gay Community Services Center, which was having trouble staying open. February 14, being Valentine's Day, was chosen for obvious reasons. However , other than a few telephone conversations , nothing was done because it wasn't possible to be ready in time.

Actor Val Martin, our star auctioneer , planned to be out of town that month, so we decided on the second weekend in April. Having such an event without Val was unthinkable. The only other likely candidate was Fred Halsted, who was busy with his own Package. Finally, in March, a letter was sent to Fraternity members, inviting them to the "Slave Auction Benefit" on Saturday, April 10.

Volunteers came by to be auditioned for their "slavery" roles. There were eager young faces looking for someone to serve, even for a weekend. The rules were carefully explained monies raised from their "sale" were to go to the charity of the buyer's choice. There was no stipulation as to which organization would benefit. In fact, if the slave had a favorite charity, he could discuss it with his new Master. The only stipulation was that it be a GAY charity-none of this "Toys for Tots" shit that the Uncle Toms of the Leather crowd seem to be so fond of. Should the slave feel that his buyer was not to his liking, the buyer would be told privately that it was no deal, his check would be returned if he wished but thank you, anyway. We weren't out to hurt anyone's feelings, on either side.

The way tickets were selling, it was beginning to look as though we should have chosen a place larger than the Mark IV Health Club. However, we decided that anything more than 200 people would make it less than private and more of a circus. So the Mark IV it was, a little more air-conditioned and organization in Southern California, obtained a one-day beer license. The Emporium was strong-armed into lending props of leather and metal to drape around. The Mark IV had a newly constructed set of stocks in the background , which were never used, but proved themselves to be very photogenic .

By nine o'clock that Saturday night, the affair was underway. Although things got off to a slow start, there was excitement stirring in quarters that had spent a fortune in money and man-power and whose efforts would make this an auction to remember.

But let's go back in time, back to before the affair was even planned. A bug was placed on DRUMMER's telephone lines shortly after we ran an article entitled The Triumph of the Black Pipe," a final rundown of a police attack on the Leather segment of the gay community three years earlier. The article was, to put it mildly, critical of the largest raid on gay people to that date. It told of the fruitless (oops) waste of money, the lack of convic- tions as well as the hang-ups and the incompetence of the LAPD. In Los Angeles , it is dangerous to run such an article. And this one was read in high places.

What has all this to do with a Slave Auction? We are merely setting the stage for the highly choreographed production that was to follow. After carpeted and muzaked than necessary, but they had a barred, mirrored "cell" to hold the "slaves." Overall it was a lot more plush and a lot less public than the settings of similar auctions in Long Beach and San Diego

H.E.L.P., Inc., the oldest legal aid tapping DRUMMER's telephones, long before any printed notice of the auction / benefit, the police began surveil- lance of: (a) DRUMMER's offices, (b) the plant where DRUMMER and other gay religious and organization publications are printed, and (c) the homes of

DRUMMER 12

(Continued on page 14)

Photo Credits:

Upper Page—BOB CLAYTON, Drummer Lower Left—JOEL THAMES, NewsWest Lower Right-BOB SELAN, L.A. Free Press

both DRUMMER's editor and publisher. Spooky? You ain't heard nothin' yet Twenty-four hours a day, a minimum of four able-bodied highly paid secret police watched members of the two households go to the market, the post office, the bank, the laundromat and the bathroom. Curious neighbors, fearing that the strangers with binoculars were narcs, started harvesting their crops. Deliverymen for the printers complained about being constantly followed by black and white cruisers, even into cities where the LAPD had no jurisdiction. The phones became so bad that half the time they wouldn't ring. The same thing was happening at NewsWest, DRUMMER's sister publi- cation across town, which was the first indication that it might be something other than the inadequacy of the omnipotent Ma Bell. Pacific Telephone told us, when we complained, that if we felt we had a bug on the phones we should "go to the police department." It's true!

Persons who were really up to something illegal would have, at this point, become suspicious. But in our blithe innocence, our "it-can't-happen-here" attitude, we went right along, going so far as to fill late orders by special delivery to make sure our friends would not be disappointed. One of our friends turned out to be a Kenneth Elesser, aka Kenneth Schmidt of Post Office Box 71002, Los Angeles 90071. Mr. Elesser / Schmidt is by trade a postal inspector who works hand-in-hand with the Los Angeles Police Department . As near as anyone can tell, he is the closest the LAPD has to a civilian complainant to the first annual Leather

Fraternity Slave Auction Benefit. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, our deliveryman, who had previously complained about being followed by young men in uniform, picked up H.E.L.P.'s beer and delivered it to the Mark IV. The Emporium donated a bartender to accompany its props. The people at the Mark IV were helpful at the door and everyone got ready for a good time. Saturday night in H*O*L*L*Y- W*O*O*D. Hot damn!

Hollywood, Gentle Reader, is a state of mind. So is Los Angeles, in its own little way. It is known for imagination, flights of fancy, an inability to separate fact from fantasy and a reputation for being somewhat kinky and far out. Los Angeles, on the other hand, has a national reputation for provinciality, ugly architecture and boorishness. People in San Francisco say that you have to be a masochist to live in Los Angeles. Perhaps not, but it helps. Somewhere between opinions lies reality. Possibly the personification of this Bible-Belt attitude is L.A.'s police chief, Edward M. Davis (the "M" does not stand for Milhous but for Michael). Davis is heir to the William Parker dynasty, and the way things are run in the LAPD, it was only natural for Davis to take over.

Under the Los Angeles City Charter, the police chief is selected internally from civil service testing and virtually cannot be fired. Davis placed third in the tests, but was chosen above the other two. They were considered too liberal to replace the hard-drinking, God-fearing, Bible-quoting, Homo-hating Parker. He is paid more than the late J. Edgar Hoover, has a larger army. bigger budget (which he does not have to account for) and a longer list of enemies than Richard Nixon. He has, in the past, taken on the state legislature , the new governor, the city attorney , the Los Angeles Times, women in general and the first lady in particular, the federal government and his favorite : the gay community. It has been stated that the reason the Democratic Convention is not being held in Los Angeles is the instability of its chief of police.

On this Saturday night in discussion, Ed Davis acted on a discovery he hoped would even up some old scores. Still bristling from his defeat in the Willie California Legislature when Brown's "Consenting Adults Bill" was passed, not to mention a marijuana reform bill, he luckily came across a gay organization that was into WHITE SLAVERY! He could show the world what would happen if things became too free. Nothing was spared to make this show his piece de resistance. Officially , 65 officers from the Metro Squad were assigned to raid the den of iniquity. Actually, including publicists and overtime help waiting at Parker Center to process the arrestees, probably twice that amount of manpower was used.

Shortly after midnight, two helicopters hovered overhead and two big buses drew quietly up in front of the Mark IV. The street was closed off by flares. Police cars were everywhere. Klieg lights were set up for filming by both police cameramen and television stations which had been alerted to Ed's Big Night.

One can read a homogenized version of their entry courtesy of the AP or UPI wireservice. They came in like mad-men , busting down unlocked doors, shoving people around, being abusive in the finest traditions of the department . They used nylon / plastic handcuffs , which everyone soon learned cuts off circulation rather like a tourniquet . The hands swell until there is no feeling, then the numbness spreads up the arms into the shoulders. Somewhat haphazardly, those in charge determined who was to be arrested and who was not. One fellow couldn't find his car keys to get his ID, and he talked the police out of breaking his car window. They finally let him go

It was nearly 3 a.m. before the first bus drove off to Parker Center. No one was allowed to go to the toilet, and the bus was awash with urine. Later, the floor of a classroom-like holding room was also covered. Finally, on demand by some of the more aggressive of the prisoners, a few of the plastic handcuffs were cut off, leaving horribly bloated fingers and hands bearing ugly red gashes where they had been bound. There was no particular system to removing the cuffs. There was no real reason to have anyone bound in that room. The slow, paper-shuffling legal process of Mr. Davis' jails was beginning . Everyone was stripped and searched. Some jewelry was removed, some left. Belts, watches and money were turned over to the police. Everyone's ass was searched, but for what no one, including the officers, seemed to know. Some of those in charge showed pure hate in their remarks and the handling of prisoners. Others appeared to be embarrassed. A large, somewhat overweight blond officer wearing Badge 8673, made the statement that You guys are certainly cooperative. That's good, because we don't have to break any arms that way." Among the first questions asked of everyone arrested was not "Where do you work?" or "What is your address?" but "Where do you get your hair cut?" Weird.

Then began the waiting. There was a disagreement between the police and the D.A.'s office as to whether the one knew what the other was doing. At any rate, when the cases went to court the following Friday, the D.A. was not ready. He asked for a continuance. Ten days later, at the appointed morning hour, he still wasn't ready. All 40 arrestees had to return that afternoon. At that time, four of the 40 were arraigned not for the original slavery charges, but for "pandering," the sale of a second person for personal gain. The remaining 36 defendants were left dangling, this time by the City Attor- ney's office which handles misdemeanors . Ultimtely, not one misde- meanor charge was filed. All 36 defendants were off the hook.

A preliminary hearing for the four accused including both the publisher and editor of DRUMMER, Val. Martin and the young man who accepted checks for the charities involved will begin on the anniversary of the Stonewall uprising, June 28. Ed Davis' extravaganza has turned into the biggest cause the gay community has had in years. The present Los Angeles District Attorney, through his vacillation and his bowing to police pressure, has just about cancelled his considerable gay community support in the coming election. A move to circulate petitions to change the city charter and make the Police Chief answerable to civilians, has been reported. DRUM-MER's last issue is a collector's item; there are no more copies. This issue is, pre-sold out through prior orders from distributors and bookstores. Just because of an innocent little auction?

Or perhaps Leather is finally coming of age. Even in Los Angeles.

Chapter One

"They" had said that such a relationship couldn't survive. One of the foremost authorities on S&M had personally informed us at the beginning that it had the seeds of its own destruction in its fabric. And he should know: he introduced us. That advice and the introduction were the sum total of his contribution.

One other: he did call to remind me that my new slave would arrive that night. I had forgotten. The guy was just a name I couldn't remember, and my last referral had been a creep. Then someone else dropped by that evening, so the one stranger went with me to the hotel where the airport "limousine" terminates. There were three of us driving back up the hill, but the first fellow soon cut out and I never heard from nor saw him again.

The other stranger stood there smiling, a bit full of the air-line's liquid hospitality. He later admitted he was a bit afraid. I was to learn that there were many things he feared. Certainly me, but even more, himself.

At home, still smiling somewhat, he stripped at my order and stood waiting for me to look him over. He had made a reservation at the hotel, just in case. He needn't have bothered.

His apprehension vanished along with the weekend And he cut his stay at the neighboring convention short to fly back for more before the next week was out. I don't think we ever got out of bed, though I do remember our walking and talking and laughing together along Sunset Boulevard one evening when we ran out of gas, so we must have. I also remember that both times I put him on his plane, he never looked back. Perhaps of the two, only I am the sentimentalist.

