THE MA(S)KING OF MR. AMERICA

That annual gay rip-off known offici- ally as the "Mr. America Competition" was held in California last July 16 at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium, and its nervous-nellie sponsors were as paranoid as ever in their faussy attempts to disassociate the entire enterprise from any taint of homosexuality. Blatantly nipping at the hands that feed them, their treat-press representatives — statement of gay press representatives — statement of gay press representatives — statement of gay press representatives — statement of gay press representatives — statement of gay press representat was just this side of hostile. rather pathetic attempt at hetero-al legitimization pervaded everything promotion to production. Advance in the straight press announced "a scale Mr. America Parade" for 11AM emphasizing "Entertain- me entire family" (italics ours) bookbuilders, floats, bands, ele- me entire "Well, the tacky actual-and indeed, boast a clutch of adoest elephants, bearing on their broad backs a bevy of bikini-clad bodybuilders who grinned self-consciously at TV cameras and waved warily at the baffled bystanders .

Dominating print announcements ("Concept: David Weisman"), was the drawing of a big-basketed golden boy with over-idealized musculature whose pose - one hand on hip and the other touching blondined locks - parodied that of the stereotyped primping pansy. In the background, divided by grills of expensive sports cars, were five eruptingly phallic palm trees. Just who in the hell, the question rises unbidden, did they think would be turned on by this transparent appeal?

Also writ large in those ads was the fact that tickets ("Afternoon Performances $5 — Evening Finals $10) were on sale at "GOLD'S GYM" — that mecca of masochists owned and managed by Ken ("Dakota") Sprague, former Colt model and hard-core sex film star whose on-and hard-core sex film star whose on- screen performances with Jim Cassidy led one critic to call them "the Nelson Eddy and Jeannette MacDonald of the Gay films" without specifying which was who (although Sprague played th cerned: only addresses were listed. The "competition" itself suffered from the same schizophrenia that inform the overall field of bodybuilding (if not athletics in general throughout 1970's media-happy America)' is this sport or show biz? Because of the awesome physical energy expended by participants in preparing for this event, one would be inclined to consider it a sport; but the ultimate "performance" (their own designation), with its bright lights, piled body and general bou oiled bods, and general hoopla (floats?),

is the very essence of presentational exhibitionism.

Utterly repressed throughout it all were any indications of the gay support without which none of this circus would have been possible. David Carter, who, close to the scene as he is certainly ought to know, stated flatly in his recent book, The Iron Game, that "the gay community either directly or indirectly, almost completely supporte regular income-producing jobs other than as "models" or "escorts." This is not meant to imply, in any way, that all professional bodybuilders and / or Mr. America (or whatever) contestants are either hustler or homosexuals (although the facts show many of them so to be). Arnold Schwarzenegger has been at pains to assert his heterosexual orientation: "I have suffered from being stereotyped so I feel for what it is like to be gay" is one of his more quoted statements on the subject. Persistently echoing public proclamations by others active in the field almost force on one Gertrude's remark (in Hamlet) about the lady who "doth protest too much."

Nevertheless, the 1977 spectacle was held, with the customary assortment of voyeurs, vamps, votaries, and vision- aries in obedient attendance. Named overall winner was 31-year-old David

Johns, a black Los Angeles probation officer. The award was made by 83-year-old Mae West (and just who, for God's sake do they think comprise the bulk of fans for this all-time Queen of Camp?). On presenting the trophy, the virginally white-gowned Miss West eyed triumphent Johns carefully from head to foot, and back again, before cooing, "Oooo, what perfect parts!"

Well, at least our Mae had the guts to say an acknowledgment of who, in hat place at that time, was doing what to

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GUIDE TO S&M: PART I (Ambiance, Equipment, Organization, How to get him home and into the rack)

Okay, so you want to get into S&M? If I can't talk you out of it, the only thing left to do is make sure you don't screw it up completely. I'm fairly sure you're not going to become a modern-day Marquis de Sade, but with a of training, you might just be a passable lay. For starters, let's concentrate on the easy stuff: Ambiance, basic equipment, organization, and how to make them believe you're serious in the bar.

Ambiance and equipment kind of go hand in hand. That is to say, a few whips casually arrayed on the coffee table can go a long way toward setting up the kind of atmosphere you need to get your trick into the right frame of

That means no stuffed animals (I don't care if your mother DID give it to you), no lacey curtains, and most definitely no quilts, even if their basic color scheme is brown. The idea is to provide an atmosphere that lends itself to the scene. Try painting all the interior walls, in a simple shortcut is to hotwire the shower. (Remember to put

the switch in a spot where you won't accidentally hit it during watersports - or else the big thrill you give your trick could be a real knockout.)

So tear down the satin and velvet draperies, hide the porcelaine figurines, put the fine china and crystal out of sight, replace the rose-patterened wallpaper with a simple chain link motif, toss out the cut flowers, replace the Tahitian Bridal Veil plant with a nice healthy Monstera deliciosa and you will find you've not only changed your environment but probably your own outlook on life as well. The neighbors will think you're crazy, but what's more important, community relations or a good lay?

One last word here. Don't forget those little accessories that can make such a difference. Install a shelf over the bed where you can keep such necessary items as barf bags, smelling salts, the first aid kit, and so forth. A half-filled spitoon at the foot of the bed can add a nice touch. Refrain from cleaning the bathroom until the sink begins to move by itself. Get a granite bedspread, but remember it stains easily.

Fine. Now the house is ready. Let's move on to equipment. Handcuffs are about the most basic piece any self-respecting sadist or masochist should have around the place. There are a couple of reasons that make a set of cuffs so important. First, they are very utilitarian. They can be snapped on quickly and easily, a real asset, especially if your bottom is bigger or faster than you. Restraining his hands will definitely slow him down, making it more difficult for him to (A) fight back too much, or (B) chicken out. It can give you that few extra minutes to talk things over before he runs screaming down the back stairs. Second, they make a terrific accent for almost any costume you want to be seen in when you hit the bars. Usually, they are worn with one cuff dangling demurely from the back pocket. (Remember, the side on which one wears them can make a good deal of difference, and local customs differ from place to place. If in doubt, carry them in your jock until you can check with the bartender.) An attractive alternate is to loop one through each front belt loop of your levis, forming a kind of belt ornament. You'll also notice that, if the lighting is properly done, they will be the center of attraction and most people won't notice how small your basket really is. I do not recommend wearing one through the ear as an earring, nor do I particularly care for the custom of wearing both on one wrist as a bracelet - tacky.

Amyl nitrate is also a pretty basic piece of equipment. I call it that simply because it is something you go out and buy, rather than something you acquire with experience. Amyl has many uses, and most of them are good for you. It will give you the courage to go into the bar the first time with that ridiculous outfit, and stay there a while after you've finally made it. It will also calm your doubts about your own ability to go through with what you've gegun - like when you're past the cloow and he still wants more. It can also be a great help in calming your trick's fears, most especially after he finds out you've NEVER done this before. Besides, it's a quick pick-me-up the next morning when you still have to go to work, no matter how crummy you feel.

Cock rings come in many forms these days. It used to be so simple. There was leather and there was metal. You got whichever you liked the best. Nowadays, there are the ones made of rubber, the ones with the little prickers on the inside (doesn't that hurt?), those with ball harnesses and hooks from which to hang weights, or a boot, or a Volkswagen. I've even seen one that was wired to a battery pack and activated with a button on the belt buckle (oh my). I guess the key here is to find one that feels good, or not so good, depending on just which end of S&M you want to come into. Fit is important, but remember that one man's good fit is another man's loss of circulation.

Cock rings are also good for dramatic flair in public. You can flash one subtley in the john when you take a piss, kind of letting the rest of the boys know that you're more than just another piece of fluff. When you get to the point of dropping your pants, try to position yourself so that the light glints off the thing and your trick will know he's got himself a real hot patootey for the night. Never forget, visual impact is half the battle in this game. lit clamps are pretty important, or so they tell me. Personally , they don't do a thing for me, which is a rotten, dirty, crummy shame. Do you know what it's like, going around missing a couple erogenous zones? But, that's another story … Like the cock ring, there are all kinds of tit clamps around these days. I find it most useful to have several different kinds, so that whatever my friend for the night is into is what he gets. I seem to have the best luck with those that have flat gripping surfaces, which hold the nipple in place through pressure. These can be very simple, hardly more than a spring-loaded ring of steel, or they can be quite complex, involving little set screws that slowly increase the pressure. Avoid the latter. They can be a real pain in the ass if you're drunk, stoned, or covered with heavy duty 10-40 all purpose Quaker State. The other kind of tit clamp is the one that has the little teeth on it. Those remind me of electrical connectors, probably because that's really what they are, only they're in drag. This type is pretty much reserved for the hard core who've been around the track a few times. One easy way to tell whether he prefers smooth surface or toothed surface is by the shape of his nipples. If they're small and only slightly bruised, he's probably a smooth surface man. If on the other hand, they're over an inch long and covered with scars or still healing wounds, he's most likely a toothed surface fellow. This is, of course, a generalization.

Next on the list is something to tie him down, or up, or over, or whatever the hell. Leather thongs are probably the best here. They're relatively cheap, come in a variety of lengths, and have a nice leathery smell to them which adds a lot to the experience. You've already spent so much money by this time that you're hardly in a position to go out and buy a set of leathers, too, so get your smells as best you can. The main thing to remember with leather thongs is that they shrink. So if you find yourself in a water trip, remember to loosen his bindings from time to time, or else you'll end up

If you can't manage to get hold of thongs (in the boonies, some people refer to them as shoelaces - no class), you'll just have to make do. Clothesline works quite well here, although you should run it through the washer a few times with plenty of bleach, to soften it up, then piss all over it and leave it in a tightly closed container for six to eight months to give it the proper smell and texture. If you find yourself in a bind (uh, sorry) and don't have any of the usual restraints when you need them (don't you just hate people who drop in without even a call first?), then use y though, if he makes a run for it, he may end up dragging two lamps and the television set right out the front door with him in the process. Even a couple ties will work, but if you must go this desperate length, avoid bright prints and paisleys. Use a solid color or maybe a rep stripe to add a touch of class.

One item you don't have to buy, unless you're into suspenders , is a belt. That's right, a plain old, ordinary belt is a very basic part of your S&M set up. A wide one, three inches at least, preferrably black, is the best. I must caution you that, like the clothesline, it should be worn for a year or so before using it on your number, so that it has the proper flex and snap. Honestly, any kind of belt will work, providing it's leather or at least a good grade of vinyl. If it's got a Gucci or Pierre Cardin buckle, though, cup your hand over it as you swing, keeping it out of sight. Nobody wants to get beaten by a fag.

A few candles should be on hand, too. Your trick might be a little unwilling at first, but if you introduce them to him properly, he'll be loving it and screaming with joy in no time. Don't forget to hold the candle well above his body at first, so that the wax has a proper falling time to cool before it strikes his skin. You might practice this a little on your own tits and balls in private before you go public, so to speak. Be careful though, or you'll get so involved with practice that

Finally, we come to what is very, very basic: The lubricant. There are several kinds, and each has its own place, while KY might be just fine for an ordinary fuck, you'll find that with prolonged screwing it has a tendency to dry up and become a detriment to the smooth sliding of your arm, boot or umbrella. Vaseline Intensive Care is fine for the lightweight stuff, anything under twenty inches penetration or so, and does remain wet and slippery with prolonged use - unless

you've got terribly dry skin. You might also pick up a jar of Noxema for a change. It has a certain cooling property that is not unlike Vicks Vaporub (more about that in the Advanced Lessons). If you're going for the deep penetrations (beyond the shoulder, past the knee), I think you can't beat Crisco. Not only is it strong and extremely long-lasting, it's com- pletely digestable and low in calories. Probably biodegrade-able , too. Really though, they should do something about the way they package it - looks like it belongs in your kitchen instead of next to the bed.

Okay. Now you've got your basic S&M kit together. You're sitting there, considerably poorer, but ready to go. Before you casually toss it all into the top drawer of your dresser and go out looking for a big stud, I have to give you a few tips about organization. This is very important, so pay attention. There is nothing worse in this world than meeting some adorable beast in a bar who seems like a good candidate for a nice heavy scene, only to find out once you get back to his place that he's totally disorganized. You end up lying there on the bed, sniffing poppers and leafing through his pornography while he tries to untangle his leather thongs from his tit clamps. Then he drops a ten pound ball weight on his foot and you spend the next six hours in the emergency room at St. Lukes while they set the broken bones and he makes dumb excuses for the way he's dressed. Dull.

No, if you want it all to come off properly once you get him home, you've got to be ready. You have to know right where everything is, and not be clanking around looking for it. He might not be so hot for the handcuffs and bondage and you'll find yourself moving right into the hot wax. You had better be able to reach into the drawer and find candles and a match quickly, before he changes his mind.

Arranging things alphabetically won't work. While Amyl is probably one of the first things you'll need, you're liable then to find yourself feeling around in the dark for the Nine Gates of Hell and pull out the Nupercainyl That's in the Advanced Section …) I have put those things closest to the bed that are the most popular in my experience. It goes like this, as I remember: Amyl, handcuffs, leather thongs, tit clamps, harnesses, silk panties (never mind), gags, hoods, and so forth.

I should also point out here that you ought to have a night stand that is certified for at least six hundred pounds standing weight if you really what to do this properly. Mine has space for everything, including the Harley. Unfortunately, the floor is beginning to buckle.

Finally, we come to the single most important thing you're going to need: A NUMBER. S&M, done alone is fun in a way, but for most of us not really satisfying. So let's get into a few tips on technique. Not in bed, but pre-bed. That is, in the bar, in the car, in the living room. You have to get them out of public and into the bedroom before the real fun can begin.

First, what to do and not to do in the bar

Remember, the bar is a public arena. This is the place where you're combatting all those other silly fairies for the only good looking hunk that's walked in all night. If they get the upper hand, or if you falter even for a moment, then the battle is lost. It's all a matter of good advertising, don't forget that. Try thinking of yourself as a box of candy, sitting there on the shelf with all the others. What is going to make him come over and pick up your box, and not the others? He'll do it because you're the most attractive box in the place.

Among the things you shouldn't do: Talk too much (try not talking at all, just stand there and drink your beer - it may kill you, but it'll be worth it), move your hands (keep the one that isn't holding your beer stuffed in your pocket, no matter what - more than one hot trick has been lost by a limp wrist), laugh (under any circumstances - try biting your tongue until it bleeds as an alternative), breathe.

Things you should do: Stand tall (shoulders back, stomach in, legs straight — and if you're not at least six feet two, grow), take very large gulps of beer (he'll think you're either into water sports or a drunk, and either one is very butch), look mean (if you're uncertain as to just how to do this, try eating your beer bottle), glow in the dark (no, a day-glo pink motorcycle cap is not the answer to this), snarl and claw the wall.

If you manage to pull all that off, you've got a pretty good chance of getting Mr. Wonderful at least out of the bar. Once DRUMMER 14 you've done that, don't blow it. Uh, that is to say, don't fuck it up. Just because you've gotten him away from those other hungry queens, the battle is only partly won. This is the time when you've got to be extra careful. If you make even a tiny mistake during the ride home, it can put the kaybosh on the whole thing. He doesn't know you from Adam, and is probably trying to figure out just what kind of a dingdong he's gotten involved with THIS time. Your object here is to put him at ease. So do nothing that will get him edgey. You have to at least act like you're very together now.

If you smoke, ask him first, so that he'll realize what a considerate person you are - one who won't beat him within an inch of life without making sure it's okay first. When you take out the cigarette, try not to spill the entire pack all over your lap. And light it with the car's cigarette lighter. You know your hands will be shaking so badly the match will go out. Using a Zippo won't help either the whole damned car will go up in flames.

Drive within the speed limit, carefully and calmly, and always yield the right of way, so he'll know that you are a mature adult who has his safety and good health in mind. Screaming obsceneties out the window at that asshole who just cut you off will only frighten him. That's fine, but not until you've gotten him tied down. Talk only about him, and try to steer the conversation away from any kind of discussion of sex, kinky or otherwise. This will accomplish a couple things. For one, his ego will feel better, without making him think you only want to do unspeakable things to his body. Also, your big mouth won't make promises your body can't keep later. Finally, don't pee your pants.

Now you've gotten him out of the bar and into the living room, and all would seem ready. No quite. That final, seemingly short trip into the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen (???) or wherever, can be a long one indeed. This is ground zero, the most important point so far. What happens within the first few minutes after you get him through your front door will determine who's going to be on top, or whether you're going to spend yet another night pounding off.

Remember, now that you've gotten him home, DON'T PANIC. Consider every move and action before you do it. Among some real no-no's: Don't lunge (you'll scare the shit out of him and he'll probably leap out the window, simultaneously ruining your evening and your fuschias). Don't giggle (I know you're nervous, but for crying out loud!). Do not, no matter what the little bastard does, pet the dog and / or cat. It's only natural for your pet to be a little jealous if someone else is getting the attention, but ignore it. If it won't be ignored, lock it in the basement or kill it. Don't call all your friends to tell them what a hunk of stuff you brought home. Jealous bitches would probably all come right over to see and ruin everything. Don't take off all your clothes right away. As I said, he's bought the whole box of candy, so don't throw away the wrapper until you're sure he's going to like your runny center. Don't turn cartwheels.

Do take control of the situation. If he wanted to be in charge, he would have had his own car. Be assertive and calm. Show him the bedroom or whatever area it is you want to begin your play in. Keep your voice low and well modulated. That's a sure sign of a man who is unruffled and completely in charge of the situation. If your voice does quiver or crack, try gargling with Preparation H.

Offer him a beer or a joint, or better, both. That will let him know that you want to take care of him, in all the ways he likes. Be sure to hold him and caress him. That's teriffically important. Even if it's only for a few minutes, he'll realize that you're basically a loving person, warm and kind, who won't really hurt him. Or won't leave permanent scars anyway. While you're gaining his confidence, don't forget to keep on flattering him. Tell him how handsome he is, how strong and masculine. He'll like that.

Then you can take his clothes off. Unless he's wearing leather that is. Anyone who takes off his trick's chaps just doesn't deserve the rest.

Okay kid, you've got it all now. He's home, he's ready, and I hope you are. Now you can pee your pants. He might like it …

(Next time, Advanced Equipment, On The Job Training, How to tell if he's really telling the truth in the bar, and What to do until the ambulance comes.)