Another month went by and he returned for his vacation. It was then that we decided to make it permanent, that he was to pack up and move in. He was my slave [ar was I his?]. and I was to have papers of ownership. I every greed that we were to be married. Now it was I who was apprehensive. He wanted it all so badly, was quitting his job and home back east, and I felt guilty for not being completely caughtup, too. He wrote every day, and called practically every other one.

Finally, summer passed and he arrived, bag and baggage. fulfilled? Now, instead of being two self-contained individuals , together we were complete. I whipped him and loved him. He knelt and he begged for more of both. He cooked and served; I looked down at him while we ate [he wasn't allowed on the furniture]. His nude body became darker and his blond hair lightened from the California sun. He continued to smile; in fact, we laughed a lot. Private jokes, little things that are funny only to lovers. Occasionally there were tears, but not from any punishment I inflicted. There were devils to eradicate and fears to dispel. He told tales of other levers, carried away in their wrath and anger to beat him far beyond the realm of pain and pleasure. I dismissed the thought. How could anyone ever harm or dismiss this golden boy who licked my hand and worshipped at my feet?

We went on bike runs in the mountains. I showed him off proudly and even forced him to serve a few good friends. Never completely, that part was private stock. But his standing there semi-nude in the forest, beautiful and loving, made my heart [among other things] swell with pride and

A wanted him to know my part of the country. On New Year's Day we bought a van for weekend traveling. We made a trip back to his part of the country so that I could meet his family as he had met mine. The year became a kaleidoscope of shows and parties and service organizations and mutual friends, even the people we mutually disliked. I had threatened to keep him barefoot and pregnant in the beginning and I kept my promise. There was an anniversary of the night of our vows and of the sun-filled day he came to stay forever.

Then came the sickness. It was there all along, but with my head in the clouds and my cock continually out of my pants, how was I to know? And what was I to do? Other authorities were called in. Other voices heard, all well-meaning , most telling me what I already knew. As I look

THIS IS THE FIRST CHAPTER OF A NOVEL ABOUT AN S&M RELATIONSHIP. IT IS BASED ON REAL EVENTS AND PEOPLE. YOU MAY RECOGNIZE SOME OF THEM FROM EITHER THE WORLD OF LEATHER OR OF GAY LIBERATION IN SPITE OF THE CHANGING OF MANY NAMES. DRUMMER WILL PRESENT THE SUCCEEDING CHAPTERS OF "EPILOGUE" WHICH IS THE FINAL WORK BEARING THE NAME OF

back, the best I can say is that whatever was done, however futile or inadequate, was the best I could summon at the time, Love had run its course. Mine, which had heightened since the beginning, was no replacement for his, which had seemingly evaporated. What could have been is no more, to

It is inevitable to want to turn back the clock and envision driving down the hill to the hotel to find that smiling cock-sucker waiting again. I think in the dead of night about the sight, the sound, the smell of him, and I wonder if things will ever be that good again anywhere—with anyone else. Could

Everywhere I go, everything I see and touch is filled with him. The small chain he wore around his neck, proudly and without interruption, lies carelessly thrown in a forgetten drawer. His letters have ceased and of the constant flow of voices on the phone, his is absent. He warms other beds and his laugh illuminates other rooms. Somehow he has, in his neglect, become the sadist and I the masochist. The tables are turned and the score is even.

Life, like love, is fleeting. The death of a love consumes

both the master and the slave. What was is no more, to a point that one wonders if it ever really existed. The resulting stillness is deafening.

If an S&M relationship is more intense then, like Edna St. Vincent Millay's candle that burns at both ends, it will not last the night…But ah, my friends and oh, my foes, it gives a wondrous light.

I sat staring at what I had written. The sun was coming up but was not bright enough for me to read my early morning efforts. The light and the desk were as bad as Dan had always kept them. The desk was cluttered with papers, valuable and worthless intermingled. In fact, there was little sense to the whole room. Boxes of papers and books and unpacked junk were stacked everywhere. There wasn't a clear space anywhere to put an elbow or lay one's head down to have a good private cry. Which was what I wanted right at this moment. The light I could do without; most of the pages had been written with my eyes closed. There is something terrible about early, early morning. I remembered reading somewhere once of an ancient army that chose to attack the enemy camp just before dawn, "the time when men's spirits are at their lowest." The house was as quiet as if I were merely a part of the furnishings. The typewriter was still and I couldn't even get a rustle out of the paper I held to read. The room seemed cold and damp and spiritless, and I fit into it perfectly.

Jeannie had suggested my writing the piece. An obituary as therapy? Odd, but logical, as she could be sometimes. "It's over, and you are going to have to acknowledge it. The relationship is dead, finished, get it through your head."

I had a back page to do for the new publication. The heading was "In Passing" and could be devoted to almost anything . Why not an obituary. It would be like a love letter to the only alive period of my life. He wasn't dead, though, I was.

This was the room he had worked in, or was supposed to have. It had all the tools of his trade: the writing materials, the books, the files that contained my dream of the past few years. The dream that had become our dream and was now back to being only mine. I was beginning to realize how he must have hated this room. It represented duty and responsibility and obligation. But there were no structured hours to be spent here. He was on his own. No time to be here and a time not to be. I had asked the psychologist, with the owl-like look, why Dan had made his working area such a mess. It came off sounding as though I were asking why he couldn't do things my way. I suppose. At least the man never seemed to get my point.

"Why does he have to do it your way?" he asked. "What do you care how he does his work, if he gets it done?"

The point, you arrogant son-of-a-bitch, is that he didn't get it done, and we were sinking fast. Why did Dan resist it so? Life was there on a silver, or at least a pewter, platter, and he devoted all his waking hours to screwing up this beautiful gift. Life was fleeting, I had written. I said the first words of the day aloud, "Life is over," and went to the kitchen to make coffee.

Making coffee is about the limit of my culinary skills. I really don't even do that particularly well. Dan would use spring water and unusual grinds of coffee and although he drank it black, there was usually fresh cream for mine. I plugged in the pot, dug out some canned milk and went downstairs to shower. We used to shower together. He would bathe me lovingly, kneeling before me to wash my legs and feet and look up at me with the water running over those blond curls and down his strong jaw. If all went well with my timing I would piss on him and he would bury his face in my crotch, wrapping his arms around my backside. After he dried me off and he would have dripped almost dry, I'd flick the long towel at his backside and say the same thing every morning: "My brother was always good at this, but I need more practice." And I'd practice away at those smooth buns. He'd jump and assure me that I was as good as my brother had ever been at it. In a way, at that point, he, too, was my brother. He liked to put on my robe and enjoy coffee with a neighbor who made a habit of dropping in when he came home from his night shift job. Or with the perpetual carpenter who would arrive early to work on the remodeling that never seemed to get finished. Or sometimes even with me. But I was always in a hurry to get to the office, a little disappointed that he was still relaxing around the house, long bare legs stretched out in front of the big chair, laughing at something he was telling me from a play or a book or an article in the morning paper. He would ask what time I'd be home for supper and remind me that we had tickets to something or that someone was coming for dinner. Off I would go to my world, leaving him to his. And how little I knew about that world of his. lesus, how do you go back in time, except in your imagination ? How do you relive good or bad periods of your life, unless you sit down and think them out—or, as an additional piece of therapy, write them down? That, gentle reader, is exactly what I am doing. What has happened since that terrible morning of the obituary needs to be put on paper, not so much for you to read, but as an exercise for me-to see how I got there, wherever in hell I am.

The last attempt at counseling the two of us back together was a colossal bust in anyone's estimation. We were to meet for dinner at an Italian restaurant that was a favorite of Dan's. We agreed to meet with Jeannie, who was far more qualified than the degreed doctor, and certainly more compassionate . The psychologist was right on one count, however , when he said to Dan: "You, my friend, don't talk." And then to me, "And you don't listen." Where between the lines had Dan been trying to tell me of the terrors he was experiencing ? Or of the insecurities and anxieties of which my often-Germanic nature had no inkling.

He had given up drinking with almost missionary zeal. And in place of bars he spent that time in meetings, God knows where or with whom. But that is another part of this

We ordered dinner that fateful night and before they brought it, he and I were shouting at one another. Only once before had we done that. He stood up to go, even before the food arrived, to keep his weekly appointment with the afore-mentioned shrink. I, too, had an appointment for later. There was what seemed at the time to be a big deal going that night, and I remember saying somewhat pompously, "There will be half-a-dozen people arriving soon at the house for something that could be the biggest thing we have ever been involved with. However, if you and I could get our act together, here, I will let them wait on the front steps for however long it takes. Dan, this, here and now, is the most important thing in our lives."

He must have thought otherwise, since he wordlessly turned to leave. I took the parting shot, "Then go, just go. I really don't give a damn what you do from now on."

He left his dinner and walked out to discuss it all with someone other than me. Anyone other than me. I had struck out and hurt him; he left hungry and we had his dinner wrapped to take home. But he didn't come home that night, the first time he'd stayed away in the year-and-a-half we'd been together. Jeannie and I walked to her car, she chiding me for saying things I didn't mean.

That next morning I saw the first in a long series of sunrises.

SCENE

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five in the trainer's room

by Scott Masters

night before. It was even painful for him to pass wind

PART IV

It was the red marble.

Moses' tensions eased as Thaao threw the marble violently across the room and turned to face his nascent tormentors; handsome face mask-like, Greek god body almost at attention, his long and slender uncircumcised cock semi-erect and pointing to one side. The complete narcissist, he dreaded any violation of his perfect face and form, but knew he would submit to anything rather than chicken out<br>in front of his peers. Besides, he kept reminding himself, one of the rules was "No permanent injury or marks that would show."

Only two marbles, the red and a white, were placed in the cup. Just one draw would be necessary tonight, and Thaao and Moses bickered noisily over<br>who it would be while all five automatically stripped to the skin. They were accustomed now to the fact that simply thinking about the hour to come could cause their loins to warm, their cocks to swell, their balls to lift, their breaths to shorten. But they found it more and more difficult to maintain

The blizzard that had been threatening all week came close to reality on Thursday. It blackened the northwestern sky like smoke from the Gary steel<br>mills, intermittently lit by internal lightning flashes, hurling rumbles of<br>thunder through the blustery streets. Those few inhabitants of the small Indiana hamlet forced from their Victorian houses into the inhospitable outdoors glanced furtively upward, then scurried about their business with in-<br>creased urgency. Old-timers smugly<br>predicted a "real wingdinger" once the snow began to fall.

eye contact for any length of time.

Johnny angrily cut through the Thaao-Moses brouhaha: "Enough o' that crap!" he shouted. "You, Greekboy, you pick the fuckin' marble!"

He squared his broad shoulders bravely as the others ritualistically ordained the order of torturers. It would be Dicko first, followed by Johnny, then Manuel, culminating, ironically, with Moses, who all now knew would be the victim at their penultimate session the following night. It made<br>Moses feel very strange and, recalling the shrieks and tears he'd witnessed in the course of the week, deep down a

Nothing, however, could prevent<br>the gathering together of the five impatient athletes in their trainer's room at eight that night. Guards Dicko and Manuel again drew close together, but Thaao and Moses, who had forged an intimate bond the previous evening,<br>now kept far apart: the only two as yet untried. Left tackle Johnny Todd remained aloof, his seventeen-year-old body still feeling the effects of the

Startled, Moses Brown stepped<br>away, and Thaao stretched his lithe body toward the cup. He toyed with<br>the two invisible marbles for a few moments , erotic images flickering through his mind. They both felt exactly alike, the way his own two unseen nuts had<br>the same feel in his low-hanging sac. Pushing these thoughts aside, he took

balls flop freely on the bare chest trapped between his thighs. The jouncing caused Thaao to regurgitate the vile concoction back into the towel, from which cul de sac it dropped back into his throat. It was the most exquisite of agonies, mental as well as physical , and he knew he could very well die from it.

niggling doubt formed: would he have

the guts to show up?

To prepare Thaao for his first ordeal, Dicko took an exercise slant board from the closet and set it up in the center of the floor. He commanded his naked slave to lie on the device, head down, and strapped him to it at ankles, thighs, waist and neck. Then he made Thaao pass his hands beneath the board and tied them together under there. Thaao was fully immobilized, just barely able to move his head, his virile young body utterly exposed to the desires of his Master. In anticipation , his cock had fully filled and was

The fiendishness of the torture was that he couldn't have called a halt even if he wanted to. He could only gasp and choke, submitting to the alternate pressures on stomach and chest and throat. It struck panic to his very soul, but his screams were stifled in strangulated sobs, the frenzied thrashing about of his head an exercise in futility. All he could see was a blood-red haze, shot through with pinbursts of orange and white, the psychedelics of pain.

standing straight up.

Continuing his preparations, Dicko snapped a clothespin over Thaao's nostrils, forcing him to breathe solely through his mouth. As soon as the jaw involuntarily relaxed, he thrust two tongue depressors edgewise between the teeth, stabilizing the mouth open in a weird travesty of a smile. Thaao's diaphragm pumped rapidly and, although he shook his head frantically from side to side, he could not dislodge the pin from his nose. He was already in acute discomfort, and the timing hadn't even started! What the actual torture was to be he couldn't imagine, unless (which was the most unthinkable of thoughts) Dicko was planning to fuck him in the face. The audience of three crowded closely as Dicko finished making his victim ready by dropping a heavy terrycloth towel over his head.

"Time!"

The second he was released, Thaao dashed to the sink and washed out his mouth and throat with huge draughts of sweetly fresh water, chest heaving, broad back bent over, buttocks shining bright with sweat, black hairs curling coyly from the cleft in his ass. His only consolation was that nothing had been done to disfigure the classic beauty of his face or to mar the majesty of his carefully developed body. But he reminded himself that the evening had barely begun, that there were three more trials yet to be undergone

Pleased with his performance, Dicko moved back to Manuel as Johnny hastily got some things together for his turn. The five-minute respite was nearly over, and he didn't want the dude who had dropped hot wax on his bare back the night before to get one second more of rest than he had coming. It was as if he could still feel those searing drops on his flesh, and he was anxious to have his former tormentor's body in his revengeful hands.

Manuel followed Dicko's movements avidly, eyes roaming the nude body with undisguised hunger, barely able to keep his hands away from the enticing flesh. Dicko was not unaware of Manuel's gaze as he sauntered to the sink and filled a five-gallon can with warm water, adding soap to mix it into a foamy mass. He brought it back to the center of the room and straddled his helpless subject, facing his head, bare buttocks settled firmly on the taut stomach. He noted with satisfaction that the tip of Thaao's hard cock brushed tantalizingly against his coc-cvx and reached behind to give it a quick, vicious squeeze. Then he called

"O.K., pretty Greek, spread it out there on yer fuckin' back on the rubbin' table, pronto!" His time had come.

He taped the shaved ankles to one end, and then, going to the other, grabbed the wrists and pulled the body as tight as he could before fastening them to that end. Once again Thaao found himself concerned about the<br>vulnerability of his finely proportioned body, especially his oversized cock and balls, now so available to the caprice of his captor. But, oddly; the more he worried, the longer and stiffer his prick became, a formidable focal point for all the eyes and minds in the trainer's room. Dicko and Manuel, in particular, fingers gripping each other's erections, seemed fascinated by the promised feast there. Moses still maintained his distance, lost in thoughts of the morrow; his narrowed eyes, nevertheless , did not miss a thing

for the timing to begin

Blinded by the towel over his face, Thaao was unprepared for the gush of warm soapy water that was poured through the cloth into his gaping mouth. He sputtered and chocked, as the weight of the liquid carried the towel deep into his throat. It was swallow or strangle, but to swallow would be to drown. He tried to contract his throat in order to limit the watery intake , but there was no longer sufficient air in his lungs to prevent suffocation, so he gulped in the noxious liquid.

As he continued pouring relentlessly, Dicko felt the belly beneath his ass begin to swell. Ignoring Thaao's gurgled cries, he put the can aside momentarily and began to bounce his butt on the distended area, watching his cock and

'My area's the mother's fuckin' chest and pecs," Johnny proclaimed, reaching into a locker and withdrawing two matching military hairbrushes. Gripping one in each hand, he approached

the proud body proffered prone and<br>pinioned on the table. "Start timin'!" he called gleefully, raising both arms high above his head and bringing them down with all the force in his strong young arms on the still-tender area just above Thaao's navel.

The initial effect was a sudden expelling of the air from the victim's lungs, a sound similar to the first burst of steam as a train starts, but along with it a barely audible moan. Then Thaao experienced the aftereffect: a deep tingling which spread like a fire beneath his flesh in the assaulted area. Finally, the surface agony separated into hundreds of individual pinpoints of pain, one for each of the sharp ends of the numberless stiff bristles. Their pattern speckled his violated skin.

Aiming a bit higher, Johnny separated his licks, changing from one hand to the other as he methodically undertook to cover the entire naked chest, from waist to shoulders, with reddened rectangles . Each one escalated Thaao's initial hurt. His whole body was aflame, tears smarted his eyes, the table was<br>soaked with sweat. But Johnny, for ten arduous minutes, concentrated his pummeling like some mad voodoo drummer. Tiny drops of blood appeared where the bristles landed several times on the same spot. The only exceptions were the actual tits themselves , and these Johnny had been wickedly delaying for his final five minutes

The first blow, delivered with battering force to the right tit, caused Thaao to lurch turbulently within his bonds, and a piercing cry rent the stale air of the trainer's room. Dicko and Manuel clutched each other's rampant rods in a paroxysm of passion, and Moses<br>Brown's sharp intake of breath, an aural exclamation point to the ululation , froze him in place. Limited by the restraints, Thaao's thrashing about could not spoil the aim of the next blow, and suddenly his left tit vied in anguish with the right. The responding shriek from his hoarse throat, as well,

was equal to the first.

Johnny seemed to feed on those shrieks. Body glimmering with a wash of perspiration, he vaulted onto<br>Thaao's waist and beat a steady tattoo on those sensitized umber circles, first one and then the other, marveling silently that with each clout the centered nipples grew more blatantly firm in answer to the punishment being meted out to them. His entire chest one huge hurt, Thaao was unaware of when "Time!" was called and the beating at an end. It came upon him gradually not that the torture, but that the screams—his screams—had stopped. An onslaught of silence, not the termination of pain, brought him back to ghastly reality

The 15-minute "half time" break was not nearly long enough for him even to re-establish a pattern of normal breathing . His chest burned excrutiatingly,

and his mouth and throat still smarted from Dicko's infliction of the soapy lig-uid . He knew the subcutaneous ruptured vessels across his muscular torso were but a temporary disfigurement. Striking terror to his heart, however, was the inescapable fact that the session was only half over, and all that remained as target areas now were below his waist. Manuel and Moses, about to have their innings, stalked about the

touched and massaged. Their panting was second only to that of the victim, and sweat sparkled on their brawny bodies. Inevitably, those meandering hands found anchor at the jutting handles projecting from one another's crotch, and a gently insinuating up and down movement replaced earlier hap-

Johnny was enirely rapt upon Thaao's convolutions, but Moses was dividing his attention between the subject and the stopwatch in his great black hand. All week he had been scrupulously fair as timekeeper, and he craved the same consideration when he was being worked over the following night. The second hand crept slowly toward its goal, to be neither hurried nor slowed, until it finally touched

room like caged animals

Next up, Manuel had confiscated the long lariat of shoelaces from Wednesday's session and was busily cutting several lengths of nylon straps. When all was in readiness and the time was nigh, he had the cocky Greek stand up on the table, wrists crossed in front of<br>crotch. With the shoestring cord he tied those wrists firmly together and then looped the ends closely around the cock and balls, knotting them soundly, inseverably connecting hands to genitals. Thaao was confused. If anything, he reasoned to himself, his priapic privates were now protected from profanation.

Time!" Moses called out

Manuel reluctantly dropped Dicko's throbbing cock, and the two of them hurried to relieve Thaao from his enslavement . He dropped to the floor in a ball, and Manuel swiftly untied the<br>knots in the cord around his genitals. Fighting for his breath and to calm a series of spasms that scudded beneath his skin from muscle to muscle, Thaao discovered himself unable even to contemplate what Moses might do to him as the keystone of the evening. Only the cold hatred in the big black's eyes registered in his consciousness.

Two strips of nylon straps were then threaded by Manuel under Thaao's armpits. He threw the loose ends over two of the overhead pipes, pulled them fast, and tied them off. His final step was to tape the ankles to a 50-pound weight plate. Thaao was half hanging from the straps under his arms and half supported by his feet on the table. The upward pull on his shoulders caused severe pressure where the cords locked his wrists to his genitals, but it was not,

Moses turned the stopwatch over to Johnny Todd, and looked Thaao up and down appraisingly, making a full circle around the naked body. "I choose that long mother-fuckin' cock, an' you ain't soon gonna forget what us blacks think about pissin' white

as yet, unbearable.

That happened immediately. Manuel yelled "Start timin"!" and roughly kicked away the table. The unexpected vank on his cock and balls as the weight dangled in midair brought a bellow from the depths of Thaao's being, and he drew his knees high into the air to relieve the pressure. This unnatural position, with the weight tugging at his feet, was impossible to hold for any length of time, but the instant he let himself relax the jerk on his testicles caused him to try to lift his knees up again into the strained posture of temporary relief.

peckers!

He shoved Thaao over to the table and made him sit across its width, thighs spread wide, ankles gripped underneath with tape. Then he took a long length of nylon strap and threw a loop of it over his prisoner's head from behind. The knot fell to the middle of Thaao's back, its two ends hanging down over the edge of the table. He-wrapped each of these around Thaao's thighs, pulling them even further apart, and drew the ends back up and around his neck again, completing the bondage by winding them around his arms, just above the elbows, and knotted them there, most effectively fastening those elbows together.

porary relief.

There was something obscenely puppet-like in the self-manipulated twitchings of the hanging stud. Manuel's Mexican ingenuity had created a<br>situation that made of Thaao his own persecutor. Cramps crept into his shoulders and back muscles, knots formed in tightened thighs and calves. Breathing required a supreme effort And through it all, foremost in the mind of the sufferer was the panicky thought that if he were to relax utterly he would surely castrate himself—a mental torment perhaps even more<br>horrendous than the physical.