DAVID CARTER

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CHAPTER FIVE The Third Slave

SEVEN! I bit down hard on my lower lip, drawing blood. EIGHT! My biceps felt like they were going to fall off my body. NINE! My face contorted with pain and I gasped desperately for air. FEN! The fire licked at my chest, f the cold iron against my quivering pectoral muscles. Somehow I had completed the last curl and I dropped the barbell to the pad with a loud thump and collapsed on top of it, gasping for air.

Killer stepped closer, his legs spread wide. "Off your ass, shithead!" he snarled.

I tried to stand up but I couldn't move. His massive arm shot out, grabbing me by the hair, jerking me to my feet. My knees buckled and I dropped to the red carpet. He pulled the belt from his blue jeans with one hand and with the other he ripped off my sweat pants. He flailed away at my bare ass. I thought I couldn't move but the stinging pain brought new life thought I couldn't move but the stinging pain brought new life to my exhausted body. I jumped up, running away from the merciless leather. "Can't move, huh? You haven't even started yet, you jerk!" His hand scratched at hi fell to the floor, darkness grabbing at my head for a second.

"Mr. Bay Area is a month away and look at you! Shit, you ought enter Miss America, you shithead!" Killer punctuated his words by slashing the leather belt across my bare back. It was nine o'clock in the morning and I'd bee out for three hours under the eagle eye of Killer McKenna. And still I couldn't keep my eyes away from his crotch, hop- ing the monster in his blue denims would get turned on by beating my naked ass.

"Keep those queer eyes of yours away from my crotch!" he yelled, and the leather belt whizzed through the air, coming down on my back and ass harder and harder. "Shit, I gotta watch you every fuckin' second!"

I got to my feet on wobbly knees. Killer had caught me red handed at five-thirty. I was smoking my morning cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee. He was always asleep at that hour but not that morning. He came storming out of the bedroom, slapping me hard across the face. "Fuckin' poison!" he yelled. "Weakens your system!" He poured the coffee into the sink and grabbed my cigarette and smoked it himself.

When I'd become Killer's slave three months before, he'd taken my Luckies away from me. As a matter of fact, he'd taken everything away from me … including my clothes. I went around the gym in a pair of sweat pants. And now … I knew he was up to something else. I could s smoldering light blue eyes.

Killer pulled at the top button of his levi's, his hand reaching down to his crotch. He scratched his balls. It always drove me wild with lust.

"Rip's bin givin' you a blow job every morning. Right?" he asked. "Yes sir. He has."

"Sex is out, kiddo." He shook his head. "No more blow jobs or fuckin' until after the contest. You hear me loud and clear?"

"Yes, boss!" I wondered what in hell Killer McKenna would think of next to torture me. I didn't know how I would survive. After all, I needed sex at least three times a day just to survive.

My anger was a fire in the pit of my stomach and I went through the final hour of my workout like a bat out of hell. I did six sets of heavy squats with four hundred pounds. Then I did my half squats with six hundred pounds and zoomed through six sets. And Killer standing a few feet away, the leather belt in his hand, waiting for me to make one mistake. I was very proud of myslef. I finished standing on my feet. I glanced in the mirror, posing, showing off my pecs, my biceps and my tricep muscles.

I had to admit that Killer was pushing me beyond my limits and my body was growing and changing by leaps and bounds. I was not the same kid I was three months ago when I.d met Killer. My chest had jumped to 46 inches in only two weeks from 441 / 2 and I'd lost another half inch from my waist. With my new tricep exercise my biceps finally hit seventeen. Aldo, my legs were catching up with the rest of my body. No one could accuse me of having toothpicks for legs.

I wobbled toward the shower. Killer trailed me into the locker room still with the belt in his hand. He kept smacking his palm with it and looking at me with his smoldering eyes. "If I catch you jerking off you'll end up Slave Number Three!"

"Slave Number Three?" I blurted in surprise. What in hell was Killer talking about? There were only two slaves … Rip and me.

He hit me across the chest with the belt. "Sir, you fuckin' asshole!" he screamed. "Sir!" The anger boiled out of me. "Who else is there, sir!?" "You mad at me, huh?" He laughed derisively. "You'll find out soon enuff." He locker room.

I staggered to the showers after I slipped out of my sweat pants. As I turned the hot water knob Rip Powell came zooming into the locker room. He was wearing his inevitable blue bikini with his left ball hanging out. Nervously he tucked it back into his trunks but then the other one fell out. Rip ran his hand through his thick golden hair, licking his lips nervously.

"What the fuck you starin' at?" I was still crazy mad at Killer. Me, Slave Number Three?

"Sorry, Georgie," & smiled apologetically. "Ah … it's just that our master told me to keep my eye on you … ah . that our master told me to keep my eye on you … ah … that's all!"

"What the fuck for?" I clenched my fists.

"Well, he told me to watch you … see that you don't soap up your whanger and whack off in the shower." "That son of a bitch!" I ranted. "Killer's a God damned fuckin' sadist!"

Rip roared with laughter. "You just finding that out?" But I had to find out about the new guy. I lowered my voice. "Ah … Rip … have you seen the new one?" "New what?" He looked honestly puzzled. "The new slave."

I saw a shadow cross his gold flecked eyes. "Don't know what you're talkin' about?"

I turned away, realizing I couldn't trust Rip. He was lying to me. Somehow I knew he had seen the new slave. I felt the hate grabbing at my throat. What in hell was Killer up to?

Was he going to make every guy in town his personal slave?

A few minutes later I was dusting the brand new furniture in the lobby. I was proud of it. Killer had bought it a couple of weeks before because I'd sold ten thou in new memberships.

Killer pulled open the door to his office. I tried to look over his broad shoulders for the new slave. Where in hell was the bastard?

"Your two hour nap … did you take it yet?" "No sir, I didn't, sir!"

"You gotta get your rest, asshole!" He shook his head in gust. How do you expect to build your muscles, you disgust. "How do you expect to build , sijerk!" "Sorry, sir!" I shoved the dust rag into my back pocket, "Sorry, sir!" I shoved the dust rag into my back pocket, room. I stopped short, doing a double take. A young man was sound asleep in Killer's big king size bed. I felt my heart pounding and the diziness grabbing at my head. I wanted to kill the little bastard. He was the third slave! Wow! Was he young. I don't think he was a day over eighteen. Platinum blond hair tousled down over his forehead. His cheeks were rosy red and thick blond lashes turned upward. He was so damned pretty that he looked like a girl. His thin white arm was on his stomach and the sheet was barely over his crotch, showing his fuzzy blond pubic hair.

My mind whirled insanely. What in hell was going on? Killer had never let me sleep in his bed. I had to sleep in the walk-in closet with Rip Powell. The son of a bitch! "What the fuck you staring at?" The pain hit me in th on the floor of the walk-in closet. Killer slammed the door,

I flopped on my foam rubber pad on the floor. Tears of frustration ran down my cheeks. I couldn't help crying. The big son of a bitch! He probably didn't give a shit for me . . I knew he was just using me to build up his gym. Where would he be if it weren't for me? I turned on my side, trying to block out my feelings but I couldn't go to seeep. I reached down to my dick. I pulled at it, wondering what in hell Killer was doing with the young kid. Was he really going to demote me to Slave Number Three? The door to t me, shaking his head. I pulled my hand away from my dick but I knew it was too late.

When my eyes adjusted to the light I realized that Killer was buck naked, his ten inches of uncut dick bouncing back and forth in anger. "You asked for it, Georgie!"

A few seconds later he bent over me, pulling at my arms, bringing them together behind my back. I heard the click of the handcuffs. "Try to jerk off now, shithead!" He laughed as he slammed the door.

I squirmed my body, moving closer to the door, putting my ear to it. I concentrated on trying to hear what was going on in the bedroom. I could hear Killer's voice. It sounded gentle and kind. "That's a damned nice looking ass…" And then the sound of music. Killer had turned on the record player. My imagination went crazy. I visualized the kid bending over while Killer slammed his ten inches deep into his guts.

I gave up. I closed my eyes, lying on my side. After about a half hour I felt the sleep entering my body. The blackness behind my lids turned to green arcs and then the distant sounds … barely audible … birds singing … louder now … the long blast of a truck horn … deep and low … the rushing smash of an 18 wheeler barreling down the highway … the after shock of the wind whistling and grabbing at my clothes the dust blasting at my face … into my eyes. I'd hitched to Frisco for the ball game between the Giants and the Pirates and was on my way back to San Jose where we'd moved after Dad lost his job in Modesto.

Then I saw the silver Harley Davidson. I blinked my eyes and it streaked by me with a blast of heat that grabbed at my pant legs. I think it was going over a hundred miles an hour. Then it swerved as the leather jacketed figure slammed on the brakes and it skidded to the dirt shoulder off the road as I ran toward it.

I barely had my ass on the seat when he took off like a bat out of hell. Instinctively I grabbed the youngman around his waist and held on for dear life. In what seemed like five seconds we were zooming along the curving highway in the Santa Clara Valley at 110 miles per. The hot air felt good against my face. Two cars were directly ahead, blocking our path, but the driver didn't slow down. He rode the white line and my leg almost scraped the car on my left.

He wasn't wearing a T-shirt and my arms wrapped around his hard, bare flesh. My face pressed into his leather jacket. It was hot from the sun. I wondered if he could feel my hard- on pressing against his muscular butt.

I inched my hand up slightly, feeling his belly button and the matted hair surrounding it. Just as he negotiated a curve at 95 per he pushed my hand downward, pressing my fingers hard into the hot leather of his crotch. I felt the big knobhead and the wetness of the leather from his pre-cum.

Another roar blasted at my ears, I twisted my head and the massive blue Harley streaked toward us. It was gaining on us and our speedometer was pointing at 110 per. I took my

hand from his crotch and almost ended up a wet splat on the asphalt as he abruptly twisted off the main highway onto a dirt road and we zoomed five feet into the air. I hung on for dear life until he slowed down. We passed an orchard of cherry trees and then pulled up to a creek at the bottom of a mountain . We were in the foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains. He jumped off his bike and took off his leather jacket. "Fuckin' hot!" He rubbed at the sweat that ran down his barrel chest. He was a little guy. I don't think he was over five feet seven but he weighed at least 180 pounds. Muscles packed on top of muscles. He looked me over, his hands hitched into the pockets of his leather pants.

The deafening roar slammed at my head as the blue Harley screeched to a halt, tearing at the dirt. The husky blond wore tight blue jeans and heavy boots and no shirt. His thick arms were covered with tattoos … everything from a dancing lady to a heart with Mom in the center of it. On his chest was an eagle in flight, the wings extending from nipple to nipple. His hair was down over his shoulders and his blond beard was bleached by the sun. Jumping off his bike he walked around me. "Got a live one Pook?" me. "Got a live one, Rock?"

"Looks that way, don't it?" Rock rubbed his crotch. "Got a young kid who digs dick!" Then he snapped his fingers.

Hands grabbed me from behind, jerking at my pants, slamming me to the ground. hands, Tony stared hard at me. Rock stood motionless, leaning against a redwood tree, watching us. A huge fern trembled in

"Get outa them clothes!" Tony commanded.

Quickly I took off my blue jeans and shirt. I concentrated on my dick, trying to get it to go soft. What in hell were these guys going to do to me? I had visions of being stabbed to death and my body floating down the creek.

"Hey, Rock! The kid is queer as hell. He's got a hardon!" And yet I couldn't keep my eyes off Rocky. His body was the personification of power. His dark hair twisted into ringlets that were almost like bangs on his forehead. His bull neck was set on massive shoulders that tapered to a flat, hairy stomach. But somehow it was the total look of Rocky that turned me on … from his motorcycle hat tilted arrogantly to the skin tight leather pants that were part of his body. He looked like a throwback to another time and another place. Marlon Brando in THE WILD ONES was a decent middle class guy in comparison to Rocky.

Rocky thrust out his chin. "How old are you, son?" His voice was almost kind. "Sixteen, sir!"

He kicked at the redwood with his heavy motorcycle boot.

"You can call me Rocky!"

"Ah… thank you…ah… Rocky!"

He scratched his hairy chest. "You ascared of me?"

"No sir. Ah… no, Rocky!"

It was some kind of a signal to his buddy because I felt the pressure on my neck and then I was on my hands and knees in front of Rocky. My face was pushed hard against his boots. Rocky was still leaning against the tree, smoking a cigarette. "Lick 'em, son!" he said softly.

Seemed crazy to me but I followed his orders. My lips mov tongue. I glanced upward. Rocky's hand pressed hard against the black leather of his crotch, grabbing at his hardness. His eyes were half closed. "Clean them fuckin' boots!" he moaned.

Just watching his face drove me mad with passion. Now my tongue got to work. I cleaned the buckle, making it shine. Quickly I cleaned the boots and then my tongue moved down to the heel. Rocky slammed a boot into my face and I fell flat on my back. He jammed his boot down hard. I relaxed going with my feelings, licking hungrily at the filthy soles. Now he pressed the side of the boot along my cheek and hard into my chest. I began to moan softly as he ground his boots down hard against my belly and my rigid dick. "Fuckin' kid boot-licker! He loves it … loves it!"

Rough hands jerked me upward. Rocky slammed my head into his leather covered crotch. It was burning hot. He jammed his ass foward, wrapping his legs around me. I was in- undated in hot leather that slammed into my face. My saliva dribbled all over him. It was fantastic … wet … hot … black leather. His hands dug deep into my hair, pushing my face harder and harder against his crotch and then I felt his body going crazy … trembling wildly and the volcano erupted

MY GOD … I'M … I'M FUCKIN' … I AM … SHIT

… GOD

He held my head in his vice like grip as his body jerked crazily. Then there was silence except for the sound of the cars whizzing by on the highway. Finally Rocky ripped at the buttons of his leather pants, pulling them down, exposing his hairy crotch and thick, muscular legs. His dick was still rigid. "Clean it up, son!"

The creamy gism ozzed from his oversized knobhead. Eagerly I took the hot meat into my mouth, sucking it dru. Then my tongue licked at his big balls. "That's it, kid!"

He buttoned his leather pants. "You're gonna make som the head. I was surprised he didn't give me a lollipop. But, come to think of it, I guess he had.

I began to relax when a bare arm grabbed me around the neck pulling me off balance. Now Rocky grabbed my legs and the sky whirled wildly, disappeared, and I was staring at the ground. I closed my eyes but then the bite of rope around my wrists and I found my face pressed into over the handlebars. I couldn't move an inch. "Here's the axle grease, ole buddy!"

I felt the coldness slap against my bunghole and a rough finger pressing into my ass. "Hey, man, he's got a purty pink hole!"

"Fuckin' virgin asshole!" Rocky said. "I'll warm up that purty tail for you, Tony!"

Rocky ierk

Rocky jerked at his leather belt and he lifted his muscular arm over his head. I felt the pain tear at my body. I screamed bloody murder. What in hell were they going to do to me? "Nobody can hear you, son!" Rocky laughed as his belt shot through the arm, smacking hard against my boyass. "Re- lax! We ain't gonna kill you … just gettin' our kicks … doin' our thing!" "Hey, the kid marks nice!" Rattooed Tony held his dick in his hand as he ran around the bike. It was then I saw the tattoo on his prick! It was a snake! It wound around his long dick, it's bullet head tattooed on the knob and its tongue came out of his pisshole!

Tony stared down at his tattooed dick. "We gonna enter the Garden of Eden!" He was talking to the snake!

The pain slammed deep into my guts as he rammed his dick into my boyass. I bit hard on the saddlebag. "Ride that virgin ass, Tony! Bust that cherry! Yahoooo!" Rocky yelled.

Was it the sun that heated the leather or what?

Valley next to the creek with the redwood trees. I don't know, but suddenly I felt a tingling sensation deep in my guts. It was something I'd never felt before, somehow more terrifying, more exciting than anything that had ever happened to me before. I pushed my ass upward, meeting the vicious strokes of Tony's tattooed dick. I could feel it slamming deep into my guts, powering my orgasm. I screamed in rapture as my gism boiled out of my balls and s

My head jerked forward as huge hands grabbed my neck. I gasped for air. Were they going to kill me? "You dumb asshole!" The voice screamed me into con- sciousness. I sat bolt upright, staring into Killer's eyes. They looked like flamethrowers. "You jerked off!" he screamed. "What?" I was still in the Santa Clara Valley. I felt the sticky gism on my chest and belly.

"Two hours ago I told you no sex!" He dragged me by my hair out of the closet. The youngman with the peroxide hair was lying on the bed with a look of contempt on his hairless face. I wanted to smash his mouth. ah … I had a wet dream, sir!" I felt embarrassed with the little bastard watching the scene.

"You lying prick!" Killer opened a black leather bag. "Guess handcuffs ain't enuff for sneaky Georgie. What the fuck did you do … rub off on the pillow?"

"No sir, I really did have a . . " His fist slammed into my stomach and I fell flat on my face. The handcuffs tightened around my wrists and the pain shot up my arms to my shoulders.

"Shoulda put this on you before your nap!" Killer was holding what looked like a kind of metal jock strap. Actually it was a steel cup with a foam rubber lining. Tiny hinges were attached to the cup and steel bands came out of the hinges. He slipped it around my waist with the cup directly over my cock and balls. Click! Click! The tiny lock snapped shut and my genitals were firmly encassed in steel. "Be careful, kiddo, or I'll throw away the key!"

The son of a bitch had me strapped into a male chastity belt. The enormity of it smashed into my whirling head. It was still over a month before the Mr. Bay Area Contest. I would have to go a month without sex. I didn't know how I could handle it. NO SEX?

Killer slapped me on the ass. "There's a piss hole!" He was grinning from ear to ear. "And Rip will take it off for two minutes every day … to clean it!"

Killer moved to the bed where the youngman was lying with the sheets to his waist. He took off his sweat pants. "Since you bin such a good boy, Georgie Porgie, I'm gonna give you a special treat. You can watch while this chicken takes care of Killer McKenna. Thought you might enjoy the show.