Going to the front of the table, he sat facing Thaao and took the slender cock in his hand. Almost instantly it began to enlarge, and only the slightest pressure was necessary to bring it to its fully erect length, hood pulled back and head alert. Moses knotted a noose of cord just behind the head and pulled it toward the end of the table, running the string over the edge and anchoring it to the central stanchion. Unable to move, Thaao looked down at his entrapped member fearfully

Having nothing more to do, Manuel took his place beside Dicko, the two naked football players rubbing together unashamed, hypnotized by the frenzied gyrations of their prey. Calloused hands wandered and searched and

Moses' Promethean prick was itself at awesome attention, and Manuel and Dicko had resumed their mutual masturbation , as the order was given to

Johnny to start timing. Brusquely clapping a pail over Thaao's head, climaxing his sense of absolute impotence, Moses took a flexible steel measuring tape from the janitor's closet, unrolled about two feet of it, and brought it<br>down cruelly with all his strength on the elongated penis snared defenselessly before him

Thaao brayed like a bull being brutally de-balled, his worst fears confirmed , certain he would never piss or fuck again. His cry reverberated back into his ears within the encircling metal , adding to the ache within his brain from the now-constant attacks on his captive cock. Blow after blow was delivered by his heartless Master, cunningly running down the length of the target from base toward head. Strong enough to inflict awful punishment, but not so powerful as to break skin, the measuring tape was the perfect instrument to conform to the rules of these sessions.

these sessions.

As the tempo of the flogging quickened , so did the pumping procedure<br>that Manuel and Dicko were now applying to each other's hardons, matching the rhythms of their irregular breaths, their free hands kneading in-<br>nocent bare asses. Johnny watched<br>them lustfully out of the corner of his eye, but most of his attention was fixed on the darkening membrane that contained Thaao's puissance. He secretly envied its great length, but consoled himself that by comparison his own<br>was considerably thicker, as well as circumcised

When the first blow was landed directly on his glans, Thaao felt an explosion within his skull that fragmented into myriad bursts and sparks, each a universe of unbearable agony, blasting against his eyes, ears and teeth, rattling and grating within the pail, rasping through bone marrow into the furthest extremities of fingers and toes. He bawled and roared and screeched, but the flagellation of his cockhead only increased in fury as Moses lost all control in the doubling and redoubling of his efforts.

Johnny had called "Time!" twice be-<br>fore getting through to Moses' crazed brain. Manuel and Dicko, enthralled in both each other and the sadistic scene at the rubbing table, reached orgasm simultaneously as the final blow was struck. Their jism jetted onto bellies<br>and chests, milkily veneering the boys' bodies with a pearly patina. They touched each other with an awkward gentleness, adrift in an unknown sea devoid of familiar landmarks or signs.

Once freed, Thaao drew apart from the others, especially Moses, who had been the first to go so far over the edge. Moses could feel a general aura of animosity from the entire group and fear clutched at his heart at the thought of being at their mercies the next night.

If he showed up.

to be continued DRUMMER 21

MORE MOVIE MAYHEM!

James Fox leads the hi-jinks in "PERFORMANCE" with a shaving of the opposition's chauffeur's head and an acid treatment for his Rolls Royce.

It then becomes Fox's turn when a numbers operator wrecks his apartment, strips our boy down and takes a belt to the Fox buns.

A FEW THOUSAND WORDS ABOUT THE LEATHER FRATERNITY

THE LEATHER GAME IS BEST PLAYED WITH THOSE WHO KNOW HOW TO PLAY IT. IF LEATHER IS YOUR LIFESTYLE, OR YOU WOULD LIKE FOR IT TO BE … MAY WE SUGGEST SOMEONE TO DO IT WITH?

Of the world's population, let's assume that half is male.

And, of that half, about a fifth prefer other males. Of this still considerable group, there are those who prefer one type of male to another. One such specialized division consists of those who prefer a Leather lifestyle. If you don't know what that means, then you probably are not part of that group.

This really starts narrowing it down. Where does one meet, not only the guys you like, but those who like what you like. There are bars and baths and organizations and restrooms if you want to try the hit-or-miss method. There are friends of friends for the blind-date approach.

THERE IS THE LEATHER FRATERNITY IF YOU WISH TO BE A LITTLE MORE EXACT ABOUT IT.

You have a Godgiven right to the kind of relationship you prefer, providing you prefer it in private. No government, no regulatory agency can, in our opinion, tell you what and when and how. You have a right to meet guys with similar tastes who are as anxious to meet you as you are to meet them. You have much in common. Why spend your lifetime never getting together?

We have made a lot of friends among Leather people from coast to coast, and even beyond. There are some very fine, hunky, groovy guys who are unsatisfied with the average relationship. They are looking for someone who is also looking for someone who is not run-of-the-mill.

MAY WE INVITE YOU TO JOIN THE LEATHER FRATERNITY? We have made it as secure, as foolproof as we know how. Your correspondence is private. Under no circumstances will any contacts be given out for anyone. If you are accepted you will join a big, select group of imaginative and virile guys who like what you like and who will like you and your participation. Life is more than a one-way street. Let us introduce you to someone who is going your way.

THERE ARE OTHER ADVANTAGES TO BELONGING. Your membership includes a subscription to DRUMMER magazine. Newsletters, brochures are mailed to you direct, not by passing your name or address around. You get a 10% discount on anything you order from THE LEATHER EMPORIUM just by including your Fraternity membership number.

POST OFFICE BOX 8444 LA CRESCENTA, CALIFORNIA 91214

I'm sold. Enroll me in the Fraternity. Enclosed is my $25. Get my application, information, membership pin and DRUMMER subscription to me and make it snappy…

NAME

CITY

STATE

ZIP

$7.00 Highly polished pewter $16.00 with your choice of Dark Brown or Black Belt (please state waist measurement) NOW AVAILABLE: OUR NEW GIANT CATALOGUE NO. THREE $2.50 (Outside U.S. and Canada: $3,50) (Refunded on 1st purchase over $25.) 1738 Polk Street San Francisco 94109 (415) 885-5773 Please include 10% for postage and handling. Bank Americard, Master Charge, American Express, Diners, Carte Blanche: please give account number & expiration date. Phone orders welcome.

MORE BOOKS

TIMMY

TIMMY by R.F.M., RFM Productions, 1976, 81 / 2 x 11 paperback, 40 pages, illustrated, Box 1025, Glendora, CA 91740, $10.

Let me just say that I've never seen anything like it before. Oh, sure, I've seen magazine-size paperbacks before: Larry Townsend's "Chains" immediately comes to mind. But "Chains" was a novel , not illustrated, and heavy-handed.

"Timmy" is a long, long short story, light as a whippoorwill, and full of the most graphic scenes of shit and piss ever to grace a printed page. That's right, folks: "Timmy" is bowel movements for days!

The really funny thing is that it all holds together well (no pun intended). The story moves from point A to point B (which takes 27 years) with a craft and style totally unexpected by knowing the subject matter in advance.

The question in your mind, as it was in mind, has to be: Just how much can one say about water sports and scat? Well, "Timmy" proves that there is more than meets the eye.

Oh, there's sex all right, and surprisingly , plenty of it; and not all of it refuse-orientated. As a matter of fact, there is even something to offend anyone (unless you're an atheist), but I have no intention of telling you what that might be.

If you've never been involved in the bladder to backside set, the illustrations will make it all come alive. It was just like being there (which I have not, incidentally)

But it's so bizarre that, like the Master De Sade himself, it is utterly fascinating . And it's the easiest way I know to become an authority on the subject without getting your hair wet!

John W. Rowberry

THE STORY OF HAROLD by Terry Andrews , illustrations by Edward Gorey, Avon / Equinox Books, 1975, paperback, $4.95, 388 pages.

"For now-relax! And come with me. You have no choice, I've invited you. We will have a lot of sex. You are going to laugh a great deal—people have no idea how blithe a suicide can be! And you'll meet a few human beings whom you'll have to love as much as I do."

Terry Andrews (if that's his real name, which I doubt) lives in a very real fairy tale world called New York City, alone, with a very unreal imp named Harold.

Harold is a creation of Terry's. He is slightly larger than a yardstick and converses with rats, screams, darkness, snowflakes and mink coats; all of whom are personal but problem-causing friends of his.

Terry, on the other hand, converses only with recognizeable life forms: the child of an old girl friend; an Irish bum with a death-by-fire wish; a doctor to whom Terry has introduced the joys of fist fucking; a not-too-young divorced woman with whom Terry is having an on-again, in-again affair; and the blind son of the above mentioned medical practitioner.

And that's just about the total of the cast of characters.

However, since almost everything in Terry's world is somehow reflected in Harold's world, everyone has another side or personality or soul, or whatever you wish to call it.

What has happened is this: Terry Andrews once wrote a very successful children's book titled, ironically, "The Story of Harold." "Very successful" meant not having to work for a few years. Of course, Terry intended to fol- low up his bestseller with a sequel. But he never got around to writing anything down, spending most of his time trying to understand why he invented Harold in the first place.

So, in October of 1968, realizing he was headed for suicide, Terry began keeping a diary. All was well. Terry busied his life answering ads in underground sex papers, jacking off, hanging around in the city's better leather bars, and making copious notes in his suicide journal.

Harold, on the other hand, had no wish to end his existence. He was content to spend his days saving the world from screams that needed release, solving disputes between rhinestones and diamonds about who sparkled the brightest, and reuniting the disbanded rat family

And, somehow, Harold managed to thwart each attempt of Terry's to leave this too-bitter flesh.

Suicide comes and goes, like all transient things. The reality of Harold's world, slowly but surely, merges into the unreality of Terry's until both are one, and roles (such as they are) change into lives.

"The Story of Harold" is obtuse and symbolistic, for sure, but most importantly , it is about everything important to human beings—and resolves itself in the finest literary style.

It has been, for this reviewer, a week of the sweetest kind of sadness spent with Harold and his friends. Scenes of human tenderness and man's inhumanity leap from the page and burn themselves into one's memory forever. Interspaced with Edward Gorey's bizarre drawings, snatches of poetry, and the incredible story of Harold, "The Story of Harold" is exceptional.

John W. Rowberry

NEW YORK, M. Cancer, 38, 6'2". White, 6". In termediate. Weightlifter with 46" chest, 34" waist wants to expand experiences with clean, masculine S over 5'5". Box 023.

***NEW YORK, S. Capricorn, 40, 5'10", 150. White, 8". Knowledgeable, Will humiliate and dominate partner with fetish for uniforms, breeches, boots. Fetishes and complete slavery a must. Box 068.

NEW YORK, S. Libra, 42, 6', 175, White, 7". Knowledgeable, Seeks intelligent partner, Not a "sex only" type. Box 071E.

NEW YORK, M. Sagittarius, 31, 6'3", 165, White, . Knowledgeable. Macho M wants FF from bearded and / or moustached S to 45. No fats. fags. Box:071T

NEW YORK, S. Pisces, 32, 5'8", 145, White, 6", Novice. Must be worshipped completely by imaginative M to 50. Will respect limits. Hairy a plus. No fats, Orientals. Box 086F.

NEW YORK, MS. Gemini, 30, 5'11", 160, White, 81 / 2". Prefers bearded or moustached biker. No fats or egotists. Box 133.

***NEW YORK, S. Taurus, 44, 6', 170, White, 7". Novice. Seeks dark, hairy slave with large uncut cock. Must be knowledgeable, clean. Box 153P

NEW YORK, M. Aries, 42, 5'11", 170, White, 51 / 2". Knowledgeable, No long hair. No fems. Box 180.

***NEW YORK, M. Libra, 48, 5'6", 180, White. 6". Novice, Will submit totally to patient, re spectful, persistent Master into heavy S&M, C&B work, uniforms, whips. No scat, blacks, true bru-fality . Box 184G

NEW YORK, M. Pisces, 28, 5'101 / 2", 140, White, 61 / 2". Knowledgeable, Will serve, obey, and satisfy completely a truly masculine Master. Prefers clean shaven shorthairs. Box 252B.

NEW YORK, M. Libra, Mid-50s, 6'3", 165, White. 6". White-haired man of distinction will serve real male, any age, who fantasizes beating Daddy's ass, fucking his professor, pissing into his priest, making the boss suck his ass, etc. No fats or fanatics. Box 290X.

NEW YORK, M. Pisces, 33, 5'7", 135, White, 6" Novice, Craves domination, restraint, rough treatment from handsome, knowledgeable Master under 40. No heavy drugs, drunks. Box 370.

NEW YORK, M. Aquarius, 36, 5'8", 136, White, . Knowledgeable, Must have intense masculine domination and bondage from man 40-55. Box 070T

STATEN ISLAND, MS. Sagittarius, 35, 5'7", 140, White, 51 / 2". Old hand, Wants slim and clean, Toilet training in rubber and swimwear. Box 220M

UNIONDALE. M. Sagittarius. 23, 6'1", 200. White, 6", Completely inexperienced, Will try anything for right Master, Box 005.

NORTH CAROLINA

RALEIGH, SM. Cancer, 43, 6'11 / 2", 195, White. 81 / 2". Novice. Domination without physical pain. Digs wearing partner's clothes and boots. Box 156

RALEIGH. MS. Taurus, 34, 6'1", 165, White, 8' Novice Will obey sexy, imaginative stud. Black preferred. Box 158.

NORTH DAKOTA

NOONAN. M. Cancer. 33. 5'9". 150. White, 6". Novice, into rough sex, W / S, the raunchier the better Hairy chest and tattoos a real turn on. No scat. Box 229.

OHIO

AKRON, SM, Sagittarius, 39, 6'2", 165, White, 8" Knowledgeable, N.E. Ohio, Richmond, Atlanta areas. Seeks: versatility and enthusiasm. Box 154.

***CLEVELAND. MS. Aries. 40. 5'10". 155. White, 615". Novice, Loves to suck, be fucked, please partner. No heavy pain trips, tats, dirty people. Box 017V.

CLEVELAND, MS. Leo. 31. 6'1". 185. White, 7\2" Completely inexperienced. Muscular guys with cock under 7\2" preferred. Box 130.

COLUMBUS, M. Aries, 35, 5'101 / 2", 165, Black, 71'2", Knowledgeable, Wants to serve Master(s) as complete toilet Slave, Box 124.

COLUMBUS, SM. Taurus, 25, 5'9", 150, White. Knowledgeable, Seeks stable, cut partner under 31. No fems, fats, hippies. Box 304.

COLUMBUS, S. Virgo. 37, 5'9", 183, White: 61 / 2". Novice, Satisfaction guaranteed to sincere, straight appearing butch types. No fems, fats, snobs, chicken, Box 365.

DAYTON, SM. Virgo, 30, 5'71 / 2". 185, White, 615" Experienced, Eager to share scene and friendship with honest, intelligent partner under 40. No hard drugs, fems, fats. Box 123.

LAKEWOOD, S. Leo. 46, 6'11 / 2", 175, White, 8", Knowledgeable, Wants completely subservient Slave who is clean and well endowed. Box 205.

***MASSILLON, M. Libra. 35, 6'11 / 4". 215. White. 7" Completely inexperienced, Willing to serve and eager to please clean, well muscled Master to 45. No filth, hard drugs, Box 165P.

MIDDLETOWN. M. Gemini, 44, 6'11 / 2", 150, White, 7". Novice, Leather boot fetishist seeks partner 35 to 50. No torture, Box 070P.

***PERRYSBURG, M. Cancer. 39. 5'9". 150. White, 757 Knowledgeable, Into golden show- ers. Prefers police, leather, cowboy types. No fats, fags, blacks, under 8". Box 385.

OREGON

PORTLAND. SM., Sagittarius, 33, 6'3". 198. White, 634", Completely inexperienced, Prefers short, dark, muscular. No fems, fats, redheads. Psychological domination more than physical pain, Box 028.

PORTLAND, S. Scorpio, 32, 6', 175, White, 8". Knowledgeable. Looking for young, true slave willing to serve and be owned fully for life. Must be uncut and hung. Box 064.

PORTLAND, S. Pisces, 43, 6'1", 145, White,6'2", Knowledgeable, Trustworthy, Wants Slave for prolonged B&D for head and body training. Beginner OK. No fems, fats, dopers, quickies, Box 187J

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.

EAGLES MERE, M. Gemini, 31, 6', 200, White, 7". Knowledgeable. Will submit and totally obey right Master who respects limits and wants continuous relationship. Box 187C.

HARRISBURG, M. Scorpio, 40, 6', 163, White, 6" Novice. Needs discipline and bondage. Box 319.

LANCASTER, SM. Virgo, 38, 5'7", 155, White, 51 / 2", eager to learn from attractice, open minded, discreet dude. No fems, fats, scaf. Box 194.

PHILADELPHIA. SM. Pisces. 49, 5'11". 175. White: Will train Slave to worship Master's leather and naked body. No dopers. Box 088T.

PHILADELPHIA. M. Aries. 25. 6'. 160. White. 61 / 2" / military scene. Must be honest, intelligent. No crazies, scat, drugs. Box 125J.

V FIVS

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ADDRESS

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STATE I centify that I am over 18

(sign here) Make checks, money orders payable to. THE GAYTIMES COMPANY 17620 Sherman Way, Strite 9D Van Nuys, CA 91406

where your action begins…" If it turns you on, we've got it. LEATHER MAY BE YOUR LIFESTYLE-BUT DON'T GO IN THE WATER WITH IT ON. TRY OUR WET-LOOK BLACK SECOND-SKIN NYLON INSTEAD! BLACK NYLON BIKINI W / INDUSTRIAL ZIPPER Hip-hugging elastic edging. Zipper has Ring for easy access. Instant drying. State wasit size. 95 BLACK WET-LOOK TRAINING SUIT W / your choice of "Thong" or Normal backside. State waist size and rear preference. 95

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PHILADELPHIA, M. Aries, 26, 5'10", 180 White. . Knowledgeable, Willing and subservient for level headed partner under 30. Must be cut. Black preferred, Box 186.

READING, SM, Cancer. 43. 6', 160. White, 6'' Novice. Enjoys bondage, Repects limits, Dominant, but will switch for right partner. Must be cut Box 051B.

UPPER DARBY, M. Capricorn, 35, 5'10", 165. White, 7-8". Novice. Needs control and discipline from knowledgeable S who respects limits. No fems, fats, beards. Box 211.

WAYNE, MS. Leo. 47. 5'7'4", 145, White, 7". Semi-knowledgeable. Willing to learn more from sincere, straight-appearing, respectful Master 30 to 50. Moustaches a turn on. No fems, fats, blacks. Box 296G.

WEST CHESTER, SM Taurus, 30, 5'4", 130, White, 51 / 2". Novice, Respectful, honest, helpful Master seeks solid, clean, affectionate partner to 35. Must be cut. Hairy chest, tattoos a turn on. No fats, Virgos, heavy drugs, drinkers, Box 318.

YORK, M. Cancer. 28, 5'8". 220. White, will-completely serve 5 to 35 who will dominate verbally, mentally, physically. Prefers someone nearby into verbal humiliation, slave and dog training, Box 184H.

RHODE ISLAND

PROVIDENCE, SM. Gemini, 55, 5'10", 148. White, 5\2", Novice, Seeks local contacts under 50. No fats, hard drugs. Box 327.

SOUTH DAKOTA

SIOUX FALLS, M. Gemini, 27, 5'9", 150, White. 7", Novice. Submissive, aims to please. Seeking dominant partner or cowboy type to 30. No fems, passives. Box 263.

TENNESSEE

COLLIERVILLE, S. Leo. 33, 5'11". 165, White, 7". Novice. Must be butch and muscular. Box 086

MEMPHIS. MS. Aquerius, 37, 6'2", 180, White, 61 / 2". Novice, Travels extensively. Will experiment under dominant partner. Box 140.

MEMPHIS, S. Scorpio, 25, 6', 190, White, 61 / 2". Knowledgeable, Short hair, big balls preferred. Box 220R

TEXAS

DALLAS, M. Scorpio, 30, 6'2", 155, White, 6", Knowledgeable. Wants masculine guys to paddle bare ass, switch thighs and calves with riding crop. Must be 18 40 and respect limits. Box 002.

DALLAS, 5. Aries. 47, 5'8", 130, White, 7'2", Old hand, Handsome stud respects limits. No fats. Must be masculine appearing, acting. Box 049.

DALLAS, S. Aries, 39, 5'11", 190, White, 612", Old hand. Sixth generation Master demands an M who knows his place. No fems, fats, hippies. Box 137

DALLAS, S. Libra, 39, 5'11", 170, White: 7" Knowledgeable, Permanent slave has police and Marine Corps discipline experience. Box 252M.

FORT WORTH. MS. Aquarius. 41. 6'2". 210. White 7". Knowledgeable. Partner should be masculine, mature, affectionate, outdoor type. No fats, fems, fifth, drugs. Nox 059D.

FORT WORTH, M. Leo. 50, 6'1", 150. White Completely inexperienced. Wishes to be of use to and provide enjoyment for partner who will help him to realize his fantasies. No fat or Indiscreet persons, Box 252D.

HOUSTON: M. Cancer. 42, 6', 145, White, 71 / 2" Knowledgeable, Orally oriented, really digs W / S, FF with partner who respects limits. Will submit to any paintess scene and furnion to a Master into painless bondage. Age unimportant. Box 183F

HOUSTON, S. Libra, 29, 5'8", 155, White, 6". Completely inexperienced. Wishes to learn needs and limits of slave from quiet, submissive partner willing to start slowly. Box 313.

SAN ANTONIO, M. Aries, 31, 5'10", 160, White 6". Novice. Enjoys sex with and domination by a real stud to 40. Must be well-endowed, over 6' fail. No drugs, Box 296J.

SAN ANTONIO. S. Virgo. 40. 6'2". 186. White 81 att. Completely inexperienced. Wants to meet someone to help him teach his lover total obedience. No fats. Box 450.

VIRGINIA

ALEXANDRIA, M. Leo. 25, 5'11", 170, White. 61 / 2". Old hand. Needs to respect and totally serve very firm and gentle Master. Wants to wear permanent collar for right person. Can travel. Box 084.