I felt like murdering Killer on the spot. I desperately tried to get out of the handcuffs. I tried to pull my eyes away from the young kid as he jumped out of the bed. And yet I couldn't help myself. My mouth fell open. The kid wasn't over five feet tall. He looked like a doll with his peroxide hair, china blue eyes and soft white skin. He was hairless except for a few blond strands around his medium sized dick. I wondered what in hell Killer saw in the little fart. He looked like a pretty young girl.

"Lick my balls, Rufus!" Killer lay back on the bed. He picked up a Penthouse magazine, staring at a naked blond with huge tits.

I bit down on my lip trying to stop it but I felt my dick pushing against the foam rubber of the steel cup. My eyes flicked to the young kid. I couldn't believe my eyes! The kid's mouth was bigger than Martha Raye's! He put Killer's monster balls into his mouth and I watched in fascination as he swallowed the mammouth dick. Maybe his father was a sword swallower. "God damn!" The words burst out of my mouth.

"He's a fuckin' great cocksucker!" Killer grinned triumphantly , his pale blue eyes twinkling. "Georgie, you should learn to suck dick like Rufus!

"Few minutes, Georgie Porgie." Killer spread his huge legs. "Get your tongue up my asshole, Rufus!" Killer leafed through the pages of PENTHOUSE. He held the magazine facing me. "You dig those tits, Georgie?"

Rufus was do oozed from his giant cockhead. "By the way, George, Rufus here is my new slave. Salvatore Rizzo sold him to me for a membership in the gym for a new member.

Now Killer dropped the magazine and wrapped his hands around his legs, giving Rufus more room to attack his asshole. Killer winked at me. "Can't make up my mind if I should make Rufus Slave Number One or not. What do you think?"

"What did you say, kiddo?"

"Ah … nothing, sir!"

"Rizzo says that Rufus is not only a great cocksucker but he's the best piece of ass around." He grinned from ear to ear. With one arm he lifted the teenager into the air. I stared at the kid's small ass. How in hell could Killer get his monster dick into that ass? It looked impossible.

"Closer, Georgie. I know you wanna see this!"

I moved closer despite myself as Killer spread the small cheeks of the kid's ass. The hairless hole looked like Killer couldn't even get his finger into it. But he didn't bother with any lubricant. He pushed the kid to his hands and knees and

Now Killer's hands moved to the boy's hips. Killer sat on the bed with his dong inbedded in the guts of the teenager. His hands easily lifted the boy up high in the air until only the tip of Killer's dick was in his asshole, then Killer took his hands away and his shaft shot deep into Rufus' guts. He continued this procedure over and over, faster and faster.

Then he grabbed the kid behind the knees holding him in the air as he stood up, still with his dick inside the hot boyass. He held the kid in the air and rammed his dick up his ass faster and faster. His whole body jerked spasmodically as he finally fell onto the bed with the kid on top of him. He was shooting his load up the boyass. Rufus shot all over his stomach and then I felt myself spurting into the foam rubber of the steel cup.

Quietly the kid pulled himself off of Killer's giant prick and hurried into the bathroom. Killer lit a cigarette and blew

He sat up in bed, every muscle on his 225 pound frame rippling. Whew! He was a rugged, beautiful man. He looked at me and then he fell back on the bed. "Shit, you're dribbling down your leg. Guess there ain't no way of stopping you from shooting your load!'

My face turned beet red. "Sir, please don't make him Slave

Number One!"

He ground his cigarette out in the ashtray. "You're a lousy slave, Georgie!'

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll do better, sir!" "Only one way, Georgie!" He pulled me close to him. "You know that way, don't you?"

"Yes, boss!" "Well?"

"Sir, I'll win first place!"

He stared hard at me for a moment and then moved to the door. "Hey, Rip, get your lazy ass in here. Georgie's steel cup is dirty!"

"Thank you, boss!" I looked at him. He wasn't such a bad master after all. I smiled.

S&M GYM to be continued …

PHOTOGRAPHY by DAVID WARNER

CONSTRUCTION BY RICHARD MOORE

Tom enters the room for a refill of beer and gets turned on to what's taking place in front of the refrigerator. By this time the others are hot to do what comes naturally. We assume not much got done on the job that after

FRED HALST

DENNIS IS A COP ../.. 6'2" .. WHITE .. 33 .. 185 LBS .. DARK HAIR / DARK eyes .. MARRIED .. RESIDES IN MISSION VIEJO .. PORSCHE TARGA .. WORKS OUT DAILY .. 10 INCH COCK .. THICK DARK BODY HAIR .. DENNIS DRUMMER 24

IS HOT! I met DENNIS at a Dennys coffee shop off the San Diego freeway. He was not in uniform and we sat close at the counter. I asked him to pass the cream and we started small talk .. he was cruising in that cool cop way and speaking with his deep from the nuts voice .. told him I was restoring my CHEVY PICKUP .. he praised his PORSCHE .. typical CALIFORNIA talk always safely begins with each extolling the virtues of their car .. your car defines who you are in California .. the most FUCKED UP people drive AMC PACERS .. I told him I had been visiting my uncle in Long Beach and had swung down to check out the action at EL TORO MARINE BASE .. picking up right away on my gay reference he asked if I knew any DRILL INSTRUCTORS (D.I.'s) .. I said no .. he said he had a good buddy who was a DI .. asked where I live .. I told him in a soundproofed house above SUNSET STRIP in LA ., he asked why soundproofed .. I said because its QUIET .. HE said thats good .. I said do you get into town .. he said he was thinking of coming up .. I invited him to check out my pad and he said sure .. he said he doesn't know the spots in LA but does in ORANGE COUNTY .. he was very interested in finding out where to go in LA .. I gave him directions on how to get to my place and we took off .. his PORSCHE hot on the tail of my TRUCK. Without saying anything we had said it all.

DENNIS was really impressed when he walked in and spent some time looking out over the basin .. It was now night and we could see all the way to the Laguna mountains where we had earlier met .. he sat down in my EAMES leather chair and I asked him if he wanted a beer .. SURE .. I'm really turned on as I return with the suds, in fact had an erection ever since we met. As I hand him the beer he takes my other hand and puts it on his crotch ./. FAR OUT .. his meat had swollen up and eagerly I pursued it down his tight LEVIS .. then I started to unbuckle my belt and unbutton mine .. pulling out my erect dick DENNIS grabbed it and took it down his throat .. I slid my hand into his surfer decal T-SHIRT (you KNOW anyones from ORANGE COUNTY if they have a surfer T-shirt) and got hotter as my hand grabbed his super muscular hairy chest ./. DENNIS has a body like a MR. AMERICA and the attitude of the MACHO STUD .. we go into the bedroom and smoke a joint and play around with each other .. his mind is as crazy as mine and he suggests we go out and kick some ass .. why don't we pick up a cocksucker and take it from there .. we roar over to the ONE WAY and soon find a panting S / M'er who is turned on a lot to the two of us .. DENNIS comes up with a great idea ./. lets go to EL MONTE and hit some of the real western straight bars there .. our new buddy is eally looking forward to WHATEVER we want to

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Please send check or money order plus $1.50 p. & h. or charge it to your Master Charge or Visa (include signature, expiration date and account number, plus Interbank # for Master Charge). Mail to DIRTY LINENS, 210 Fifth Avenue, Suite 1102, N.Y., N.Y. 10010. N.Y. residents add appropriate sales tax. Allow 4 to 6 weeks delivery. You must state you are 21. do so we all pile into my truck and hit the San Bernardino freeway .. go about 15 minutes from LA in ANY direction and you are in a whole different world .. we pull into the ALLEY CAT bar in EL MONTE and notice the pickups and motorcycles in front .. looks right. Neither one of us had ever been there but we go in and order 3 beers. The bartender is a 30ish DOLLY PARTON TYPE BROAD .. and she gives us a friendly welcome. A good country and western jukebox is going and the place ain't too crowded .. we head for a dark rear wall and drink beer .. the bikers and few rednecks look at us but don't pay much attention .. I go into the john and fill up my empty beer bottle with piss .. returning and giving it to the guy we picked up at the ONE WAY .. he likes his new suds and drinks with GUSTO .. then DENNIS starts to get hot watching this dude drinking the recycled beer so HE goes to the john instructing the dude to follow … there he orders the dude to sit on the toilet as he pulls out his thick long cock and empties HIS piss straight into the dudes mouth .. TAMMY WYNETTE is chirping away and the dude evidently likes to get a little sloppy and DENNIS pisses fast and A LOT .. he comes out and orders another beer .. then the dude walks out with a shit-eating smile that erases fast as a straight dude is on HIS way into the john .. and our new water sport slave has his fucking shirt soaked .. the straight gives him a funny look and continues on into the john as he comes over to where I am standing .. DENNIS comes back with a beer for me too and we just stand around for a while .. I gotta piss again and DENNIS tells him to take it right there .. SHIT .. this is getting good .. we are in a half shadow and I pull out my dick and the dude drops to his knees and I piss straight into his open dripping mouth .. MISS BIG TITS sees the whole thing and a shocked look comes over her face .. I figure she's gonna sound the alarm and a fight is on the way .. well she doesn't .. she looks at the 3 of us and starts to get turned on more .. this crazy broad LIKES the show and that turns DENNIS and ME on even more .. the straight dudes don't really see whats happening .. maybe thinking the one on his knees lost his wallet or something .. after I finish unloading my liquids I drink some more beer with DEN-NIS .. who's evidently really turned onto exhibitionistic sex in strange places .. the fight doesn't happen probably because the bar ain't too full and we got a panting cunt enjoying the show .. we finish our suds and head back to the truck and LA .. dropping our water sport slave off at the ONE WAY and have a good laugh back on the way to my place .. DENNIS has gotta get back to OR-ANGE COUNTY but says he will be back next week and lets do something REALLY wild .. I mention the infinite possibilities of my truck and start planning for next weeks on the road adventure .. but THIS time we really want to do it././.

"WE'VE SEEN YOU, YOU'VE SEEN US … " THE ANONYMOUS LETTER SAID. THAT WAS THE BEGINNING OF AN EXCITING NEW FIVE-PART ADVENTURE YOU'LL REMEMBER FOR A LONG TIME TO COME. SO WILL OUR HERO, WHO IS PURSUED BY THE SADISTIC LETTER-WRITER AND ENDS UP …

The artwork for this series is by and artist whose works are from a private collection and are collected tion and are printed here for the first time. They are unusual and while these copies of also copies, both he and we felt they show. be shared.

HOLSTON SMITT

The first contact was by mail. The letter arrived by special delivery on Sunday afternoon.

My doorbell wakes the dead, so I heard it way back in the rear bedroom where I was pleasantly engaged with a character

"Ignore it," Harry gasped. "Just stay where you are:"

I slapped him on the butt and yanked my cock out of his asshole. "I can fuck anytime," I said, "but opportunity might knock only once." I considered saying something about opportunity "ringing" this time but decided Harry grossed in getting his ass plugged to be interested in small jokes

"Hurry back," Harry said, which made me feel wanted. As I stepped into a pair of Levis that I had dropped to the floor the night before, I looked at him. Good looking guy; beautiful ass, which always seemed to be sticking up in the air waiting. Sometimes I thought maybe Harry loved me for only one thing. That'd make us even; I only wanted one thing from him, too. With that thought in mind, I smiled and headed to the front door.

A lot of times you hear stories about guys going to the front door, answering it, and having in front of them one of God's most beautiful creatures, who then proceeds to stay for a week. Nothing like that has ever happened to me and it didn't this time. The mailman was a troll. The letter he had for me was thin and I owed thirteen cents on it.

I paid the thirteen cents and examined the front of the envelope. No return address, which seemed odd. Anybody who would go to the trouble of sending something special delivery you'd think would be interested enough to make sure it was delivered. I ripped it open. It was short and sweet, printed in large letters on a plain white sheet: "We've seen you. You've seen us. We'll see each other again."

For that I had pulled out of Harry's ass.

When I got back to the bedroom, Harry was still on his knees on the bed, face down in the mattress and ass angled up conveniently, but for some reason my hard-on had left me. I'd had the kid I think it was twice during the night and he had me a little bored. He moved around a little too much. I like to do the work myself.

"C'mon, kid," I said, standing there, looking down at him,

Harry looked at me like a lost puppy and turned and sat up slowly on the bed. "I want your cock," he said.

That pissed me off. Who was supposed to be the boss around there anyway? "No way," I answered. "Get dressed and get your ass out of here."

I had meant what I said, but I let him crawl across the bed, get down on the floor and reach for my dick. He fondled it; it started to grow. He leaned forward and licked it; it grew more. He put it in his mouth and swallowed the whole damned thing. He groaned and I had to admit that it felt good, but I was tired of Harry. I pulled out, damned near leaving my foreskin between his teeth, and pushed his face away from me. "Got a date tonight," I said. "I want to save it."

I realize that was an asshole thing to say, but this kid was turning me off. He was too pushy. I like what I like and if I wanted him to suck my cock, I'd tell him to.

He whined a little and pleaded a little, but I stuck to my guns. Let 'em beg, was always my motto. It turned me on. "Go on," I said. "Get dressed and make some coffee. I'll hit the shower and come on out." "I'll do it naked," Harry said. Persistent little cuss. "I said put your cl tell you.

Harry looked at me. His eyes were wide open, staring. "Yes, sir," he said and slowly got up and headed to his I watched him for a second. He sure did have one neat looking ass.

At the kitchen table, over a cup of coffee, I showed Harry the letter. He read it and looked at me. "It sounds like somebody's pissed at you," he said. "Why?" I asked, shrugging.

"Maybe because you're such a conceited son-of-a-bitch," Harry said, for which statement he spent the afternoon spread-eagled on the bed, tit clamps in place, a spiked dildo up his ass and a four-week-old sock in his mouth. He loved it and spent the rest of the afternoon alongside a pool that belonged a friend of mine.

I'd told Harry the truth; I did have a date that night. A good time was had by all so I forgot the letter. I guess in my mind I had dismissed it as a not-too-funny joke of somebody I knew, or had known. I got home reasonably early and got to bed. The next morning at five, I was up and just getting ready for work, since carpenters start working early, when the doorbell rang again. I was starkers when I went to the front door.

Nobody was there, which disappointed me. I always get a charge out of the look people get on their faces when you stand in front of them naked. Especially when they're trying to get you to join the Jehovah Witnesses. I was also irritated. What was this, fun and games at five in the morning? I glanced around but nobody was in sight. Then I spotted the envelope on the welcome mat. That mat, by the way, is a hold-over from the former tenant. It has the word WELCOME spelled out in script letters, surrounded by white daisies on a black background. It's ug-g-gly.

I picked up the envelope and started to open it, expecting to find a scrawled telephone number and a plea to call from some guy who didn't have the balls to tell me to my face that he wanted to get fucked.

There was no telephone number. There was another short note: "We saw you last night. Did you see us?" That's all. I crumpled up the note and threw it in the wastebasket next to the desk in the living room. This was getting more and more unfunny. Some guys didn't know what to stop.

I had hired a buddy of mine to help out on the job ! was doing, a re-model job on a florist shop - we turning piss elegance into rustic chic - and in between the sound of nails being pounded into pecky cedar, which I thought was a lousy choice for the paneling, I asked him what he thought of the bit with the letters.

"Sounds like somebody's pissed at you," Tony said.

Again I shrugged and again I asked why. "Maybe it's because you're such a conceited son-of-a- bitch," he said. I stared at him. What was going on? He was the second guy in two days who had told me I was a conceited son-of-a-bitch. Didn't they know about my other, better quali-ties : my generosity, my frugality, my … well, there must be a few others.

"That's a shitty thing to say," I said finally.

Tony laughed. "But we love you," he said, grabbing my crotch, which made everything better.

Tony was a guy I'd known for maybe five or six years. I'd met him just after I moved to California and he was among maybe the first ten guys I'd made it with. He was a nice kid, eager to please and wild in bed. He was one of those guys who aren't beauties but who are always in demand, mainly because they're so goddamned energetic. I had a little affair with him that lasted maybe a month. We'd been friends ever since.

"I met two guys the other night," Tony said when we got around to taking a coffee break. He was dressed in shorts and a pair of socks and shit-kickers. Nothing else.

I figured I was in for another recitation of sexual exploits, which are the most boring things in the world, but I put up with them from Tony. His were always a little more interesting than most.

"I was standing in this bar," Tony continued, "minding my own business, but constantly on the lookout for those twenty-two black pygmies with ten-inch cocks who are my best fantasy …

"Get on with the story and cut the shit," I said. I only allowed myself, and Tony, fifteen minutes for a break and if I started listening to him going off on tangents, I'd be there until my coffee soured.

"As I'm standing there," Tony continued after throwing me a halfway dirty look, "these two guys come up. Hot. Both big. I figured I was gonna have my hands, and a few other things, full for a couple of hours, but that's not what happened at all.

"So what did happen?" I asked. "Nothin'," Tony said. "That's what's really weird about this story.'

"If nothing happened, why tell it at all?" "Because a got thering to do with you, asshole. So shur up. like being talked to like that. He caught my look. "Sorry,"

he said, lowering his eyes. He waited until I gave him some indication that it was alright to go on. "Go ahead," I said finally. I felt my cock getting hard.

Tony's attitude was turning me on.

He looked at me. Serious. "You want me to suck it?" he asked. His eyes lowered to my crotch. His tongue involuntarily flitted across his lips. "No," I said running my hand up and down my hardening cock just to get him a little more excited.

"C'mon, we got a few minutes. Auntie Bill won't be back for an hour."

"No," I repeated. "Get on with the story." I was inter- ested now that I knew it had something to do with me. Maybe I am a conceited son-of-a-bitch.

Tony shrugged his big shoulders and then launched back into his story. "They didn't want to take me home and work on me at all,"he said. "All they wanted to do was talk. A real waste of time." He hesitated. "What did they want to talk about?" I asked, getting

"Got you hooked, haven't 1?" Tony asked. "When I told you all this has got something to do with you, you got hooked, right?"

I nodded agreement. "Then pull it out, Danny," Tony said, "I ain't gonna finish this story until I get some of that cock." "We've got a job to do."

"It'll wait. Stand up and pull it out."

I always fancied myself as the topman in sexual situations. but somehow I always end up doing what other people want me to do, especially when I want to do it. I stood up and pulled my cock and balls out of my Levis.