ARLINGTON, S. Capricorn, 30, 6', 155; White, 8". Knowledgeable. True top man seeks honest, discreet, passive partner into definite pain trip. Muscular, hairy if possible. Spends summers in Wildwood, New Jersey. No fats, hard drugs. Box 047L

RICHMOND, S. Leo. 52, 5'9", 172, White, 9", Old hand. Wants true lover of Levis, high boots, riding britches. Cycle owner preferred. Box 400.

WOODBRIDGE, MS. Scorpio. 42, 5'11", 180. White, 61 / 2" Knowledgeable, Prefers M role, but will switch. Wants bondage and rough treatment by sadistic Master. No drugs, dirty scenes. Box 043

WASHINGTON

SEATTLE, MS. Cancer, 25, 5'11", 175, White, 6" Novice. Motorcycle guys, cowboys, cops. Gags. Not into heavy beating. Box 138.

TACOMA: SM. Capricorn. 35: 6'21 / 2". 190. White. . Novice. Wants to learn both roles from clean. knowledgeable partner. Owns new Harley and prefers bike owner. No fems, fats. Box 185G.

WISCONSIN

KENOSHA, MS Libra. 36, 5'11'2". 175, White. 6". Novice. Eager to learn either role from clean, straight acting person. No 40's or hard-core S / M's. Box 161.

***WATERTOWN, S. Libra, 27, 6', 175, White, 7''. Novice. Will satisfy needs of mutually honest, understanding partner. Into W / S, B&D, humiliation , public exhibition. No heavy drugs, selfish types. Box 130W.

WYOMING

LARAMIE, S. Gemini, 25, 5'10", 180, White, 61 / 2", Novice. No role-switching Muscular, dark preferred , Box 013X.

AUSTRALIA

MELBOURNE, VICTORIA, S. Taurus, 34, 5'8". 154. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Digs breeches, boots, cycle police. Wants correspondence with preecher / leather guys. Box 062.

CANADA

***PORT ALBERNI, BRITISH COLUMBIA. M. Pisces, 42, 5'7", 142, White, 6", Knowledgeable. Experienced and obedient, willing to service and please Leather Master, Into B&D, W / S, Black a real turn on. No fems, fats. Box 048L.

WEST VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA. SM. Warlock host offers vacation accommodations in totally dedicated S&M home to mascul Ine male stallions, any race, and their Slaves. Box 013

DOWNSVIEW, ONTARIO, SM. Capricorn, 25. 5'8" 135. White, 7". Will do anything to or for a real motorcycle cop, MP, state trooper or cowboy type. White, clean, non-smoker preferred . No drugs. Box 285.

KINGSTON, ONTARIO, SM. Gemini, 37, 5 / 9 / 2" 170. White, 5". Novice, Muscular passive sought for beating, Box 190

NIAGARA FALLS, ONTARIO. MS. Cancer 47. 5'9". 170 White, Old hand, Must like boots, leather and bondage. Young preferred, but not essential, Box 088A.

OTTAWA, ONTARIO. SM. Aquarius, 40. 5'11" 175. White, 51 / 2". Knowledgeable. Prefers considerate , intelligent, bodybuilder type over 25. Box 324

OTTAWA, ONTARIO. MS. Aquarius. 27, 5'11". 165. White, 6". Knowledgeable, Can offer barn scenes on farm to knowledgeable S to 50 or small, goodlooking M. Personal cleanliness a must. No role switching during scenes, no redheads. Box 070X

OTTAWA, ONTARIO. S. Taurus. 40. 6'. 175. White, 6", Imaginative, versatile master seeks masculine slave into bondage, tit work, etc. Must be intelligent. Box 071C.

TORONTO, ONTARIO. MS. Capricorn. 23. 5'7". 120. White, 6". Completely inexperienced. Needs experienced, forgiving teacher under 30 in Toronto, Box 074

TORONTO, ONTARIO. S. Leo. 50, 5'7". 142. White, 7", Old hand wants docile M who can take strappings. Willing to train. Will respect limits. No fems or under 25. Box 880.

TORONTO, ONTARIO, M. Leo. 33, 5'9", 150. White 712". Novice, seeks understanding farm or ranch type master. No lats or heavy drinkers. Box 052M

TORONTO, ONTARIO, MS. Pisces, 33, 5'7" 130. White, 61-2". Knowledgeable, Will service, please and obey butch stud in boots and smelly leans. Bikers a plus. No fems, lats, blacks, Box 081Z.

ENGLAND

***ISLE OF MAN. M. Sagittarius, 52. 6'. 214. White, 512", Novice, Turned on by bondage, boxing gloves, hoods, rubber, W / S. Seeks firm, trusting non butch Master. Eager to try new toys, positions, grease, poppers, chain bondage. Box 152T

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

LONDON, S. Pisces, 36, 6'2", 179, White, 9'4". Knowledgeable, Hunky Eurasian into FF, W / S, bondage seeks clean partner 24 to 30. Should be muscular, hairy. Tattoos a turn-on: Box 071B.

"LONDON, SM. Scorpio, 30, 6', 180", White, 8". Completely inexperienced. Has strong, dominant character required of S. needs to learn M. role. Wants slim, muscular, smooth bodied partner to 25. Box 228.

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

HOLLAND

AMSTELVEEN, M. Aquarius, 41, 6', 165, White, 51 / 2". Old hand, Travels in U.S., Canada, Europe. Box 275.

***THE HAGUE, SM. Pisces. 31. 5'111 / 2". 145. White, 9½1. Knowledgeable, Into whipping, B&D, FF, W / S, enemas. Possible permanent relationship with masculine partner, Will visit USA in October, Box 295M.

WEST GERMANY

***FRANKFURT, MS, Leo. 32, 6', 175, White, 9". Knowledgeable. American abroad will service Slaves / Masters passing through. Gang fuck can be arranged. No fems, fats. Under 40 only. Limits respected. Box 185K.

The Master thrusts into the flaming hearth a branding iron with a head in the shape of a triangle, the Greek letter delta. In preparing to brand his bound slave thusly, the Master is continuing a classical tradition begun 3,000 years ago. The ancient Greek Masters branded their slaves with the delta <math>\Delta</math> for "doulos," <math>\Delta ov \lambda os</math> "slave."

When the branding iron assumes a crimson glow, not unlike the hue of the belted buttocks of the anxiously awaiting slave, the gauntleted hand of the Master grasps the handle of the smoking iron. Raising it into the air, he enters the dimly lit, vaulted inner chamber where the slave, chained in prone position, awaits the Master's wi corners of the bed.

'Raise your ass, slave!"

The Master plunges the glowing iron onto the clean-shaven right rump. As the slave emits a low moan, the Master proclaims: "Slave, you have now been baptized with the fire of the Gods. You are eternally marked as a slave. Hence- forth, your name will be Delta Zeta. Delta denotes your perpetual position as a slave. Zeta is indicative of your true devotion the shaper of destiny, of time itself, the father of Gods and men, Zeus."

Some Masters initiate their slaves with names selected consecutively from the Greek alphabet: Delta Alpha, Delta Beta, etc. Others, like myself, choose names to signify manly virtues personified by the different, ancient Gods.

Cascading through the centuries from ancient Greece, the triangular mark of the slave has evolved into the mark of the true believer, the Trinitarian . Until 1832, galley slaves in France were branded "TF," "Travaux (work) Forces.'

The Romans, on the other hand, branded their runaway slaves on their foreheads with the letter "F" for "fugi- tivus," or "fugitive." The Emperor Con- statine later changed the location of the brand from the face to the hand, arm or calf of the slave. In England, the Edict of Constantine notwithstanding, "5" was branded on the cheek or fore- head of a runaway slave. These slaves were largely vagabonds, generally men wandering from their usual habitats who were without visible means of support or socially approved reasons for their wanderings. Masterless, they were subjected to a series of repressive statutes beginning in the Seventh Century.

For example, the Statute of Vaga- bonds of 1547 authorized their being branded with a large "V" on their chests and condemned them to a year's slavery for a first offense, to slavery for life if found masterless a second time, and to a tortured felon's death if found a third time.

In the United States, the branding of runaway slaves was generally abandoned by the time of the American Revolution because of the naturally dark skin pigment of most slaves. Among darkskinned people cicatrization is practiced . Raised scars, or keloids, are produced by cutting the flesh and then in- troducing an irritating substance to delay healing and produce a more marked scar.

Besides the permanent marking with a branding iron, there is a temporary method. Temporary branding is com- monly done with lighted cigarettes on the upturned ass. Usually the initials of the brander are put on the brandee. Whether with cigarettes or the brand- ing iron, "Name Brands" are the most popular today.

Erasmus said: "Vestis virum facit". "Clothes make the man." G. Calvin Magister says: "Notae virum facit" "Marks make the man!"

Piercing adds a new scope to the whole concept of body adornment. From ancient times, perforation of the earlobe and other parts of the body for insertion of an ornament has been universally practiced. Today, a new breed of piercers is evolving. Their motto is: "If it protrudes, pierce it."

The protrusibles include.

Ears: there are about a dozen "holey" places in this erotic protrusion.

Nose: the usual is the perforation of the septum (between the two nostrils) or one or both of the nasal alae.

Nipples: this highly erogenous area can be stimulated with as many as six piercings.

Navel: now that the umbilical cord is detached, man seeks a new attachment through rings around the navel.

Genitalia: the Prince Albert, named for Queen Victoria's husband who is alleged to have had one, is the pierced end of the penis with a ring inserted. This piercing gives back some of the sensation lost if the foreskin fell victim to the best-known and most widespread genital mutilation, circumcision . If you are not circumcised, as is reported in the case of the Prince Consort , the piercing and the implanted ring pull back the foreskin and facilitate clean-cut contact.

The Dydoes are piercings through the glans, the conical vascular body around the head of the penis. There are two piercings, one at each side, which are then imbedded with small rings or posts. In heterosexual sex, this gives the affect of a French Tickler.

The Guiche, pronounced "geesh," is the piercing of the ridge of skin at the point equidistant between the testicles and the rectum, where a ring is inserted . Like the geisha (pronounced geesha"), the guiche provides entertainment for a man. A thong with a weighted end is usually attached to the imbedded ring. The result is stimulation of the testicles with every erect movement. Like the word tattoo, this primitive libidinous device originated in Tahiti.

Etcetera: perforattion frequently includes such areas of the anatomy as the lower lip (or, less frequently, the upper), webs between the fingers (especially between the thumb and the first finger), the clump of skin at the base of the neck, and any other bulging area.

Piercing can be done with any slender , sharp-pointed instrument, from a surgical needle to a safety pin. For specialty jobs like the Prince Albert, a curved needle is recommended. Obviously , the piercing needle should be sterilized before being used. Dipping the needle in rubbing alcohol will ordinarily suffice. Gold retaining rings or plugs should be used in the initial piercing.

Simply stated, tattooing is the pricking of the skin with pigment. Egyptian mummies dating from 2,000 BC provide the first historical evidence of tattooing . In the classic Greek and Roman worlds, and among the ancient Germans and Magyars, tattooing thrived.

After the advent of Christianity, supposedly because of the biblical injunction : "You shall not make any cuttings in your flesh on account of the dead or tattoo any marks upon you." (Lev. XIX, 287), tattooing was forbidden in Europe. It persisted, however, in the Near East and other parts of the world.

During the age of exploration, tattooing was rediscovered by Europeans who came into contact with American Indians, Eskimos and Polynesians. The word tattoo itself was introduced into English and European languages from Tahiti where it was first recorded after Captain Cook's expedition in 1769. Tattooed Polynesians and European sailors who had been tattooed abroad attracted a great deal of attention in both Europe and America in the late 18th and early 19th Centuries.

The first tattoo parlor in the U.S. was opened in 1846 by Martin Hildebrandt on Oak Street in New York City. The first tattooed man to be exhibited was James F. O'Connell, whose appearance at Franklin Theatre, Chatham Square, New York City on October 21, 1849, was advertised as follows in the New

York Herald:

"The manager has at enormous expense engaged Mr. J.F. O'Connell, the wonderful 'Tattooed Man,' who will go through a variety of performances peculiar to himself… perfectly original."

On the Bowery in New York City in 1875, Samuel F. O'Reilly, with typical Yankee ingenuity, developed an electric tattoo machine called a "tattau-graph ." The implement was patented in 1891.

In the Gay Nineties, America be-came the center of influence in tattoo design, especially with the spread of tattooers' pattern sheets. The motifs on the sheets were nautical, military, patriotic , romantic and religious

Body adornment is probably the commonest motive for tattooing. Under the hands of a talented artist, a human being is transformed into a living work of art. This new phase of the tattoo scene has been aptly called the "Body Adornment Revolution.

An exciting new dimension has been developed in Los Angeles by master artist, Rich Harold. One day while visiting a socially prominent gallery

DRUMMER 46 that was selling his paintings, Harold was approached by an important investor who asked him how much he thought his paintings would be worth in five years. This question greatly dis- turbed Harold because he believes that one should buy art because he likes it and not as an investment. He replied that he thought they would be worth the same in five years as they were right then.

The prospective investor was annoyed by Rick's reply and refused to make a purchase. The owners of the gallery then became infuriated with the artist.

Going home, Harold decided that he must make some concrete statement against the idea of art as an investment . He believes that art should be seen as a symbol of commitment to society. For him, everything is nebulous without such a commitment, so he began to look for another, different art form that would be looked upon not as an investment but as that commitment .

While trying to find a solution to his problem, Harold hit upon the idea of using his fellow human beings as living canvases. As eagerly as he once pur- sued his Ph.D. in Art, he now pursued his newest artistic endeavor. He found-himself not in another academic situation , but in the school of life in a

Main Street Tattoo Shop.

He realizes that many people are prejudiced against tattooing because they have seen only badly done work. He, however, sees it as iconography, the art of representation by pictures or images. The people he tattoos are not sailors looking for a status symbol, but living works of art. Each one is unique. Each symbol or picture is tailored to fit the individual. Rich Harold views this as one of the few ways left for man to express his own identity, his own separateness , so that he is better able to recognize his own uniqueness and make a more worthwhile commitment to society.

Other artists have similar views to that of Rich Harold. In fact, the First World Convention of Tattoo Artists and Fans was held in Houston, Texas, early this year. More than 400 tattoo enthusiasts attended. Cliff Raven of Chicago, who recently moved to Holly-

Tattooing, done under the capable hands of such artists as Rich Harold, has evolved into a new and unique art of illustration by pictures or images and even beyond. It has now become a dynamic part of body adornment.

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It's all in the Stars…

Gemini S:

[May 21-June 21]: Time is propitious for some artistic endeavors. Write an article for Cosmopolitan on "Creative Designs with a Branding Iron."

Read "100 Days of Sodom" for some creative masturbatory ideas of your own.

Cancer S: [June 22-July 21]: Great month to shave a slave. Be imaginative—use a push mower. Cancer M: Don't believe anyone who says: "This is going to hurt me more than it does you.

Leo S: [July 22-Aug. 21]: Do something really sadistic this month: fart in a fluff bar.

Things have probably been looking down quite a bit lately. Cheer up. They'll get worse.

[Aug. 22-Sept 22]: You're going to find that a lot more people will be calling you "Sir!" this month. (This definitely does not include Virgo S: women's libbers.)

Virgo M: A new Master in your future … possibly from a classified ad or toilet graffiti

Libra S: [Sept. 23-Oct 22]: Success and financial happiness in your stars: You're going to meet a

Libra M: Try to develop a positive, optimistic attitude; you'll find life a lot more painful that way.

[Oct. 23-Nov. 21]: Try some Spring Dungeon- cleaning this month. Air out those old stale amyl fumes, shovel out the shit and oil those Scorpio S: creaky shackles. A clean playroom is a happy playroom.

Scorpio M: Call all your scat freak friends and contact the above. Shovels optional.

Sagittarius S: [Nov. 22-Dec. 21] Give someone you love a good, old-fashioned case of crabs and hide the Kwell ointment in a cruel variation of the "Treasure Hunt" game. Attend a rap session at the Gay Community

Center and manipulate it into a semantic seminar on the connotational differences between "Golden Showers" and "Water Sports."

Capricorn S: [Dec. 22-Jan. 20]: Your symbol is the goat and you probably smell like one when you're in heat but in a leather bar, who'll notice? Dig torture and abuse? Turn yourself in to the Mormon Church and tell them you're gay. Capricorn M: they'll handle the rest.

Aquarius S: [Jan. 21-Feb. 19]: Learn to sign your name on someone's bare back with a bullwhip. When you have become proficient, practice doing different type styles, such as sans serif and wedding text.

Aquarius M: Beware of Aquarians bearing bullwhips and birth certificates.

Pisces S: [Feb. 20-Mar. 20]: Good time to start a harem. Check for bargains at the next DRUM-

MER slave auction. Use your Master Charge or the handy "lay-and-lay-away" plan. Protect your health this month. Beware of foot (don't drink from any boot but your Master's).

Aries S: [Mar. 21-Apr. 19]: Be cruel…learn to say "No!" when your slave wants it.

Aries M: Expecting anything out of life or your Master can only lead to frustration and disappoint- ment. Expect much; therefore, your loss will be your gain. (A real M will understand!)

RUS

April 21~ May 20

Volunteer your services to a Taurus Master looking for a guinea pig. Take your own gag.

HIIIA

Remember our contest?

Enclosed are eight (8) pencil drawings as an entry to your contest. These are part of a set of drawings done by myself as illustrations for a slave barn fantasy.

I have not enclosed any of the heavy action, wishing to leave that to the viewer's imagination. I prefer showing both … indeed, drawing both, but find imagination works best on both friends and slaves.

Too, I am a little uptight about sending these as I have never them shown to anyone but a select few before. I am not a pro artist merely someone whose doodles have progressed to a passable state. At the steady urging of friends I have decided to bring my work out of the 'Game Room' and into full public exposure. Got any suggestions ?

Hope the drawings stir up enough fantasy to arouse more than the imag-Thank you, ination.

Nick Sattler West Springfield, Mass.

P.S. Beside being a piss poor typist, I am 5'10", brown hair, blue-eyed, 160 pound, bearded, master / switch type. Also, you can use my own name if you see any future in this work-so damn few of us here in Springfield. We wait months, sometimes longer, for DRUM-MER to appear. Most issues we have to get in New York.

Edited and Compiled by Toby Bailey and Bernie Prock

Photos for LEATHERJOURNAL are by Richard Anderson from his film "Night of Submission" which stars BERNIE PROCK author of LEATHER JOURNAL.

We're taking this opportunity to select statements on a variety of themes which have been discussed at length in earlier LeatherJournal columns. We hope that those previously unacquainted , or only recently acquainted, with the LeatherJournal will find these statements informative and entertaining . Out of their original context, and various as these passages may be, each topic is important to the Leather and S&M scenes.

We don't consider these comments to be the final word on any aspect of the Leather scene; but they are based on personal experiences, observations, and thoughtful concern, which is not the case in all Leather-oriented literature . It's a wise reader who takes all advice and undocumented assertions with a grain of salt. If the following comments provoke consideration and self-reflection on your part, our own aims have been served.

Masculinity and Masochism

In the traditional sex dichotomy of our culture, we associate dominance and submission with the notions of masculinity and feminity. In an era of women's liberation, "submission" has assumed a negative connotation, largely because many women now feel that this label is one of the attributes which society has used to relegate them to an inferior position.

Nevertheless, dominance and submission are a part of almost all sexual relationships, and the S&M scene ex-emplifies sexual control of one person over the other. It involves controlled physical, emotional, and / or psychological stimulation—but control itself is neither masculine nor feminine.

The Masculine Fetishist

The major ways in which the masculine fetishist differs from other gay men are two: first, specific masculine attributes are more intensely arousing to him than they are to most gay men; second, to the extent that the masculine fetish is part of a sexual scene with another man, it implies a dominant or submissive relationship to the sexual partner.

These same dimensions of intensity are the distinguishing characteristics of S&M behavior. For this reason the masculine fetishist is a bona fide participant in the gay S&M scene, even if he is not turned on by bondage or intense physical stimulation.

Having distinguished fetishism and S&M from other sexual behavior, we must nevertheless conclude that the distinction is a matter of degree and not categorical. All sexual stimulation has some degree of subjective inten- sity, and almost all sexual relationships

5

When, in the words of that hoary old articulation exercise, "Moses supposes his toeses are roses," does he also realize that he makes of himself the pet of the pedophiliac set? Because there, precisely and anatomically, is where the action begins for the dedicated foot fetishist, paying homage to those appendages of man which are in closest and most frequent contact with the earth that affirms all men's basic brotherhood.

To the less liberated among us, thanks to somber of Sigmund Freud himself, any brand of fetishism is "abnormality … (which) … may be counted as one of the perversions." Such an atavistic attitude in this day and age should be shelved along with such equally disproven myths as Masturbation will make your palms hairy and "Sodomy stunts your growth."

Whatever.

Of all fetishes, pedophilia is the one which most requires the performance of a positive act of worship. Art historians verify that in Christian iconography , since the Middle Ages, the human foot has been used as the standard symbol of humility and service. Its origins are found at the Last Supper, when Jesus stripped down and washed the feet of his disciples, instructing them "Ye also ought to wash one another's feet" (John 13:4-14). Then there was that strange Pharisee woman who washed His feet with her tears, dried them with her hair, and covered them with kisses (Luke 7:38).