Tony was on his knees in front of me in a split second. He surrounded my prick with his wet warm mouth. He was a beautiful cocksucker. He slurped around on it for a minute or two, getting it good and hard, then stood up. He opened his shorts and let them slide down to his ankles. He turned around and leaned over on top of a half-built counter. "Fuck it Danny, please."

"You're outta your fuckin' head," I said. "We're right in front of a WINDOW."

I wasn't exactly telling the truth. We weren't right in front of a window. We were maybe forty feet back in the store, but if somebody had walked by, stopped and looked in hard, we could have been seen. Public sex ain't my bag. "Shit, I'd let you screw me in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard," Tony said. He backed up against me, wriggling that butt of his. There was no way, then, that I wasn fuck him. I spit in my hand, smearing it around my already wet cock and moved against him. I pressed the end of my dick against his hole, holding his ass at the same time. That little muscle of his fought for a second then gave in and I slid in full length. God, it felt good, and god, he was tight. Tony was phenomenal that way. He'd had everything from a two-inch dick to a Cadillac limousine up that ass of his and he was still tight.

He started groaning and I started moving faster. In and out. Full length. I could feel my balls banging against his ass. Good feeling. I pulled out and shoved it in again, long-dicking him. He groaned louder. Loud enough to be heard down the street. But by that time I didn't give a damn if anybody watched or not.

This couldn't be a long session, we had too much work to do, so I didn't stop fucking when I felt a come getting close. All I was doing was getting my ashes hauled, nothing more, so as soon as I could I pounded against him and shot. I made more noise than he did.

When the good feeling passed and I got my sense back, I glanced at the window. Nobody was there, so I felt better. I pulled my cock out and patted Tony on the ass. "That was good," I said.

Tony was still bent over, flipping his cock. Big wads of his come were puddled on the floor. "You sure were quick," he said.

"I'm not here to start a love-affair," I said. "We're here to work."

"You want to hear the rest of the story?"

"Tell me over lunch," I said, and headed back to the pecky cedar.

At noon we got into the truck and drove to a small nearby DRUMMER 32 park where we found an unoccupied tree, ate our tuna fish sandwiches, followed those with a beer each, and then moved to the sun and stretched out on the ground.

I had just gotten comfortable when Tony said, "You want to fuck me here?'

Without opening my eyes I told him I didn't.

"Well, then, there's a guy handing around the head over there who's givin' us the eye.

"Well, then, there's a guy hanging around the head over there who's givin' us the eye. I

I leaned up on my elbow and looked at him. "I've never been, I'm not now and I never will be interested in fucking around in toilets," I said. "And nobody I work with is gonna mess around in toilets, not as long as they work with me." "I was only kidding," Tony said. "I know how you feel

"So I guess you don't want to hear about what happened the other night. About those two guys." Tony had a long-playing mouth and more energy than anybody I'd ever known. He couldn't lie still.

"Okay, tell me," I said. "But keep your voice soft and relaxing. If I nod off, don't get pissed."

"Nobody ever nods off when I'm telling my stories," Tony said, laughing. "Anyway, these two guys come up and like I said, I

"All they wanted to do was talk. And not about me. About you. They asked if I was still workin' for you. I said I was. And they asked where we were working and what hours we were keeping, things like that. I started to answer their questions but finally they kept at it so much I asked them why they were asking. I thought maybe they were from the IRS." "In leather?"

"One was in leather. The other one was mostly naked."

"Go ahead.

"They told me they had seen you and were interested. Then they started to ask what you liked, if you went both ways, things like that." "And you said . . ?"

"I told them you'd do anything with anybody."

"Asshole.

"Nah, I didn't. I told them the truth. I told them you were the most unversatile guy I'd ever known. I told them you don't even know what a cock tastes like. I told them you've been carryin' around a virgin asshole since you were twelve. told them you like to beat people up and then kiss 'em until they're well. Let's see, I told them where you were from. I told them about your kids. Just about everything. And they listened. Real hard they listened."

"Hey, thanks a lot," I said. "You didn't know who the hell those guys were. Why'd you talk like that?"

"I was stoned and feelin' gabby. For some reason I thought maybe they were going

"Do me a favor, will you?" I asked. "Next time somebody starts pumping you about me, clam up." "Yeah, I guess I shouldn't have talked so much. But I wanted you to know. Just in case some guy comes on to you who knows more about you than you do.

'So what's the end of this story?"

"That's the end. I finally got bored, talking about you, and when I saw this guy over on the other side that I knew, I excused myself like the good bottom I am and went away. I went home alone."

"That's good for you, one night a year," I said and then concentrated on falling into a fifteen minute nap. I put the letters and the two guys talking to Tony out of my mind.

That night I decided to stay in. I fixed myself a small dinner, did the dishes, took a fast walk with the dog and then stripped down and got into bed with a book. I read about eight words when the phone rang. I reached for it next to the bed.

A voice that I can only describe as menacing, a sort of faked menacing, told me that I'd been watched on my walk. My dog was described, the route I took was recounted and what I was wearing was listed exactly. It blew my mind. This guy had gone to a lot of trouble.

After he was finished, I said, "So what?" Then I waited. Nothing more was said from the other side. There was no

hang-up, just silence. I suggested that he say something more, but he wouldn't. Finally, I hung up the phone.

I read about a paragraph more and the telephone rang again. I picked it up. This time there was no voice, only that same silence. Not even heavy breathing. I said, "Hello!" about three times and then slammed the receiver down. Changing my phone number occurred to me at that point, but I didn't want to do it. I'd just had three thousand business cards printed up with that telephone number. Shit.

I looked at the phone and decided that I didn't want any more calls. I took the receiver off the hook and laid it next to the phone and went back to my book. Four lines later the phone started to buzz. I looked at it, stared at it, said "Ah, fuck it!", got up, put on my clothes and headed out to a bar for a beer.

Wouldn't it be my luck that that night, when I wasn't all that interested, into the bar comes a guy I'd been looking for for a long time? There was a little history to my search. Months before, I'd been invited to a little social affair, dinner and talk, by a friend of mine. Dave was a freaky topman who was also a gourmet cook and when you were able to get him out of his playroom, he'd put on a meal you'd never forget. He'd invited six of us that night.

Besides the great meal, there was a little entertainment. As we walked in the living room, we all immediately noticed that Dave had a new knick-knack on his coffee table. The knickknack was a cute little son-of-a-gun about five-foot-nine, with a trim little body and a pair of nicely rounded buns. He was blond which didn't do all that much for me, but the rest of him made up for that fault.

The kid wasn't allowed to, or didn't want to, talk. He was stripped naked with his back to the front door, standing on the coffee table. His arms were over his head, where cuffs and chains pulled him to two hooks in the ceiling beam. He was stretched but could move around and most importantly he was free enough to be able to stick his butt out.

Dave told each of us as we arrived that he had invited us for a social not a sexual night, but that during the evening, if any of us got the urge, we were free to work on the kid's ass. Not fuck him, just work on it. Dave pointed to an array of paddles, whips and riding crops laid out around the kid's feet.

So during the before-dinner drinks, every once in a while one of the guys would get up and give the kid a few whacks. It was very low key, but I noticed the kid was completely turned on. When I got the urge, I took the smallest riding crop and gave the kid a few chops. Nothing diabolic, just an indication of my appreciation that he was there. His ass was already red and a little bruised. There were a couple of good-sized welts from some of the more enthusiastic guests, but it was obvious the kid would live.

During dinner, he just hung there while we spent a couple of hours in the dining room. It was after dinner, though, that the kid got what I guess he had come for. We'd all smoked a little and drank a little, and with a terrific meal under our belts, we felt fine. To a man, we headed straight from that dining room towards that ready and willing ass. "Nobody fucks him," Dave warned, which seemed a waster, but we all honored the rule. But that didn't stop us from warming that ass up good. I'd never in a long history of playroom games seen an ass take punishment like that kid took. Exclusively on the ass and continuous. He kept his ass stuck out for us, kept his eyes closed and never uttered a sound. Weird almost.

After six of us had taken turns on that ass for about forty-five minutes, and the kid's ass was bleeding and a mass of welts, he finally groaned. I was pounding him at the time with a paddle about four inches across, etched with grooves and with holes in it. I know what I was doing was hurting, a lot, but the kid wasn't groaning from pain. He was getting close to coming off.

I slammed him once more and the son-of-a-bitch, without touching himself, started to shoot. Big gobs of come shot out of his cock, landing all over the damned place. I just stood there, paddle in hand, watching. It was beautiful.

As soon as the kid finished shooting, he slumped down, hanging his head. Dave walked up to me and took the paddle, "That's it, boys," he said and laid the paddle down. Without saying anything, h undid the kid's wrists. Immediately the kid headed to the shower. His ass was one gory mess. He even had blood running down his legs. A lot of it.

I had lit up another joint, picked up my coffee cup and was talking to somebody when the guy's eyes left me and moved to the doorway that led to Dave's bedroom and bath- room. I looked, too. The kid had walked back in. He was still naked. He went to Dave, who was standing close by me, and asked if he could have a scotch and water. Dave left to get it for him. The kid didn't look at anybody but just stood there, staring straight ahead. I glanced down at his ass. Amazing. All that blood, all those cuts, all those welts, all that puffiness were gone. Or most of it. The kid's ass looked like it had been slapped a few times with somebody's hand. No more damage than that. He was something.

Dave brought the kid a drink and he took it and headed for a chair in the corner. He looked at nobody, said nothing. I figured he was waiting around for us to leave so he and Dave could have a session.

An hour later, enough bull had been shot and I decided to leave. I walked over to Dave and thanked him, and just as I was heading to the door, I caught sight of the kid getting out of his chair and moving towards me. He caught up with me at the top of the stairs.

"If we ever meet again," the kid said, "I'd like to get to- gether with you. Just the two of us." He hesitated and then looked up at me for the first time. "I'll do anything," he added.

I nodded my head and watched him walk back to the chair. A couple of days later I called Dave to thank him in the proper fashion and after the pleasantries, I asked him about the kid.

Dave didn't really know him, didn't know where he came from or where he was. He'd met him the afternoon of the dinner in a coffee shop, they'd talked, Dave had gotten a little of the kid's story and took him home. He didn't fuck with the kid either before all of us guys arrived or after we'd left. When the last guest was gone, the kid simply got up, walked to the bedroom, put on his clothes, came back, thanked Dave and walked out. He hadn't been seen since.

But there, on a Monday night, when I was feeling about as horny as a geriatrics ward, was the kid. I spotted him when he walked in and watched him. He got a beer and stood in the corner. About ten minutes later he started to move in my direction. I don't know if he recognized me or not. He walked directly up to me and stopped. I looked at him and he nodded. I nodded back. "Do you want to?" he asked. I nodded again and he headed to my truck.

He talked a little on the way to the house. He did have a name. Thomas. Not Tom; Thomas. He was from somewhere out of town and didn't get to the city often. He was twenty- six and looked younger. That was it. I told him I was a carpen- ter and he said, "I know."

We got to the house and I started to get him a beer, which I usually do to make my victims relax a little. I had great plans

He turned down the beer and suggested we get on with it, if I was ready. I led the way down the hall to the back bedroom . I've got a little playroom set up off to the side of that room. The back bedroom is for sex; the front one is for sleeping . I got him stripped and strung up and was just starting to play around with him a little when I heard the phone ring. That stopped me, especially when I remembered that I had left the receiver off the hook. I had, hadn't I? "You'd better get that," Thomas said.

I looked at him, surprised at the tone of his voice. He was almost begging me to answer that damned phone. He never seemed to beg for anything before. I watched him for a second and then walked out of the back bedroom and went to the phone. It was still ringing when I picked it up. "Hello?" There was nobody there. Or more exactly, there was somebody there but he wasn't saying anything. I said something like, "Shit!!" and slammed down the receiver. It was right then that I heard the voice. "Don't turn around,

Dan, and don't say anything.

I'd like to shit in my Levis. The voice was slow and menacing , the one I'd heard on the phone, only this time the menace didn't sound faked. I didn't turn around and I didn't say

All I can remember is that I got a chill thinking of what this guy might have in store for me. to be continued …

WASHINGTON TACOMA. SM. Capricorn. 37. 6'2%". 190. White. T'. Novice wants to learn both roles from clean, knowledgeable partner. Owns Harley and prefers hike owner. No ferns, fats. Box 185G2.

TACOMA SM, Libra, 51. 5'10". 240. White, 7" Completely inexperienced Virgin ass. Sincere, genuine, honest. Friendship more important than tex. No limits, no turn-offs. Box 181-X.

WISCONSIN

GLEN HAVEN, M. Leo. 51, 5'9", 160, White. GLEN HAVEN M. Leo. 51. 5'9". 160. White. 5". Knowledgeable. Serious, well-aducated, experienced M likes long, active sessions and will try almost enything with strong, imaginative, calm, trustworthy S who respects limits needs of unselfish, sensitive partner over 30. Public shaving important. Box 185W.

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LINDEN PARK, SOUTH AUSTRALIA, M. Cancer, 44, 6', 160, White, 7'', Knowledge- cancer, 44. 6° 160, White, 7° Knowledge- sile. Seeks knowledgeable partner. Age, endow- ment, etc. not important. Box 157W. MELBOURNE, VICTORIA. S. Tourus. 36. 5'8". 154, White. 7". Knowledgeable. Digs breeches, boots, cyc

BEL GIUM

BRUSSELS, SM. Aries, 34, 6', 155, White, 7', Old hand, Leather and S&M are a way of life involving real men who fully accept its consequences and whose final aims are mutual and refined pleasure. Seeks intelligent, good-looking, imaginative partner to 45 who will switch roles under right conditions. Travels frequently, No dirtiness, stupidity. Box 313.

CANADA

CANAUA CALGARY, ALBERTA, SM. Cancer. 31. 5'8½", 135. White. 6½". Novice. Seeks clean, anally oriented partner in general area to 45. Thoughtful, versatile, respects limits. No terns, fats, heavy drinkers, Box 332. EDMONTON

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HOLLAND

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SWEDEN

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WEST GERMANY

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NEW YORK, M. Gemini, 48, 6, 140, White, Knowledgeable, Enthusiastic, butch, ever-hard and ever-ready, seeking partner sincerely into scene and not play-acting. Absolutely no scat. Box 164.

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NEW YORK, M. Aquarius, 36, 5'8", 136. White, 7". Knowledgeable, Must have intense masculine domination and bondage from man

7" Knowledgeable, Super S gets off on satisfying hunky, very sexual partner through B&D. humiliation, etc. Should have good balls and ass. No fems. Box 056.

NEW YORK, M. Taurus, 46, 6', 175, White, 9", Navice, Seeks masculine partner into golden showers, beating, chains, humiliation. Box 059G.

No ferris fats. Bodybuilder preferred, under 50. Box 061. NEW YORK, S. Capricorn, 40, 5'10", 150. White, 8", Knowledgeable, Will humiliate and dominate partner with fetish for uniforms, breaches, boots. Fetishes and complete slavery a must. Box 068.

NEW YORK. S. Scorpio. 45. 5'10". 173.

White. Knowledgeable. Trustworthy, will respect limits of slim, well-built partner under 50. No fats, TVs, scat. Box 220.

NEW YORK. M. Segittarius. 36. 5'7". 140.

White, Bodybuilder seeks very thin black Mas- ter, Wants to be mentally dominated and humiliated into worshipping Master as Center of the Universe. Short and / or younger a plus. Box 220M

NEW YORK, S. Leo. 44, 6'1", 175, White, 8" Knowledgeable. Police domination and discipline and bondage with leather gear. Will build pain tolearance in Slave. Limits respected. Box 127.

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, SM. Virgo, 26, 6', 180, White. T'. Knowledgeable. Sober dude gets off on mutual enjoyment with over-sexed, level- headed partner under 58. No fems, youths. Box 168K

Box 168K.

NEW YORK, M. Libra, 48, 5'6", 130, White, 6". Novice, Will submit totally to patient, respectful, persistent Master into heavy $8M, C&B work, uniforms, whips, No seat, blacks, true brutality, Box 184G.

NEW YORK

NYACK, M. Leo. 30, 5'8", 150, White, 6". OKLAHOMA Novice. Has sincere desire to please demanding partner to 40. No fats, dirt, handicape, balds, glasses. Box 12515.

HOCHESTER, M. Capricorn, 43, 5'8", 165. White, 6". Completely inexperienced, Willing. and eager to learn from patient, understand- ing teacher to 50. No outright brutality, Box

WOODBURY, LONG ISLAND, SM. Taurus. 43 5'9" 172. White. 6" Knowledgeable. Trustworthy, responsible, intelligent, creative and fully aware of risks and dangers. Wishes to fulfill M fantasies with masculine, discreet, clean, unselfish partner to 48. No fems, fats, freaks, fakes, Box 185R.

WOODMERE, S. Cancer, 55, 5'9", 180, White, 5'9". Novice, Has vast leather equipment collection to turn on a biker M into Leathersex. Visiting California September-October, wants to ing California September-October, wants to meet slave. No drugs, fems, drunks, role-switching, FF, B&D, Box 147. YORKTOWN HEIGHTS, S. Sagittarius, 42, 6', 155. White, 75". Knowledgeable, Gentle yet firm, will respect limit

NORTH CAROLINA

MANASSAS, SM. Capricorn, 47, 5'8", 165, White, 6'4", Novice, Wants L / L guy for B&D. Dirty, sweety workclothes preferred. Likes rough trade. Age not a problem, but no fems, fats, blacks. Box 135P. NORFOLK. SM. Cancer. 43. 5'6". 140. White

7". Novice. Dominant but considerate leather lover and bike owner seeks sincere, honest, discreet partner to 40. No fems, fats, phonies, dopers, Box 185S.

RALEIGH AREA SM. Cancer. 44. 6'1½".

195. White Experienced Domination without physical pain. Digs wearing partner's clothes and boots. Box 156.

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

OHIO

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

Box 154.

AKRON MS. Gemini. 43. 6'1". 195. White. 6'4". Knowledgeable. Into heavy B&D, light S&M. Would switch roles with right partner. No extreme pain, heavy drinkers or drug users, hippies. Box 187.

CINCINNATI. MS. 24. 6'. 165. White. 7". Novice. Enjoys pleasuring mosculing S to 45. Prefers locals for possible permanent relation- ship. No redheads, one-night stands. Box 021.

CLEVELAND. MS. Aries. 46. 5'10". 155.