Zoologist Desmond Morris, out of his depth in psychology after crassly crossing disciplines into the profitable realm of best-sellerdom, would accuse the above of having been mal-printed at the time of their first sexual experience . Nonsense! And poppycock! There's nothing like a good healthy case of pedophilia to get a kid off the streets and into the john. But, why even waste time on a writer who also flatly states (in The Human Zoo) that the "normal object" of sexual desire is

It's interesting to note how frequently the foot appears in literature. Robert

Browning (sic) seems to have had quite a thing for feet. In Respectability, he coined the phrase "put forward your best foot!" (Tho' Shakespeare, unchar- acteristically more grammatic, exhorts in King John to "Make haste; the better foot before.") But who could improve on Browning's description, in Part X, The Ring and the Book, of the pedo- philiac's ultimate scene: "Why comes temptation, but for man to meet / And master and make crouch beneath his toot

In He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven , William Butler Yeats confesses "I have spread my dreams under your feet," a romantic image with deep meaning for all unreconstructed foot fetishists, yet hardly in the same league with T. S. Eliot, who, in his masterful The Waste Land fantasizes about those who "wash their feet in soda water" (Part II, "The Fire Sermon"). Examples could be cited endlessly. Just ask the

The importance of all this to the practicing pedophiliac is that precedence now prescribes he need no longer keep his wont a secret; he can come out of the shoe closet, as it were. Surely so devout an act of "humility and service" merits full disclosure and discussion, and its practitioners especially warrant the respect and gratitude of us all. Few activists offer such equal pleasure to both parties involved, whether entered into as an end in itself or as a prelude to other mutually satis-tying undertakings

If you wish to do your pedophiliac partner a favor, wear sneakers with no socks and jog a lot, preferably on a well-used bridle path. Good clean sweat and honest dirt combine to provide the kind of challenging treat certain to light up your foot-lover's eyes and moisten his mouth. Nearly all of his senses will become engaged: sight, smell, touch and taste; and the greater the participation of the senses, the greater the heights of passion that may be reached.

The act itself must be done with finesse as well as devotion. First comes the ritual removal of footwear, one at a time, carefully untying laces, gently slipping the backs down and over the heel, pulling forward past the instep, finally revealing the naked toes and tenderly setting the shoe to one side. The foot is next fully massaged by the hands, warming the flesh, kneading and pulling the toes individually from smallest to largest, caressing along the sole and back to the heel, striving to relax any tensions lodged in the Achilles tendon, rotating the whole both clockwise and counterclockwise at the ankle.

Ready for climactic moments, the tongue itself is now put to work. Starting again at the tiniest toe, tongue around and around it, then hold it between the lips, alternately sucking and blowing. And, as with sucking and blowing other things, make sure the teeth don't made contact, for they can utterly destroy the sensuality produced by the licking and sucking. A sensual- ity, incidentally, that can be heightened by using the hands to massage his calves.

After his toes, with special attention having been given to the sensitive spaces between them, the sole of the foot becomes the focus of attention. This area should be laved with long, languishing licks, from toes to heel in one slow and steady motion and then back again, over and over, finishing up with a fluttering and flicking of the tongue across the entire bottom and sides of the foot. The same procedures are repeated on the top of the foot. The hands, perhaps, have now worked their way up to the thighs and … er … whatchamacallums.

A minimum of a quarter-of-an-hour should be spent on each foot if a thorough and satisfying job, resulting in complete arousal, is to be accomplished. Remember that anything worth doing at all is worth doing well. This is particularly true in the world of pedophilia where, in the final analysis, the whole point is to have a foot in your mouth.

Or wherever.

One of these cards can Bail you out. Among other things.

IF YOUR PROBLEM IS LEGAL

3 20

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DRUMMER views the Flicks

THE FIRST NUDIE MUSICAL"

[Reviewed at Paramount Studios, Hollywood, April 30, 1976. MPAA Rating : R. Running time: 91 minutes.]

Beware! Paramount's "The First Nudie Musical" is sexist, not sexy; puerile, not prurient; simulating, not stimulating: the most derivative piece of drivel since the first freshman film festival at U.S.C. One measure of its meanness is the fact that virtually its only positive assets are the sometimes costumes.

At the beginning of the movie, a bunch of kids get together and it's "let's-put-on-a-show (blue musical)" time. At the end, it's "long-suffering-secretary -replaces-leading-lady (pomo queen)" time. For the audience, all the way through, it's a bad (dull) time. proving again that you cannot parody parody

The plot deals with a last gasp attempt to revive a faltering Cower Gulch studio by making the first porno movie musical, "Come … Come Now." A crisis is provoked when the major investor nepotistically requires that his inept Harold Lloyd-like nephew (Bruce Kimmel) be hired to direct the property . By merest chance, said Bruce Kimmel himself also co-directed this film, as well as providing its screen- play, music, and lyrics. (Wonder whose nephew he is.)

The entire enterprise is relentlessly heterosexual, and there is not one player for whom you'd even consider buying a cup of coffee at the most desperate , last chance, after hours joint. Too bad. The injection of a gay sensibility might have been just the serum needed to hypo what was at best a mildly amusing initial concept.

For the whole thing suffers from cockophobia. Tho' there are countless bouncing boobs and bushes on view, you will be rewarded with nary a dancing dong. Oh, well, those truly tireless crotchwatchers among you may per- haps cop a quick peek at two or three singularly unimpressive phalli, if you don't blink. Even the grand finale presents the ludicrous sight of a mixed chorus line in which the ladies bare all and the gentlemen remain fully clothed: in white tie and tails, yet.

The most promising schtick in the show-based on the need to hire a "stunt cock" when the leading man can't get his up-climaxes in unabashed rip-off. After a long, titillating buildup , the stand-up stand-in blessed (cursed?) with a perpetual erection finally makes his big entrance. Quick cut to endless reaction shots of awe and admiration from all. But we, the audience , never see him from the waist down. It's rather like going to "Parsifal" and not getting a glimpse of the Holy

Grail.

In addition to the ubiquitous Mr. Kimmel, the cast stars Cindy Williams, late of "American Graffiti" and recent- ly "Laverne and Shirley," and one Stephen Nathan. (Stephen who?) Diana Canova does a camp Carmen Miranda impersonation, and Leslie Ackerman is the plumply healthy nobody from Indiana who gets her first big break and then is never seen again.

There are a few oblique nods, en passant, at the S&M scene: posters on the producer's office wall announce two of his former efforts as having been "Cheerleaders in Chains" and "Stewardesses in Cages," and in a "Perversion " production number there are a few frames showing a dinner-jacketed diner tied to his restaurant chair (mercy!) and someone tentatively licking a bare foot.

You'll get a few chuckles (sample of the best: struck at 3:30 a.m. by a brain-storm solution to a production problem , the producer phones his girl friend to exult "I've got it! I've got it!," to exult "I've got it! I've got it!," to which she responds, sourly, "Well, I didn't give it to you," and goes back to sleep), and might toe-tap along with the familiar-sounding score, but it will never replace staying at home and fan-tasizing about the true nature of the lationship between Starsky and Hutch.

Incidentally, Playboy loved the movie. Need we say more?

Ed Franklin

The Leather BAR SCEN

The Upstairs …

ARIZONA

PHOENIX

Nu Towne Saloon …

CALIFORNIA

ARCADIA [off 210 Fwy]

Long Branch …

GARDEN GROVE

Saddle Club …

LOS ANGELES / HOLLYWOOD

Driveshaft … Farmhouse …12319 Ventura Blvd, Frank's Buckeroo Inn …902 Hollywood Way The Signal … 10522 Burbank Blvd. Hayloft …11818 Ventura Blvd.

NORTH LONG BEACH

Mike's Corral … 2020 Artesia Blvd. Stallion … 5823 N. Atlantic Ave.

Party Room …

SAN BERNARDINO

SAN DIEGO

Bee Jay's … The Hole …2820 Lytton

SAN FRANCISCO

Hungry Hole …1188 Folsom St. Polk Gulch Saloon … 1090 Post Rainbow Cattle Co …199 Valencia Ramrod …1255 Folsom Round-up…

COLORADO

DENVER

COLORADO SPRINGS

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

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA

CONNECTICUT

HARTFORD

Warehouse … WATERBURY Rusty's Roadhouse …1388 Thomaston

FLORIDA

FT. LAUDERDALE

TAMPA

Man's Country …

GEORGIA

ATLANTA

Mrs. P's …

ILLINOIS

CHICAGO

KENTUCKY

LOUISVILLE

Badlands Territory …116 E. Main

LOUISIANA

NEWORLEANS

Golden Lantern …

13751 Victory Blvd., Van Nuys, Ca. 91404 Leather & Western (213) 997-9067

MARYLAND

BALTIMORE

MASSACHUSETTS

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

MICHIGAN

DETROIT

Interchange … …1501 Holden

MISSOURI

KANSAS CITY

Pif …

MONTANA

BILLINGS Frank's Hole …1625 Central

Cockpit …

NEBRASKA

Diamond Bar …

NEW YORK

BUFFALO

Villa Capri …937 Main St., Corner of Allen MANHATTAN Anvil …

Beau Geste… Boot Hill … Boots & Saddle … Candle … Fedora's … Ramp …11th Ave. at 18th St. Ramrod … Spike Bar …11th Ave. at 20th St. Strap… Warehouse Pier 51 …324 Amsterdam Ave. QUEENS

NORTH CAROLINA

NORTH CAROLINA

RALEIGH

The Capital Corral …

OHIO

AKRON

CLEVELAND 351 W. Market Satan's Inferno…

-----702 Monroe Scenic Bar …

Open Closet …

The Leather BAR SCENE

OREGON PORTLAND Dahl & Penne's … Other Inn … PENNSYLVANIA Cartwheel Inn … PHILADELPHIA Allegro …1412 Spruce St. Cell Block … Men's Room … Pits … 247 Bar PITTSBURGH …247 5. 17th St …135 Ninth Edison Hotel Bar …

TENNESSEE

MEMPHIS

Entree Nuit …

TEXAS

DALLAS

Sun Dance Kid … Terry's Ranch…4117 Maple

<del>988888888888888</del> 1 / 2 OMAHA , NEBRASKA ItaThe DIAMOND BAR 516 So 16th ST OMAHA'S ONLY LEATHER BAR 1000000000

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.

IN PASSING

ONIESI anniversary

DRUMMER'S FIRST ANNIVERSARY ISSUE IS COMING UP AND WE WANT TO FILL IT WITH THE MOST EXCITING LEATHERMEN AVAILABLE!

You don't have to belong to the LEATHER FRATER-NITY , you don't even have to be a subscriber. DRUMMER'S search is open to any male over twenty-one years of age and is in two catagories: Model and Photographer.

Send in your own picture taken by someone else or your model's picture taken by you. Either way you must have permission of the other person. Photographs will be returned unharmed when accompanied by a self-addressed stamped envelope.

SHOOT

GET OUT YOUR CAMERA AND SHOOT YOUR MASTER OR SLAVE!

He could be centerfold material. Best photography counts, but so does the model. Show him in leather or in nothing. Show him in bondage or in dominance. Show him in anything other than hardcore—that we can't print. We want to use the best available on the pages of DRUMMER. That could be you!

Send your entry and return envelope to us at: 6636 SANTA MONICA BOULEVARD LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90038

The Leather BAR SCEN The Upstairs …

California

Los Angeles / Hollywood

North Long Beach

San Diego

San Francisco

Connecticut

Waterbury

Kentucky

Louisville

Massachusetts

Montana

Billings

New York

Buffalo

Manhattan

Ohio

Akron

Pennsylvania

Philadelphia

Texas

Dallas

Bar

Leather Bar