White. 64". Novice. French active, Greek passive. Wants to please large, well-built partner to 50. No fats, heavy $&M, B.O. Box 017V.

White 6" Novice, Former slave seeks respect- ful partner to 45 for W / S, light B&D, nude games. Should be neat and discreet. No fats, dobs. Box 316.

CLEVELAND. M. Libra / Scorpio. 45. 5'9' 170. White. 6". Novice. Wants to sarve big, husky Master 30 to 50. Some experience, but

White. 8". Completely inexperienced. Wishes to learn from intelligent, masculine partner to 35 who will respect limits. No violence, mutilation, fems. Box 132T. partner. No scat, slobs, fems, liars, heavy pain. Box 234.

COLUMBUS, SM, Taurus, 25, 5'9", 183, White, 6%" Novice, Satisfaction guaranteed to sincere, straight appearing butch types. No fems, fats,

7". Completely inexperienced. Willing to serve and eager to please clean, well-muscled Master and cager to please clean, well-muscled Master to 45. No filth, hard drugs, Box 165P.

SHAKER HEIGHTS, S. Libra, 28, 5'11", 140. White, 9" Knowledgeable, Highly sexed, well-built, educated Master will guarantee satisfying

SPRINGFIELD, SM. Scorpio. 45, 5'10". 155. White, 615". Knowledgeable, Versatile, willing to learn and experiment with knowledgeable, role-switching partner 35 to 50. Must be masculine in appearance and behavior. No fems, fats, major deformities. Box 3185.

MUSKOGEE, S. Capricorn, 49, 5'10", 180, White, 6". Knowledgesble, Totally empathizes with partner and has complete collection for his entertainment. M MUST have boot and breech fetish. No drugs, heavy S&M, play-for-pay types, Box 189.

OREGON

PORTLAND. S. Leo. 34. 6'1". 155. White. 6%". Novice. Selfish, arrogent, dominant, domanding, wants to own fully slave who will serve, obey and satisfy every need 100%. No fems, fats, blacks, hippies. Box 347.

PENNSYLVANIA

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

Box 319. LANCASTER. MS. Scorpio. 36, 6', 185. White. 6". Completely inexperienced, Wants to Igarn both roles and Leatherscene from knowledge both roles and Leatherscene from knowledge able, understanding partner to 45 who respects limits. No skinnies, fats. Must be cut. Box 076. NEW KENSINGTON. S. Libra. 40. 6'7". 170. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Nineteen years a

MAIN LINE PHILADELPHIA, MS. Leo. 5'7%". 145. White, 7", Knowledgeable, 5 5'7%". 145. White, 7". Knowledgeable, Seeks sincere, straight-appearing Master 27 to 50, No fets or blacks. Moustaches a real turn-on, Box 296G.

PHILADELPHIA. S. Virgo / Scorpio. 42. 5'7". 160. Whito. 7". Knowledgeable. Italian stallion, muscular and hairy, experienced to understand limits in all areas. Master seeks masculine, obedient slave to serve his leather, cha and boots. Will train up to 35 in S&M, B&D, W / S, chains, bike and western leather toys. Send letter of submission with photo and phone. No buillshit. Box 052. phone. No builshit. Box 052. PHILADELPHIA, M. Libra. 49, 5'10½'',140. White. 8''. Completely inexperienced. Willing and eager to learn from refined, well-built partner to 50, Box 052F. PHILADELPHIA. S. Taurus. 40, 5'10", 1 moustached or bearded novice to 50. Should have good body and teeth, must be clean. No fems, fats, redheads, slobs. Satisfaction guaranteed ! Box 227G. PHILADELPHIA. SM. Pisces. 49, 5"11", 175.

White Will train Slave to worship Master's leather and naked body. No dopers. Box 066T. PHILADELPHIA. M. Aries. 26, 5'10", 180. White. 6". Novice. Into B&D. Would give up freedom for right Mester to 35. Willing and eager to learn from sincere, honest, level-headed L / L partner. Must be clean. No heavy S&M, boars, drugs, cigarettas, fams. Box 186. PHILADELPHIA. S. Capricorn. 26. 6"3". 180. White. 7". Knowledgaable. Good-looking body.

White. 7". Knowledgasble. Good-looking body experience. Box 2 builder with strong, creative personality seeks FORT WORTH. Willing, trusting partner to 35. No fats, drugs, White. 7". Knowle back talk, sloppiness. Box 318K.

White 7" Knowledgeable, Masculine 3 sex. M under 35 into B&D., oil, leather, Levis, amyl. Send photo and phone number. Box 209. PHILADELPHIA. S. Libra. 40, 6'3" 165. amyl. Send photo and phone number. Box 205. PHILADELPHIA. S. Libra. 40. 6'3". 165. White. 9". Novice. Has assumed slave role for greater awareness of slave limits and desires. Seeks submissive partner to 45 with good b Box 294V25

PHILADELPHIA S. Aquarius, 46, 5'9" 165. White, 7". Knowledgeable, Masculine S seeks M under 35 into S&M, B&D, W / S, oil, leather, ing all facets and enjoyments of both roles. Seeks cooperative, arally oriented partner over 25. Into FF, group sex. No fems, drunks, Box 050R

060R. PITTSBURGH. M. Virgo, 60. 6'. 165. White. 7%". Old hand. Thirty years' experience in first class servitude. Not into heavy S&M but can provide young slaves for Masters' stronger desires. Box 205G. READING. SM. Cancer nant, but will switch for right partner. Must be cut. Box 0518. WILKES-BARRE. S. Cancer. 40. 6'. 170. White. 12". Old hand, Extensive military experience, specialist in military-spenal discipling and training, builds torture equipment to order. Seeks masculine partners intersted in fantasy scenes or totally satisfying the Master's needs. Will train willing beginners. No fems, task Day 055. fets. Box 055.

SOUTH CAROLINA

TENNESSEE

CHATTANOOGA, SM, Pisces, 45, 5'10%", 200, White, 7", Old hand, Versatile, Into Into enemos, creative bondage and toys with gen- uine honest partner to 55. Box 134. COLLIERVILLE. S. Leo. 33. 5'11". 165.

White. 7". Novice. Must be butch and muscular, Box 086.

FRANKLIN, M. Virgo, 40, 6', 175, White, 6''. Novice, Intelligent, has staming. Seeks partner to 55. No fats, drugs Box 060Y

LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN, S. Aquarius, 54, 6'. 155. White, 6'. Old hand, Ex-motorcycle cop. experiment under dominant partner. Box 140. SIGNAL MOUNTAIN. SM. Aquarius. 55, 6'5". 230. White, 5". Old hand. Seeks a true masochist who wants and needs to feel pain to limits. No drugs, drunks, blacks, chicken. Box 218. Box 218.

TEXAS

AUSTIN. M. Aries. 30. 6'1". 155. White. 6%" Buckin' bronco needs horny, endowed, trim, muscular, Levi Jock-stud to 25 to ride long and hard and provide instruction in muscle worship and body service. Box 294V9. DALLAS. SM. Cancer: 35. 5'11". 195. White. 7'2". Knowledgeable. Hairy muscular, big-booted biker desires experienced man with good hands. Trees accepted. Box 017R.

DALLAS, S. Aries, 42, 5'8", 130, White, 71 / 4". Old hand, Handsome stud respects limits, No fats. Must be masculine appearing, acting. Box 049.

DALLAS, S. Aries, 39, 6'11", 190. White, 6%" Old hand. Sixth generation Master demands an M who knows his place. No ferns, fats, hippies, Box 137.

DALLAS, S. Pisces, 33, 6', 170, White, 9%'. Old hand, Has strong fists, flexible feet, steel-like pecs, insatiable desire for constant, heavy sessions with totally submissive, well-built slave to 50. This is one hat number. Box 023K. well-built

DALLAS. SM. Pisces: 5'9%". 160. White: 7". Knowledgeable: Leather / uniform enthusiast. Breeches, boots, bikers, especially real cycle offices (discretion assured). No fats, fems, phonies. Box 186Z5.

DALLAS, S. Libra, 40, 5'11", 170, White, 7", Knowledgeable, Permanent slave wanted by stud with police and Marine Corps disciplinary experience. Box 252M.

FORT WORTH, SM. Aquerius, 43, 6'2", 195. White, 7". Knowledgeable, Dominant but will switch for right person. Must be masculine, mature, into Levis, loather, bondage, road

FORT WORTH, MS, Scorpio, 41, 5'11", 190, White, 6%", Novice, Former motorcycle cop bonest. discrees seeks sincere. trusting. partner over 25. No drugs, fems, rough trade. Box 353.

FORT WORTH, M. Lco 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. Leo. 35, 5'10", 155, White, 6%", Knowledgeable, Wishes to please a skillful, dedicated and committed to partners into tattoos, piercing, shaving, leather, rubber. Must be extermely submissive but versatile. Box 318X.

HOUSTON, M. Capricorn. 38, 5'7%", 138. White, 5%", Novice, Eager and fascinated to learn from and serve experienced, patient partner to 50 who will accept limitations. Wishes to be shaved, humiliated. Not seeking romance or permanence. No fat or shy people. Box 371.

SAN ANTONIO, M. Sagittarius, 37, 5'9", 160. White, 5½". Novice, Uninhibited, very uninhibited with some enema equipment. No fats, unclean persons, Box 318B.

VIRGINIA

ALEXANDRIA, M. Scorpio, 24, 6', 165, White, 7" Knowledgeable, Masculine, semi-muscular, slim M wants to serve S stud into police uni-

SOUTH CAROLINA

CHARLESTON M. Leo. 35. 6'. 155. White. preferred No drunks, blacks. Box 125K2. 6%'' Knowledgeable. Prefers motorcycle rider. ALEXANDRIA. SM. Aries. 30. 5'11''. 175. who wears skintight leathers, high boots

ARLINGTON, SM. Scorpio, 30, 6'2". 180. White, 6". Masculine, leather clothing, high boot lover looking for same. Vorsatile, Moder- ate S&M bondage. Will worship right leather S from heels to crotch. Box 140D.

6". Knowledgeanle, Good-looking and exper- ienced with thick endowment. Seeks affec- tionate, unselfish, considerate partner. Box 181Z

DRUMMER 56

THE COLT MAN

He is young or mature, lithe or muscular, mysterious or All-American, in short, he can be many things, but always masculine and always exciting. Only Colt consistently presents the most magnificent men in the world, the highest standards in professional photography and the most efficient mail-order service available. It all adds up to one word: the best.

COLT STUDIO, BOX 187-A, VILLAGE STATION, NEW YORK CITY, N.Y. 10014

AVE ITALIA

One On One

That mother, the pendulum of public taste, is swinging back to the right again, fellas. Best we retreat to the playroom and wait it out, making certain first to kiss our good ol' era of permissiveness right smack down there where the sun never shines. It may be awhile before we take to the barricades again.

Excuse my nihilistic philosophizings, but constant exposure to Hollywood's output - ever a barometer of where the great American head is at - has con- vinced me that our straight countrymen are in a panicky retreat to the "old values" of "rugged individualism" and "morality." For, following hard upon the unexpected success of "Rocky" the boxer comes One on One, a Warner Brothers production about "Henry," the basketballer.

At least the heroes are getting younger. "Henry" is played by 20-year-old Bobby Benson (ne Segal), most recently seen on the big screen as the quasi-queer "Billy Joe," and on your smaller one in Death Be Not Proud, The Death of Richie, and Our Town (reprehensively miscast, given his "look," as a New E is fantasy-time, as he claims to have had a childhood ambition of becoming the basketball star his eventual height (5'9") denied him.

In this film, he plays a dedicated high school basketball star from a small town in Colorado. He unwittingly accepts a four-year athletic scholarship and a bright new sports car from "Western Univer- sity," where he soon finds himself bewildered by the lifestyle imposed on jocks. The alumni are overly generous, the sorority girls aggressive, and he is assigned a meaningless "job" turning football field sprinklers on and off. Never having been much of a student,

Henry is assigned a tutor, Janet (Annette O'Toole, not uninteresting), whose disdain for "dumb jocks" sits uneasily on the thin-skinned freshman. Even his beloved basketball proves a frustration: he is dwarfed by his team-mates and his obvious skill and hustle are wasted. "Kindly" Coach Smith (G.D. Spradlin) harasses him mentally and physically. But Henry hangs in, and Janet's sarcasm turns to love when she sees what he is made of.

Naturally, in the second half of the "big game" (shades of Best Foot Forward ), the nasty coach is forced to use Henry, who responds with a dazzling, ball-hawking performance. Western wins and Henry is hoisted aloft by the crazed fans. The denouement is equally predictable , as our hero quits the team and vocal quality for any length of time, is generally acceptable in a role he wrote (with an able assist from old pro Jerry Segal, who just happens to be his father) for himself. Everyone involved should thank his lucky stars for the yoemanly contribution of Lamont Johnson, a director with an equal flair for the tense and the tender.

March Or Die

The plot has all the originality of a tuna casserole, and the characters are as familiar as old lovers, but an obsession with minute detail sets Dick Richards' March or Die a good notch or two above your average French Foreign epic. Set in Morocco in 1918, this Columbia Pic- tures release from ITC Entertainment features a cast of which the five major roles are played by actors from five different countries: America (Gene Hackman ), Italy (Terence Hill, ne Mario Girotti), Sweden (Max Von Sydow), France (Catherine Deneuve), and England (lan Holm).

Hackman is the sadistic Major Foster, an embittered man who was forced to resign from West Point; Hill is Marco, an von Sydow a French archeologist, Marneau; Deneuve a somewhat refractory widow, Simone Picard, searching for her father; and Holm, of all things, a power- ful Arab chieftan, El Krim. Put them all together, mix in some minor stereotypes (don't forget the "Mean Corporal"), and

Put simply, the Legionnaires are ordered to protect an archeological expedition for a priceless tomb in the Sarah Desert, an excavation which unites religiously fanatic Arab tribes against them. In the predictable course of events, a Hackman-Deneuve-Hill triangle develops , Hackman is killed, Deneuve returns to Paris, and Hill opts to remain in Morocco, all at once overcome with the same fervor that had possessed the

Major.

In his second American-made film, Hill manages to erase memories of the embarrassing Mr. Billion, and he registers very strongly. Thirty-one, an athlete and gymnast who has won awards for swimming and rowing, the handsome German-Italian star subtly shades his characterization with an attitude of slyly self-mock- ing humor that is pleasantly reminiscent of the early Errol Flynn. He also suffers beautifully, as in the scene where he is bound, hands in crotch, with head lashed back to a crossbar so that it is angled toward the merciless desert sun - a punishment for insubordination.

The martinet officer of Hackman is a two-dimensional non-creation, complete with high black boots, riding crop, and snarl. Deneuve, authentically attired by Italian designer Gitt Magrini, has, as they say, never looked lovelier - and that's one sizable lump of loveliness! Rather at

sea in the general proceedings, Von Sydow neither adds to nor subtracts from his icy image, and Ian Holm's El Krim is just a shade short of camp. As the "Mean Corporal," Vernon Dobtcheff viciously enacts one of those nasty roles Hume Cronyn always used to play with such relish.

Cinematographer John Alcott (Os-Cinematographer John Alcott (Oscared for Barry Lyndon) has done a workmanly job, but it is a "Dick Richards Film" all the way through: the redoubtable Richards directed, co-produced (with Jerry Bruckheimer), and co-authore don't. It's a working outline. It can be changed any time …

The film takes its title, incidentally, from the French saying "Marche on Creve," which Legionnaires, we are told, often had tattooed on their feet.

Ed Franklin

The Island of Dr. Moreau

Rising handsomely above the material provided, Michael York gives further evidence (as if such were needed) in American International Pictures' adaptation of H.G. Wells' The Island of Dr. Moreau that he is as reliable an actor as we have around these days. Even when partially transformed by the evil doctor (Burt Lancaster) into a Humanimal (TM), York contrives to look almost as good as he acts - his valiant efforts to retain a basic humanity almost singlehandedly (if briefly) raise the artistic level of this entire enterprise.

You all know the story. York is a sailor shipwrecked on a lonely island in the Pacific where he is rescued from an attack by some weird-looking creatures (thank you, John Chambers and Dan Striepeke, for remembrances of Apes past) and taken to a Hilton Far West compound hidden in the depths of the jungle. There he meets Moreau and, de rigueur, an extremely decorative (and little else) young lady of the opposite sex (Barbara Carrera, about as

Moreau, it should come as no surprise , is involved with experiments at- tempting to isolate the chromosomes in every living thing which determines its shape, using various animal species as subjects. The over-curious York soon happens upon a cave peopled with the hideous results of these experiments - creatures somewhere in limbo between "animal" and "human," led by Richard Basehart (how the mighty are fallen!) victim, and strapped bare-chested to an operating table, is subjected to the doctor's evil wiles. No need to report here what happens next, as the "natives" become restless, except to note that some splendid opportunities to comment on the nature of God, man, and beast are blithely ignored. Only the indeterminate ending comes as a mild surprise. The Island of Dr. Moreau was filmed entirely on St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands by director Don Taylor from a screenplay by John Herman Shaner and Al Bamrus. John Temple-Smith and Skip Steloff co-produced, while Samuel Z. Arkoff and Sandy Howard served as executive producers. Talk about too many cooks! many cooks!

Still, there is the curiously androgy- nous Michael York to gaze at and meditate upon, and, although the film itself does not acknowledge some of the more cosmic issues implied, you may care to. Might just make some interesting morning -after breakfast-table conversation - for those who feel like talking.

DRUMMER'S DO-IT-YOURSELF DEPARTMENT

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE INTO GETTING INTO YOUR REALLY VERY OWN HARNESS! how many strips to buy. NICKLE PLATED RINGS: 2 rings - 3 inch diameter 3 rings - 134 inch diameter ALSO: 1 pack black "Belt Snaps" 5 oz. bottle black leather dye. (NOTE: Do not use dyes sold for shoes for this type tends to always be rubbing off) 1 – 5 oz. bottle leather finisher. TOOLS NEEDED: 1 Rawhide mallet. NEVER USE STANDARD HAMMER ON YOUR LEATHER PUNCHES AS IT WILL RUIN THE PUNCH.

For those people, who have heard the different sound of the S / M Drummer and have choosen to live by its beat, sooner or later start collecting their own toys and many go on to build their own playrooms .

It is the aim of this column to show you the basic points in making your own toys and playrooms. With these, you should be able to incorporate your own ideas. Let us know what items you would like to see covered and every effort will be made to cover them in future columns.

For this issue, the Body Harness has been chosen.

While there are many styles of body harnesses on the market, all of them are either for "SHOW" or "SUSPENSION." Please note that while many Suspension harnesses are designed also for Show, few if any show harnesses are designed to handle suspension safely.

STEP 1 — DESIGNING THE HARNESS

YOU WANT.

Look through your nude art collection and find shots that show full views of the front and back. You should take this to a copy center and have a number of copies run off, so that you can use it over and over.

STEP 2 - Draw in just how you would like the harness to look.

STEP 3 - Label each part, A. B. C. or 1-2-3-, then make up a list of the parts.

STEP 4 - With the aid of a friend or slave as the case may be, use a garment tape measure and measure the area that is to be covered by each part. NOTE: Allow 1¼" for under fold for each end that is to be connected to a ring or buckle.

STEP 5 — Add on to the list all other materials and tools needed to complete the project. By now your list should look something like the following.

LEATHER STRAPS … 11 / 4 inch wide … A. 20 in. B. 20 in. F. 13 in. G. 28 in. H. 11 in. C. 29 in. D. 11 in. I. 15 in. E. 13 in. J. 14 in. NOTE: Leather belt strips are commonly sold in 44 in. or 50 in. lengths.

Add your parts together so that they will fit one of these sizes, then you will know

1 round drive punch size 9 / 64 1 round drive punch size 7 / 32 snap set tool

Garment tape measure X-Acto knife or razor knife

Edge Slicker pair rubber gloves (To be worn during dye work)

With the possible exception of the rings, all the other items should be in stock in most Leather Handy Craft shops. Look in your phone book under Leather. As for the rings, the first place to look is in the phone book under Leather Finding , next large hardware stores, boat supply shops or Western riding apparel and equipment shops, also your favorite Leather toy shop.

The cost of the harness shown here is $12.89. This figure is arrived at by only counting the material that is used in it, not the tools. Since the tools will be used many times, their cost should not be tied to just this project.

STEP 6 - Once you have all the parts and tools together, set them aside and make the full harness using the rings and any heavy paper you can find. One place for such paper is the wrapping paper used in your local meat market. Take the paper and cut it into 11 / 4" strips with the lengths being the same as in the list you made up. The main reasons for doing this, is to be able to see how it is going to look on the body, check the fit and be able to make any changes you think are needed. This step cuts down on your leather spoilage.

STEP 7 - Take a few minutes and a bit of scrap leather and get the feel of punching holes and setting snaps. Most leather craft stores have free booklets, showing various tools and their proper use.

STEP 8 - Measure out the leather to be cut, remember to allow 1 inch fold under on each end of the strap. Before making the cuts, draw a mark at the ends. One easy way to do this, is to set a small round water glass at the line and draw around it. Now mark the spots where the snaps will go. There are 3 snaps per end. Now cut out all the parts and punch out the holes.

STEP 9 - Take a wet sponge and dampen the edges and use the "Edge Slicker" to rub down the edges until they are nice and smooth, if this is not done later on the harness will start to fray at the edges.

STEP 10 - Set the snaps in place. STEP 11 - After laying down newspapers in case of accident, dye all parts. On this it is preferred to apply several light coats of dye instead of one heavy one. Be sure to dye the back and sides too. By the time you finish putting one coat on all the parts, you should be able to go back and put the next coat on. After the 3rd coat, let the parts set for at least 30 minutes, then take a soft lint free rag (like an old T-shirt) and rub off as much

Photos by Gene Weber of the excess dye as possible. (This part is very important, for if it isn't done right everytime you wear it the black will rub off on you).

STEP 12 - Rub on the leather finish. Let it dry, then using a soft, lint- free material, buff the straps until they shine. If the gloss is not as deep as you want it, then repeat the process. Putting the finish on protects the leather from dirt, water and would you believe, Crisco. STEP 13 - Now assemble the unit. You now have a show harness, which is really four harnesses in one as the photos will show you.

OK, you now have a harness made by you, so why not go one step further and design and place on it your mark or crest. With nickle spot studs available, this is very simple to do. If you will look at the front center belt on this harness, you will see this young man's sign. Its meaning only he knows, but everyone that knows him, knows it is on almost every item of leather he has. If nothing else, it helps stop your favorite items from welking off from walking off.

As time goes on you will find your own short cuts to many of the steps given in this column and more and more you will be trying out your own ideas. Go at it man, any time you can't find just what you want then sit down and make it yourself. You'll find that it's a

Until next month, enjoy and play safe.

MALECALL

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE GAY COMMUNITY FROM THE GAY GAY GUERILLAS:

Tropicana Orange Juice is one of the largest contributors ($75,000) to Bryant's campaign to deny us human rights. The American people should not be forced to support a campaign against human rights.

What can we do about it? … WE MUST AND CAN PUT TROPICANA OUT OF BUSINESS.

We are asking all people of good conscience, to boycott and / or organize boycotts of Tropicana and stores that sell it. This boycott to continue until every American gay person has been guaranteed the right to work, the right to custody of their children and the right to housing of their choice.

We ask all those with even greater courage and commitment to join an action that has already begun in New York City and across the country. This action we call The Tropicana Relay.

Take one sharp instrument into a super market. (We use a three-inch nail.) As you browse, or shop, find the Tropicana section (quarts and half-gallon waxed containers). Puncture as many as you can. We suggest five to ten. (We recommend punchturing on the side or back toward the bottom since immediate visibility is reduced. On our first trip we punctured about five in sex seconds.)

Repeat this action at five to ten super markets in one day.

Finally, recruit two people to continue the relay. This recruiting action we call TAPPING, as it is done in homorary sororities. CONSIDER YOURSELF TAPPED.

(If you wish to expand the operation, use your own imagination. Removing plastic lids from frozen juice is frequently done.)

How many times is a super market going to sustain the losses and messes that we create? They will sacrifice Tropi-cana and carry another brand. This will result in loss of sales for Tropicana. When TROPICANA RELAY hits nationwide we can literally put Tropi-cana out of business. It's in our hands.

Now is the time to ACT. If you care about our human rights, if you are angry, FIGHT BACK.

THE GAY GUERILLAS

Editor: No comment.

I have just seen my first issue of your publication No. 16, and am greatly interested in its contents and appreciative of the fine drawing by Zach on page 29 which is more erotic than actual photographs and a great deal better than your spread of drawings by Thomas Hinde.

And I was glad to see the work of both Harry Chess and the cartoonist Shawn whose better cartoons I used to save from the Advocate but which I haven't seen in it for some time.

It would be very expensive to get your back issues and I could not be selective as I have no idea what they contained but

I am enclosing my check for $6.00 for your reprinting some of the back material in your "The Best & the Worst of Drum- mer." I am sure I will not be disappointed .

L.G.M. Warren, MN

Please find money order enclosed to ensure your GREAT mag. gets to me.(1 hope the Can. Customs boys are rolling it up and shoving it all the way in.) Your last issue No. 16 came to me opened and No. 17 has just arrived same condition. Loved the letter on bare feet, got off on just that. Any way to unstick the pages? Also would like to see some more W / S, maybe with bare feet?

So from now on first class all the way. How you going to deliver it if Canadian Post goes on strike again?

Slave Train?

S.M. Hamilton, Canada

I have read your mag, from the time it was born, and I still like it very, very much. That — about Stretch Armstrong, was truely inspired! I hope you do more stuff with him, and maybe this time Ken, G.I. Joe, and that other friend of Ken's. I hope you also show some pics of slaves getting paddled, switched and whipped by their Masters. On, of course, their smooth, slender, bare butts (also, not actors, but real Masters and Slaves). My Brother, My Slave is very unusual, and good to read. Harry Chess is very funny. So is Dram Sexy, Rancid couldn't be Spero's illegit kid, could he? Plus I really dig Drum beats by Shawn, and bad. Also, your approach to As- trology is quite unusual too!

On Sept. 12th at 7 PM, C.S.T. on C.B.S.-T.V. A show came on called "Young Dan'l Boone" starring (Nordic god) Rick Moses with his sidekick-kid Peter (John) Joseph Thomas, age (12-14). Why I am writing you this, is because in the premiere program, Dan'l (Rick) is off discovering old Ken-tuck, and tells Peter (John) - who is by the way an indentured servant, almost like a slave for white people - not to come with him. But the little bastard does anyway by sneaking away. When he catches up to Dan'l - Dan'l says (here I quote) "You need a good tanning for this." That is my type of TV hero! But oh - shit, they don't show his bare, white, smooth, young butt being tanned by "our Dan'l." But, the next day an Englishman riding with them says, "still can't sit your horse, eh?" and Peter says, "No. Dan'l gave me a good tanning last night!

Plus that, in the next program Dan'l is tied to a tree and is kicked right in his slender, leather covered butt by Peter to get even with him for whacking the daylights out of him back at the camp. But when Dan'l gets free he kicks the little wise ass bastard down in the river, the toe of his boot just fitting his "little

This is my kind of show. I hope they continue along these lines. I also hope you get to see some of these shows too.

Sincerely G.A.

BODYGASTING

Since recorded time began, it has always been noted that man has looked upon himself as the most beautiful creature on earth. Those with talent have used every means possible to preserve for later generations, their view as to just what the perfect body looks like. The art form that we will look into now was first used by the Egyptians to preserve their Pharaohs for the long trip into the after life.

BY TAYLOR OF SAN FRANCISCO PHOTOS BY GENE WEBER

In the 3,000 years since, many improvements to the art have been made. The main one being that now the subject can still be alive, with some of the others being the wide range of materials now available to use as the casting agent. Newspaper strips and flour paste, candle wax, clay, plaster of Paris and plaster strips are the agents most commonly used now. For this project plaster strips have been chosen

Plaster Strips are sold in various sizes under the trade name of Pariscraft Art Material. It can be found in most hobby shops and art supply stores and the cost is very low. The other items needed for this project are a large pan, pair of sharp scissors, a couple of sheets of medium sandpaper and, oh yes, that can of Crisco in the playroom or the kitchen or wherever you left it last.

While Plaster Strips have been used to make complete body casts, for this column I have chosen just to do a cast of the chest of a young man.

It is strongly suggested that while everything is being set up, that the subject just relax, or more important take care of any calls that nature may be putting in. For once the first strip is layed on, the subject must not move till the cast is taken off, for if he moves it would crack the cast.

First thing you should do is find a spot that is draft free where the subject can lay down. Now cover the area with newspaper and / or a plastic sheet. The reason for this is that the plaster will stick to whatever it touches, and is all but impossible to get off any cloth such as

Next thing to do is to measure the subject at his shoulders, since this is the widest part of his body to be covered. Cut the plaster strips into 20 pieces at this length. This will afford you two layers, thus adding to the overall firm- ness of the cast. You will note that the edges of the strip has been cut with Pinking sheers. Trim one side off. By doing this, the cast will come out looking smoother. Now you are ready to start.

I would suggest that at this point you both take a short break, for as I stated before, once the casting is started you must go on until it is done. As for myself , I find that this is a good time for a little ass play. Not too much, just enough to let the subject know what is coming after the cast is done.

Next fill the pan with very warm water.

At this point cover all parts of the subject's chest, arms and neck or wherever the plaster strips may touch, with Crisco. On bodies that are hairless you need only to put on a light coat, but where there are any body hairs either shave it off or put on a very heavy coat of Crisco. If you don't do this, then you had best have a very heavy "M" as your subject. For the plaster will form around each hair and as you try to remove the cast, you will pull the hairs out. This is great for a good S / M trip but don't do it expecting to get a good cast too, it will not happen.

Take the first strip and dip it into the water, just enough to get it wet though for if you let it stay in the water too long the plaster will wash out of the material. Before putting it on the subject, hold the contact in the center of the chest at the neck. Now work out to the ends smooth- ing out all defects. Always work from the center going out. As you are working the material you will see what looks like pin holes. The way to cover them is to wet your hands, then rub back and forth till they are gone.

Continue this process with each strip allowing a ¼ inch overlap, always with the smooth side up till you complete the first layer. As soon as you complete the first layer, then start over on the second layer as you did with the first. You will find that you will have some excess material at the sides, lay this out flat away from the body. After the cast is hardened a bit and has been removed from the subject, the entire cast can be from the subject, the entire cast can be trimmed with your scissors.

You may find the subject getting tired and wanting to move. Remind him that he must stay still, talk to him, let him suck your cock, eat your ass, anything but move.

After you lay the last strip on, start timing the drying period. I have found 30 minutes is best.

As the cast drys the subject will have the feeling as if the cast were pulling away from him. This is normal. At the end of the 30 minutes take your fingers and ease them under the edge of the cast. Go all the way around the cast in this manner. Once this is done, have the sub-icct flex his chest very slowly. As he feels the cast coming loose, take hold of it at the bottom and slowly raise it until you can get your hand under it. If you note any spots that are sticking, then, while holding the c

Once you have the cast off, send the subject off to the shower while you find a place to set the cast down. It should be allowed to set for at least 24 hours so

BODY CASTING

Once the subject has cleaned up, get some baby oil or good grade of hand cream and rub this on his body where the cast was. The reason for this is that the plaster pulled the natural body oils out of the skin and needs to be replaced. Also, this is a good way to get back into some more of that ass play I spoke of before.

After the curing time is passed, trim the edges and sand off the rough spots, being careful not to sand too deep. In my desire to want the cast to look as real as possible, I also spray paint it before hanging it with all the other casts I have. Then I go out looking for the next great body.

One of my goals in life is to find a great looking ass that is into fists — then find as great an arm and cast them locked together.

OK, some words of warning. If you choose to do a face mask, take into account the following. (1) DO NOT COVER THE END OF THE NOSE, LEAVE AIR PASSAGES. (2) PLACE SMALL COTTON BALLS ON THE EYES AND IF SOME PLASTER GETS INTO

One other thing, do not wash out the pan in your sink for the plaster may settle in one of the pipes and harden and stop up the pipes. Well, now you know how it's done, so good hunting and have fun doing your bit for art.

Lambert Wilhelm

Night. Whispers. A prevailing aura of secrecy. The Verbindungen. The Mensur. The Schlager. Peter and I stand face to face, swaddled in padded material like two exotic insects in their chrysalis stages. Eyes protected by steel glasses.

De ja vu: the feeling in my guts! There's actually a psychosomatic paining along my left eyebrow; but, no blood. The blood, the river of red that made the world seem more than rose-tinted as it washed my left eye: that blood has long since dried and been washed away. The cut made and stitched is now healed, almost lost except to those who were there. Some of the uninitiated do still notice and ask the cause. I lie, telling them I fell from a chair.

That first night of the ritual and my blood had been in 1969. It had been at a large university in Germany. This Ver- bindungen is now. 1977. It is in the

United States.

Still, my sense of excitement hasn't paled. I sense excitement, too, in those around me: these handsome young men with their serious faces. And, they have every right to take this club ritual sseri-ously . There's a heritage to uphold here: a long line of tradition to be followed: and, the American Verbindungen soci-eties are the bastard children. They've arrived on these foreign shores quite without the official sanction of those spawning organizations that exist thousands of miles away. These American colonizers have come like Prometheus in defiance. For there are, after all, those who would prefer keeping such German things as the Verbindungen strictly in Germany. And, there's certainly no denying the Verbindungen, the Mensur, and the Schlager are German. I've run across their likes nowhere else before - until now.

And, just how many American "fighting corps" exist is hard even for me to They are as secret here as they are say. in Germany. But, I know of three whose ranks grow larger yearly. Break offs from these will likely occur as times progress . As in Germany, the American Verbindungen seem to be centered in and around university campuses and, thus gain new members with each school year.

The Verbindungen is not for everyone . Its exclusiveness can be accounted for in a large part by the prerequisite for entrance. Fencing with saber isn't your average American skill. And, even if you're willing to put in the time and the money necessary to acquire the training, not every city has its master or the facilities.

Then, of course, even if the skill is achieved, there's no guarantees you'll even be approached for membership: not because you're not good potential but because you're simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. With American Verbindungen few and far between, it's sad but true that potential candidates and club recruiters often never meet.

And, then, of course, the Mensur ritual does require a person to endure a degree of genuine physical pain. There is a genuine letting of blood. There is the

While the Mensur uniform has evolved over the years into padded encasements that protect except for cuts to the head (the eyes are covered by special glasses) is drawn.

I began fencing in college. It's been my experience that's where most Americans do begin. In Europe, the sport is more popular, and there's a gamut of clubs available for such training. But in the U.S., the better masters are usually found at the universities or in the surrounding environs.

My fencing master was a member of the German Olympic team. He was studying two years in the United States on a scholarship.

At my first meeting with Deitmar, I knew nothing of the Verbindungen, the Mensur, or the Schlager. While fencing had a certain esoteric quality that I found appealing, I'd really received instructions from my family to look Deitmar up at the university. His great-frandfather and mine had apparently been officers together in the Prussian army in the days of Frederick William I.

Deitmar was blond. Blue-eyed. Five- ot-eleven. Tanned. Muscled. Com-foot -eleven. pletely hairless except for the silky strands on his head, the surrounding halo at each nipple, the line up the crease of his ass, and the fuller veed bush at his crotch. He had sensuously full lips. Square jaw. Cleft chin. Ten-inch, uncut, cock.

He had a scar that was an inch of slight discoloration on his right cheek.

We became lovers. He taught me foil and saber fencing. He, also, taught me a hell of a lot more. His term of schooling ended, and he asked me to spend some time with him in Germany. I did.

And, in 1969, I found myself bound up in my protective cocoon: neck guarded, forearm padded, eyes concealed behind steel glasses. This was Verbin-dungen . This was Mensur. I stood facing Deitmar, quite close to him, my Schlager (a heavy basket-hilted saber) held above my head with my forearm in front of my face. I had a hard-on.

I came away with a cut above my left brow. It bled a good deal. I remember the sting of the salty fluid washing my eye. It took twelve stitches to suture the wound. My sex with Deitmar shortly thereafter was the best sex I'd ever had.

Deitmar wrote me last year, mentioning a rumored Verbindungen at a par- ticular American university. I contacted Rolph Gunsen, that university's fencing master. He asked me by to watch an advanced class in saber dueling.

Regular saber fencing differs from the type of dueling in the Mensur. Normal saber fencing gives a target area which includes the opponent's body from the waist up, his arms, as well as his head. In the Mensur ritual, the target area is ex- clusively the head. Normal saber fencing gives more leeway in movement in that Mensur duels require a combatant to remain immobile from the top of his head to his rear foot. Also, defensive moves in the Mensur are restricted merely to blocking an opponent's strokes with forearm and / or the saber hilt.

Rolph asked me about my scar. I told him I got it falling off a chair. I asked him about his scar. He had one along his right jaw line. He said he got it in a car accident.

He loaned me a fencing jacket, gloves, and a hard leather elbow guard. By the time I was in uniform, the room had-emptied except for Rolph and one young man. "I've asked Peter to stay, if that's all right with you," Rolph said. "I'd like him to witness your technique.

Later, as we showered, I couldn't help but notice Rolph and Peter's excellent physiques. Fencing, by itself, isn't going to turn anyone into a Charles Atlas overnight, but it has a nice way of firming the body contours. It's particularly good for the abdominals; and, both Rolph and Peter had hard and scalloped bellies to prove it.

While in the process of dressing, I realized Rolph was watching me closely. I looked up to see him smile. He ran the tip of his left forefinger back and forth through his left eyebrow, leaving no doubt that he was again going to question me about my scar.

"Mensur," he said. It wasn't a question. And, this time I didn't deny it. Hadn't I come all of this way in the hopes of discussing the Mensur - the American

Mensur?

Rolph had been a member of a military fencing club when he'd been stationed with the U.S. forces in Germany. He'd asked for his discharge overseas and had gotten it. He'd enrolled in one of the German universities, and he'd eventually gained entrance to that university's fighting corps; thus, his scar.

When he returned to the States, Rolph discovered he missed the cama- raderie of the Verbindungen. He'd found teaching fencing at this university an excellent opportunity to begin a bit of his own selective recruitment for an American Verbindungen.

I went to the club meetings. I fenced with the members. There were seven in all. Peter, who was up for initiation, would eventually make it eight.

I liked Peter from the beginning. Although , I was always a bit unsure of his gayness. He seemed friendly but evasive. was, therefore, pleasantly surprised when Rolph told me that Peter had asked for me to play master at his initiation Mensur. I was even more surprised when Rolph followed that up by asking me if I was completely straight or could swing both ways. While I'd never come right out and announced my sexual preference, I'd certainly made no big secret about it

"That makes a difference?" I asked evasively. I'd long since suspected that Rolph, while possibly not adverse to a guy fucking ass, preferred cunt for his own large penis.

"Well, Peter's gay, you know?" Rolph said. "And, while I don't know how you were after your first Mensur, I needed sex. I think Peter kind of has that in mind, too. Not that I can blame him. How many initiates get marked by a master and then fucked by the same master afterwards? Huh? But if that's not your scene, we'd best get everything out in the open here and now. It'll save feelings and misunderstandings bad later."

I cut Peter above his right eye. If it had been a little lower it would have made the mirror-image to my own scar.

The cut bled a lot. So had mine. It took ten stitches.

I went with Peter into the back room.

Everyone left us alone.

His cock was hard beneath his fencing breeches. His flesh was covered with a thin glossing of perspiration when his clothes came off.

His lips were salty with sweat and blood. He groaned softly into my mouth as I kissed him. His hands wrapped my body, held tightly, squeezed so hard it actually took my breath away. Between our muscled bellies, our cocks mated, slid one against the other, became wedged between our rippled abdominals.

I told him to lie down on a bench. He did so. I raised his legs to rest one of his calves on each of my shoulders. I straddled the bench behind his ass. My cock was so stiff I was going to have trouble prying it down to the luscious target offered by his ass hole.

I ran the flat of my right hand along the ridges of my stomach, gathering up sweat with my fingers. I wrapped my hard cock, smearing it with my perspiration . I milked the neck of my cock, coaxing out pre-cum juices that drooled free of my deep meatus like liquid frosting on a phallic cake. I added these oozings to the veneering already slicking my stiff meat.

I pushed the large knob of my cock head into the tight little pucker centering the crack between Peter's buns. When my cock was being held in place by the tightness of Peter's sphincter ring, I cup ped one of my hands around each of Peter's thighs. I then simultaneously scooted forward (my drooped ball's sliding along the top of the bench), and I pulled back on Peter's lower body to l'd stabbed him almost as far as I could. My cock had rammed into his guts so that his butt mouth was like a rubber band around my cock roots. The whole length of his bowel vibrated along my meat, spasming as his anal muscle and tissue sought desperately to adjust to my sticking.

My cock up to its balls in Peter's butt, I moved Peter's legs down around my waist. He automatically locked his ankles behind my back.

In our present positioning, he was supine on the bench. His arms were down along his sides, his hands gripping my thighs. I was sitting, my cock up his ass, my hands taking hold of his hipbones . My fingers glided down along the curves of his buttocks, anchoring in the firm, sweaty warmth of his ass cheeks. "Oh, fuck, screw me!" Peter said.

My gaze ran up his body. His cock was a monster laid out on his belly: its roots anchored in a bush of strikingly blond pubic hair; its head leaking a mess of translucent juices that had already pooled to overflowing within his indented navel. His blond balls flowed down over his ass crack, actually touching my plugging cock.

There was a definite line of sweat that ran upward, halving his torso along his deeply delineated pectoral cleavage. His juglar notch was pooled with more sweat. His nipples were hard. I leaned forward and pinched both of them. "Oh, Jesssssssus!" Peter groaned. His cock thumped loudly against his muscled belly. His ass hole gave another series of excruciating shudders. His head rocked from side to side. His mouth was open, his tongue a pink snake wetting the surface of his lips. His eyes, once gone wide with the shock of my initial insertion, were now shut, twitching behind closed lids. His right eye was severely swollen. The saber cut looked vicious now, still raw, its meaty redness an interesting contrast to the neat black asterisks made by the row of stitches.

Goddamn, I was excited! My balls had already elevated, pulled upward from their initial resting on the bench to form a grapefruit-like mass at the base of my still-buried cock. Peter's balls had pulled up also. I watched, fascinated by the way Peter's gonads rolled within the wrinkled flesh of his scrotum.

"Fuck meeee!" Peter squealed loudly. His lower body bouncing so that it pulled up along the neck of my cock and then sank down again.

I savagely dug my fingers into his butt cheeks, lifting his ass upwards again. His suctioning ass hole pulled my loose outer cock skin around my hard inner cock core

"Screw … the … shit … out … of . me!" he begged. His hands went claw- like on my legs.

I pushed his lower body down again over my dick. I pulled it up, pushed it down, up, down. I added a complimer

tary little bounce of my own butt against the bench. I could feel the sweat from my ass cheeks making a butterfly stain on the wood.

"Oh, stud, yes … oh, yes," Peter grunted. His voice was low, gravelly, being gargled somewhere deep within his throat.

God, he was handsome! He was made even more handsome by the cut I'd made on his eyebrow. Because that cut signified a man was pinned on my cock: a real, honest-to-goodness man. In a world of technological marvels, he'd had the guts to stand man to man on a battlefield. He'd known the exultation of fear, and the pump of adrenalin through his veins: a natural high that beat all to shit any of those had on narcotics or chemicals. It was a type of thrilling few can experience in this day and age where man (the need to give battle imprinted on his genes), is forced to the point of frustration by wars that are fought by inanimate machines and where death, although numbered in the millions, can still supply no one face to be seen in closeup.

Is the Mensur, then, a reversion to the primitive, a yearning for simplier days? Maybe so. But, it offers satisfaction to a basic need within me, within Peter, within Rolph, within countless other men in Germany, and a growing number here in the States. It satisfies a craving just as Peter and my screwing satisfies those lusts which a ccasionally swell to the bursting point and threaten to consume each and every one of us unless we do something about them. "Oh … please … yes … please," Peter begged. And, I gave him what he wanted. I gave him my cock. I fucked his butt. I screwed his ass. And, I did it not because I was the victor, he the van- quished. I did it because the two of us had shared something between us which had brought us as close, if not closer, together than the mere uniting of our bodies was now doing. We'd dipped back into the past, dredging up collective memories of ancestors who belonged to a simplier day and age: a time when there were less reasons to question our own masculinity, if just because the guidelines that determined our identities had been more clearly defined for us then. We'd peeked back into that other time, and we'd seen our worth. We'd judged and been judged by others. We'd come out more confident of whom we were, and where we were in the mighty scheme of things. And, who is there to deny that we're better off for having achieved that inner revelation?

"Oh … my … God … I'm … cuming!" Peter groaned. And, he was! His thick wads of spunk were pumping free while his untouched cock was going into ejaculatory spasms. Streamers were being laid down in lacy designs on Peter's belly, chest, and neck. "Take it, stud!" I commanded. "Jesus … God … take it!"

I dropped his butt one final time down over my penis. I clutched hard to his buns. I fired hot and heavy loads into his body.

He is man. I am man. There is no one on God's green earth who can any longer

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Continued from page 65.

UNKINDEST CUT OF ALL

I just bought your anniversary issue, and will keep on buying them. But I would like to see more back views of muscle men in all positions. The drawing of Cancer was great. My tongue came to a point.

I can't wait for the next issue. I will remember the cancer drawing every night. Please do an article on the horror of circumcision. That scar tissue is ugly. And since civilization discovered soap and water, we don't need it. A doctor only cuts the foreskin because there is nothing else to cut.

Thank you.

AL

MS.

We have noticed that the "Bar Scene" has the wrong listing for Kansas City. You show the Pit as the bar in Kansas City. The Pit has been closed for about two years and now is reopened under a new name and is a girls' bar.

DEVIL'S ISLAND REVISITED

Regarding the excellent article on Devil's Island in recent issue. You might like to show the actual island in photograph . It is very small as shown in this photo taken from neighboring He Royale … cool breezes, insect free, good fishing and reasonable swimming (the water is not very clear due to the floods of river mud in the rainy season) has made it the vacation resort for local people.

The old warders mess on the top of Mount Royale is now a simple youth hostel like resort with dormitory and Excellent accommodations. simple French cuisine and wine is available. Why did Robert Redford ever want to leave!

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(Above-2 reels each) 1 REEL/$39-2 REELS/$69-3 REELS/$99 (must be 21)

FREE ILLUSTRATED BROCHURE FROM:

NGIN' TREE RANCH P O BOX 81988 SAN DIEGO, CA 92138

CROSS WORDS

SUBJECT Gay, S&M, et al

5* Gay. Shit (pref.). 10* Type of build. 14. Culture medium. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19* 20* 22* 25. 26* 33. Expand. Came in second to the tortoise. Babylonian god of pestilence. Largest African antelope. Greek god of love. Bind up. Prick, asshole and balls. More than a slave's worth. - - for you (hunt). Act against nature?! Rack man. A rag, ——, and a hank of hair.

A word not in a slave's vocabulary.

— the twig is bent,… 35. 36. 37. 38 Auto club.

40* Strikes. 41 42 43 Seafaring bees. Exist. Where to put it. 44 Untrue.

45 Kiss. One of the things a slave isn't. Incorrect singular for buns. LA Plays Itself maker. 48 49 50 51 54. 58. 59.

Wheedled, cajoled. Equal (pref.). Without harm (pref.). 61. Of aircraft. 62 63 Pike.

Pricks. DRUMMER'S suite. 64 Masters —, slaves give. Russian whip. 65 66.

Sun — (good for oranges but not gays — Anita Bryant).

DOWN

1* A fetish for some. Monster.

Roman god of war.

3*4.* 6.7.* Speeches. How some like their jocks.

Eyelashes. Moslem prayer call. Qualifies for a 9+ club.

9. 10. 11* 12* Output of an ondograph.

—— is one of the larger African antelopes.

A good Master is a — avis.

Pumping -

13* 21* 23. 25. Military eating "club." Where Christians were lion feed. Hard places to get out of.

26. 27* 28. 29* Vanzetti partner. Phallic instruments. Until, in prescriptions.

The ultimate masochistic trip is — —. Place to tie the heroine to in melodramas. Don't — — fast (parental table instruction)' 30* 31.

32. 34. 38* 39. German rage. North America.

Also found in a butcher shop. Article.

Grub for 41 across. Bluish-black, Boot fillers. 40.

42* 44* 46* Released one.

47. Musical note. 48. Father to some.

Very popular comment. What M&M's do in the mouth. The basic material for water sports (Latin).

50* 51. 52* 53* 54*

Go down. Big nut. 55* Jeans maker. 56. Sister of Ares. Directive. 60. Negative prefix.

SOLUTION NEXT ISSUE

Through our B.A.S. (Boot Apprecia- tion Society) that was formed, largely as a result of an article in Drummer No. 13, we have received many inquiries about boot love. Some, just idle curiosity, but the greater number anxious to learn more because they have the same feelings that seem to run in that direction. From these 137 letters received so far, the latest arriving from Nova Scotia - the following composite of a 'boot-legger' seems to appear:

Age - middle Thirties. Height - 5'10" to 6'. Color of hair - blond and eyes - blue.

Sexual role preferred - Masochistic or boot slave. (This doesn't always hold up, and I have seen the roles reversed, cir- cumstances permitting.)

Average boot size - 9½ to 10½ with rarities wearing anywhere from size 6 to a size 13.

Type of boots preferred seem to always be the same and I will list them as the 'bootist' prefers them in his physical contact and in his fantasies. The numbers indicate the preferences of their desires -

Engineer Frye brand

4. Cowboy boots (square-toed or needle-pointed)

5. Harness boots - sometimes with removable harness straps

6. Paratrooper jump boots

7. Tall, lace-up lineman's boots - lug

soles

8. Construction or laced worker's boots

All boots strictly leather - very little rubber, if at all. The taller the boot, the better. Condition of the boots -mostly worn or dirty with 'character lines' - no cracked leather, run-down heels or holes in the soles which indicates an uncaring wearer. Very few like highly polished boots and after a healthy boot session very little sheen is left on them anyway.

When worn in connection with boots, the outfits with the greatest appeal are in order of preference: 1. Policeman, 2. All leather, 3. Military, 4. Cowboy with faded and / or torn levis.

Finally, the question most often asked me by phone, letter or public contact is: "Arne, how do you recognize a boot- legger, a guy that digs boot action and is very heavy into the boot scene?

My answer is that there usually is no way to recognize one - unless you meet in public one with gleaming boots and uniform or completely leather-clad. Sometimes, he will stuff his pants into his boots for the viewer to see the entire boot and suffer pleasantly a hard-on.

A boot fetish, like any other fetish - is a very personal - a very private thing and the fetishist does not wear a card around his neck proclaiming to the world what he is. And to him a boot is made to be worshiped - to smell its leather to touch and to make love to. How much more than this can I explain to a total stranger, or even a friend?

Totally inanimate - yet a boot sup- plies all that the 'bootist' needs, longs for, and happily receives, though preferably with a foot in it. And if the boot be empty, he imagines the wearer until the real, masculine guy comes along to fill it and that guy is usually masculine. So, for size, try on this true incident.

ALLEY SCENE

I had been drinking too much that afternoon, and needed some food to fill my gut. Otherwise I was apt to fall flat on my face on the city sidewalk. I paid for my order across the counter at some greasy spoon, and took the slop back to an empty booth. Unsteadily I wolfed the food down quickly so I wouldn't have to smell it.

Outside the plate glass window I saw the guy standing - youngish, business suit and tie, high-polished cordovan shoes. And he was most interested in me, or was it my boots? Naw, it was my good-looking boots.

Vice-squad, maybe?

Nope! Wrong again. He acted much too nervous as he pretended to watch for a bus. What the hell did he want my boots for? They wouldn't fit him. His gaze seemed riveted on them though, so what the hell, let him have a real good look.

I stuck both legs out in the aisle, crossed one boot over the other, then uncrossed them and moved them from side to side so their burnished color would catch the sickly neon light from overhead. I raised one boot up on my knee so he could feast his eye on the underslung heel, the sole, and sharp pointed toe. I slowly sipped my black coffee, while out of the corner of my eye I watched him go out of his mind. This guy was really suffering, wetting his lips, swallowing. No one's boots could make a guy that sex hungry, could they? And what in hell was wrong with the shoes he was wearing? Maybe boots were his big turn-on instead. Maybe he got a charge out of my stinking socks, or wanted to suck on my toes.

I was curious .

It looked like he was coming in, but you couldn't do anything here, so better to meet him outside on neutral ground. I moved out into the hot, stinking night air of the city and he approached, nervously.

"Nice night." "Yeah, if you're deaf and blind," I shot back.

He glanced down at my feet. "Those are good looking boots you've got on. I really dig 'em." "Yeah?" I answered. "Paid enough for them. They're tall under my levis, but they make my legs sweat on a night like this.

He alughed nervously. "I bet you saw me watching you there in the window." "I noticed." Cut the small talk, I told myself. If, he wants something, let him make the first pitch. I didn't know what he had in mind, nor was I about to stand around for any length of time to find out. I turned to go.

"Ah, wait a minute sir. I really dig your boots." "You said that already," I answered back, slowing down my gait. "I mean, what I'd really like to do is, I mean I'd sure like to, well, to just dust off your boots." Hesitantly. Fearfully.

I turned. "I don't see any shine cloth dangling from your back pocket." "Don't worry about that, please sir. I'll even give you five dollars if you'll let me clean 'em up for you."

I was still a little tipsy, but money was money, and though I wasn't a hustler, it would make back the money I had drunk up. I looked down at my boots, a little sawdust covering some spots, and a smudge here and there from the bars' brass foot-rails. "Okay," I nod- ded. "But let's make it ten dollars. There are two boots here, so let's make it five dollars per boot."

He stopped in total shock. "But I've only got five bucks cash on me." Plainly he was hurt, and plainly I could feel it. Maybe he was lying, and probably his wallet was just stuffed with credit cards. Anyway, I was in no condition for bargaining as I leaned against the brick wall with one hand. "Okay, five bucks then. Gimme." I held out my other hand. He decided to trust me, and pulled out the money from his jacket pocket and put it in my hand. "Okay buddy, now it in my hand." where's your car?"

"I don't have a car. I ride the bus." "Oh shit." I must have looked dumb-founded . "You mean you're going to get right down here on the sidewalk and have a go at my boots? With what

"Not really," he moaned. "I'm not very brave, but I thought we could walk down this alley here a way."

I looked at him again. He was young, but I could handle him, even boozed up as I was. And I had the money. I could have walked away, but I was still curious. Let the fool have his way with my boots.

Further down the dirty, stinking cob- ble-stone alley we stopped. A few feet away a drunk had passed out among the garbage cans. Some distance further a wino was swaying while taking a piss. "Now what?" I asked.

He gently guided my back up against a brick wall, which put me on my guard un- necessarily, for he merely dropped to his knees before my booted feet. At first I thought he was going to unbutton my levis for a fast blow job, using my boots as a feeble excuse. But he seemed only concerned with my boots, and whipping out his white handkerchief, he gently drew them, one at a time, up into his kneeling lap. Lovingly he wiped my boots down, while his white 'shine cloth' got darker and darker from the grime and polish.

I could tell the tension was building for the two of us. My cock was hard and throbbing, and I felt I only had to jerk it once or twice with my hand to make it shoot. By this time my boot lackey in his clean suit was sprawled out full length in that dirty, pissy, puke-smelling alley. The pointed toe of my cowboy boot was all the way into his mouth, while he had pressed the other boot onto the back of his neck. The drunken wino staggered by, paused to focus his bleary eyes on the scene - then staggered on with the part- ing remark "Far out." None of us were bothered by this interruption, we were too engrossed.

I liked it. I really dug the sensation of this stranger worshipping my boots, sexually worshipping them. I couldn't take it any longer, and my hand started beating my own meat. He was moaning softly, and started humping his groin. A load of cum shot out of my dick, splattered down on the grimy cobblestones, ran down my levied leg, and, I don't know, maybe some on the guy's head. But thank God for the building I was leaning against, or I would have toppled over.

I had shot my wad, had quieted down, somewhat sobered, and was ready to go home. I had had enough of this shit, and besides, the guy at my feet had stopped trembling. So, I pulled my boot up from his neck, wiped the sole of it in his hair, then nudged his face away from my other boot and started buttoning up.

He sprang to life again, regained his feet, and wiped off the head of his dick and the cum from the leg of my pants. His tie was awry, his white collar black from my boot, the front of his jacket and slacks were smudged. "Wow! You're the greatest!" he said. "Yeah, so I've been told," I answered as we parted company. He walked one way down the alley and I, the other. I turned once to see him brushing his hair and wiping his dirtied face with the already soiled handkerchief. Or was he inhaling boot polish or the stink of my cum? Five dollars for that scene which buried itself forever in my memory

HE DRUMMER SHOP

THEDRUMME

Pierced Penises Here's a fully illustrated mini-novel , the first photo collection of its kind showing the art of tattooing and piercing. Text by the re- nowned expert Doug Malloy. Only $5. plus 50c postage and handling.

CALSTON INDUSTRIES P.O. Box 46220 Hollywood, Ca. 90046

The CRYPT, the West's fastest growing leather stores, has come out with the CRYPT T-Shirt. This 100% cotton T-shirt is all black with the white CRYPT eagle. More than just another T-shirt, an attitude … a statement. Just $7.

THE CRYPT 733 4th Ave./San Diego, CA 92101

PORN presents a collection of "Too Hot to Publish" T-shirts and pillowcases. For the above T-shirt, send $10. and specify small, med. or large. Dealer inquiries welcome.

POP PORN 175 5th Avenue Suite 1101 New York City, 10011

S&M ALBUM!

Not a "dramatization"! No "simulation"! THE REAL SWEATY STUFF! Nobody treats a man like "Fist" does, and you hear it ALL on this Ip stereo record. From the first passionate gasp to the last suffocating gurgle it will keep you Hard & Happy!

Send $6.00 check or money order, plus 50c to cover cost of postage & handling, to HOT WAFFLE RECORD CO., P.O. Box 1051, Studio City, CA 91604. (Residents of California add 6% sales tax.)

From the GAUNTLET COLLEC-TION of jewelry for the piercing aficionado comes this barbell stud, as rugged as it is handsome. For maximum comfort and durability it maximum comfort and durability it is precision constructed of two threaded balls and an internally threaded 1 / 16" thick post, both of 14k gold. Unlike its common cousin, the barbell is available in many sizes. You may orde $2. for illustrated brochure.)

GAUNTLET ENTERPRISES P.O. Box 3950 Dept. DM-1 Beverly Hills, CA 90212

BLACK COWHIDE LEATHER VESTS. Made to fit like your own skin. For the times that a jacket is too much. Matched skins of soft black leather. Specify shirt size or S-M-L-XL. $45.00 THE PLEASURE CHEST

120 11th Avenue New York, NY 10011

CALIFORNIA GARDEN GROVE

THE IRON SPUR / 11086 Garden Grove Blvd. LOS ANGELES / HOLLYWOOD

INTERMOUNTAIN LOGGING CO. (western) 8250 Santa Monica Blvd. J'S RIDING SHOP (western)/1644 N. Wilcox LEATHER LOFT / 1170 N. Western Ave. MIKE WHALEN'S LEATHER GAME

5210 Metrose Ave. THE EMPORTUM / 5466 Santa Monica Blvd.

SAN DIEGO A TOUCH OF LEATHER / 751 4th Ave. HANGIN TREE RANCH P.O. Box 81988 / San Diego, CA 92138 THE CRYPT / 2820 Lytton St.

SAN FRANCISCO AMBUSH / 1351 Harrison St. CAMP FOLLOWERS Leatherneck Bar 278 11th St. FEBE'S 1501 Folsom St. LEATHER FOREVER / 1738 Polk St. LEATHER 'N THINGS / 4079 18th St. LEATHER WORLD (Jam seof S.F.) 839 Larkin St. SAN FRANCISCO LEATHER CO. 4251 A 18th St. THE EMPORIUM / 311 California St. TRADING POST (western & bike) 960 Folsom St. WEST HOLLYWOOD PLEASURE CHEST / 8549 Santa Monica Blvd

COLORADO

DENVER TRACK & SUPPLY

COLORADO

DENVER DENVER TRACK & SUPPLY 1201 E. 16th St., No. 10 DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA LEATHER RACK / 904 9th St. FLORIDA

DAYTONA BEACH ANVIL, ART & AWL The Sandal Sheaf / 811 Main St. FT. LAUDERDALE CLUB HOUSE II

JAYBIRD NEWS / 2525 W. Brownard CLUBHOUSE BATHS / 299 S.W. 8th St CLUB KEY WEST / 621 Truman Ave. PLEASURE CHEST Club Miami / 2991 Coral Way PLEASURE CHEST

DRUMMER 80

RICHARD MORB

GIVES YOU THE FINEST IN MOTION PICTURES WITH THE HOTTEST MEN EVER FILMED!

MARK, STAN & DAVID ON LOCATION DURING A FILMING

GET ON OUR MAILING LIST NOW!

Fill out coupon, enclose $3.00 for postage and handling and mail to:

(NOTE: Your initial $3.00 can be applied toward any Richard Moore film purchase.)

Name: _ Address: _

City: _ State: _ Zip:

☐ Check Box if you are interested in receiving information on how you can obtain a

I am over 21 years of age and solict the Richard Moore Co., of my own volition.

Signed: (Your Name) _

Offer void in Texas, Tennessee and Florida

CROSS WORDS

SUBJECT Gay, S&M, et al

5* Gay. Shit (pref.). 10* Type of build. 14. Culture medium. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19* 20* 22* 25. 26* 33. Expand. Came in second to the tortoise. Babylonian god of pestilence. Largest African antelope. Greek god of love. Bind up. Prick, asshole and balls. More than a slave's worth. - - for you (hunt). Act against nature?! Rack man. A rag, ——, and a hank of hair.

A word not in a slave's vocabulary.

— the twig is bent,… 35. 36. 37. 38 Auto club.

40* Strikes. 41 42 43 Seafaring bees. Exist. Where to put it. 44 Untrue.

45 Kiss. One of the things a slave isn't. Incorrect singular for buns. LA Plays Itself maker. 48 49 50 51 54. 58. 59.

Wheedled, cajoled. Equal (pref.). Without harm (pref.). 61. Of aircraft. 62 63 Pike.

Pricks. DRUMMER'S suite. 64 Masters —, slaves give. Russian whip. 65 66.

Sun — (good for oranges but not gays — Anita Bryant).

DOWN

1* A fetish for some. Monster.

Roman god of war.

3*4.* 6.7.* Speeches. How some like their jocks.

Eyelashes. Moslem prayer call. Qualifies for a 9+ club.

9. 10. 11* 12* Output of an ondograph.

—— is one of the larger African antelopes.

A good Master is a — avis.

Pumping -

13* 21* 23. 25. Military eating "club." Where Christians were lion feed. Hard places to get out of.

26. 27* 28. 29* Vanzetti partner. Phallic instruments. Until, in prescriptions.

The ultimate masochistic trip is — —. Place to tie the heroine to in melodramas. Don't — — fast (parental table instruction)' 30* 31.

32. 34. 38* 39. German rage. North America.

Also found in a butcher shop. Article.

Grub for 41 across. Bluish-black, Boot fillers. 40.

42* 44* 46* Released one.

47. Musical note. 48. Father to some.

Very popular comment. What M&M's do in the mouth. The basic material for water sports (Latin).

50* 51. 52* 53* 54*

Go down. Big nut. 55* Jeans maker. 56. Sister of Ares. Directive. 60. Negative prefix.

SOLUTION NEXT ISSUE

Through our B.A.S. (Boot Apprecia- tion Society) that was formed, largely as a result of an article in Drummer No. 13, we have received many inquiries about boot love. Some, just idle curiosity, but the greater number anxious to learn more because they have the same feelings that seem to run in that direction. From these 137 letters received so far, the latest arriving from Nova Scotia - the following composite of a 'boot-legger' seems to appear:

Age - middle Thirties. Height - 5'10" to 6'. Color of hair - blond and eyes - blue.

Sexual role preferred - Masochistic or boot slave. (This doesn't always hold up, and I have seen the roles reversed, cir- cumstances permitting.)

Average boot size - 9½ to 10½ with rarities wearing anywhere from size 6 to a size 13.

Type of boots preferred seem to always be the same and I will list them as the 'bootist' prefers them in his physical contact and in his fantasies. The numbers indicate the preferences of their desires -

Engineer Frye brand

4. Cowboy boots (square-toed or needle-pointed)

5. Harness boots - sometimes with removable harness straps

6. Paratrooper jump boots

7. Tall, lace-up lineman's boots - lug

soles

8. Construction or laced worker's boots

All boots strictly leather - very little rubber, if at all. The taller the boot, the better. Condition of the boots -mostly worn or dirty with 'character lines' - no cracked leather, run-down heels or holes in the soles which indicates an uncaring wearer. Very few like highly polished boots and after a healthy boot session very little sheen is left on them anyway.

When worn in connection with boots, the outfits with the greatest appeal are in order of preference: 1. Policeman, 2. All leather, 3. Military, 4. Cowboy with faded and / or torn levis.

Finally, the question most often asked me by phone, letter or public contact is: "Arne, how do you recognize a boot- legger, a guy that digs boot action and is very heavy into the boot scene?

My answer is that there usually is no way to recognize one - unless you meet in public one with gleaming boots and uniform or completely leather-clad. Sometimes, he will stuff his pants into his boots for the viewer to see the entire boot and suffer pleasantly a hard-on.

A boot fetish, like any other fetish - is a very personal - a very private thing and the fetishist does not wear a card around his neck proclaiming to the world what he is. And to him a boot is made to be worshiped - to smell its leather to touch and to make love to. How much more than this can I explain to a total stranger, or even a friend?

Totally inanimate - yet a boot sup- plies all that the 'bootist' needs, longs for, and happily receives, though preferably with a foot in it. And if the boot be empty, he imagines the wearer until the real, masculine guy comes along to fill it and that guy is usually masculine. So, for size, try on this true incident.

ALLEY SCENE

I had been drinking too much that afternoon, and needed some food to fill my gut. Otherwise I was apt to fall flat on my face on the city sidewalk. I paid for my order across the counter at some greasy spoon, and took the slop back to an empty booth. Unsteadily I wolfed the food down quickly so I wouldn't have to smell it.

Outside the plate glass window I saw the guy standing - youngish, business suit and tie, high-polished cordovan shoes. And he was most interested in me, or was it my boots? Naw, it was my good-looking boots.

Vice-squad, maybe?

Nope! Wrong again. He acted much too nervous as he pretended to watch for a bus. What the hell did he want my boots for? They wouldn't fit him. His gaze seemed riveted on them though, so what the hell, let him have a real good look.

I stuck both legs out in the aisle, crossed one boot over the other, then uncrossed them and moved them from side to side so their burnished color would catch the sickly neon light from overhead. I raised one boot up on my knee so he could feast his eye on the underslung heel, the sole, and sharp pointed toe. I slowly sipped my black coffee, while out of the corner of my eye I watched him go out of his mind. This guy was really suffering, wetting his lips, swallowing. No one's boots could make a guy that sex hungry, could they? And what in hell was wrong with the shoes he was wearing? Maybe boots were his big turn-on instead. Maybe he got a charge out of my stinking socks, or wanted to suck on my toes.

I was curious .

It looked like he was coming in, but you couldn't do anything here, so better to meet him outside on neutral ground. I moved out into the hot, stinking night air of the city and he approached, nervously.

"Nice night." "Yeah, if you're deaf and blind," I shot back.

He glanced down at my feet. "Those are good looking boots you've got on. I really dig 'em." "Yeah?" I answered. "Paid enough for them. They're tall under my levis, but they make my legs sweat on a night like this.

He alughed nervously. "I bet you saw me watching you there in the window." "I noticed." Cut the small talk, I told myself. If, he wants something, let him make the first pitch. I didn't know what he had in mind, nor was I about to stand around for any length of time to find out. I turned to go.

"Ah, wait a minute sir. I really dig your boots." "You said that already," I answered back, slowing down my gait. "I mean, what I'd really like to do is, I mean I'd sure like to, well, to just dust off your boots." Hesitantly. Fearfully.

I turned. "I don't see any shine cloth dangling from your back pocket." "Don't worry about that, please sir. I'll even give you five dollars if you'll let me clean 'em up for you."

I was still a little tipsy, but money was money, and though I wasn't a hustler, it would make back the money I had drunk up. I looked down at my boots, a little sawdust covering some spots, and a smudge here and there from the bars' brass foot-rails. "Okay," I nod- ded. "But let's make it ten dollars. There are two boots here, so let's make it five dollars per boot."

He stopped in total shock. "But I've only got five bucks cash on me." Plainly he was hurt, and plainly I could feel it. Maybe he was lying, and probably his wallet was just stuffed with credit cards. Anyway, I was in no condition for bargaining as I leaned against the brick wall with one hand. "Okay, five bucks then. Gimme." I held out my other hand. He decided to trust me, and pulled out the money from his jacket pocket and put it in my hand. "Okay buddy, now it in my hand." where's your car?"

"I don't have a car. I ride the bus." "Oh shit." I must have looked dumb-founded . "You mean you're going to get right down here on the sidewalk and have a go at my boots? With what

"Not really," he moaned. "I'm not very brave, but I thought we could walk down this alley here a way."

I looked at him again. He was young, but I could handle him, even boozed up as I was. And I had the money. I could have walked away, but I was still curious. Let the fool have his way with my boots.

Further down the dirty, stinking cob- ble-stone alley we stopped. A few feet away a drunk had passed out among the garbage cans. Some distance further a wino was swaying while taking a piss. "Now what?" I asked.

He gently guided my back up against a brick wall, which put me on my guard un- necessarily, for he merely dropped to his knees before my booted feet. At first I thought he was going to unbutton my levis for a fast blow job, using my boots as a feeble excuse. But he seemed only concerned with my boots, and whipping out his white handkerchief, he gently drew them, one at a time, up into his kneeling lap. Lovingly he wiped my boots down, while his white 'shine cloth' got darker and darker from the grime and polish.

I could tell the tension was building for the two of us. My cock was hard and throbbing, and I felt I only had to jerk it once or twice with my hand to make it shoot. By this time my boot lackey in his clean suit was sprawled out full length in that dirty, pissy, puke-smelling alley. The pointed toe of my cowboy boot was all the way into his mouth, while he had pressed the other boot onto the back of his neck. The drunken wino staggered by, paused to focus his bleary eyes on the scene - then staggered on with the part- ing remark "Far out." None of us were bothered by this interruption, we were too engrossed.

I liked it. I really dug the sensation of this stranger worshipping my boots, sexually worshipping them. I couldn't take it any longer, and my hand started beating my own meat. He was moaning softly, and started humping his groin. A load of cum shot out of my dick, splattered down on the grimy cobblestones, ran down my levied leg, and, I don't know, maybe some on the guy's head. But thank God for the building I was leaning against, or I would have toppled over.

I had shot my wad, had quieted down, somewhat sobered, and was ready to go home. I had had enough of this shit, and besides, the guy at my feet had stopped trembling. So, I pulled my boot up from his neck, wiped the sole of it in his hair, then nudged his face away from my other boot and started buttoning up.

He sprang to life again, regained his feet, and wiped off the head of his dick and the cum from the leg of my pants. His tie was awry, his white collar black from my boot, the front of his jacket and slacks were smudged. "Wow! You're the greatest!" he said. "Yeah, so I've been told," I answered as we parted company. He walked one way down the alley and I, the other. I turned once to see him brushing his hair and wiping his dirtied face with the already soiled handkerchief. Or was he inhaling boot polish or the stink of my cum? Five dollars for that scene which buried itself forever in my memory

HE DRUMMER SHOP

THEDRUMME

Pierced Penises Here's a fully illustrated mini-novel , the first photo collection of its kind showing the art of tattooing and piercing. Text by the re- nowned expert Doug Malloy. Only $5. plus 50c postage and handling.

CALSTON INDUSTRIES P.O. Box 46220 Hollywood, Ca. 90046

The CRYPT, the West's fastest growing leather stores, has come out with the CRYPT T-Shirt. This 100% cotton T-shirt is all black with the white CRYPT eagle. More than just another T-shirt, an attitude … a statement. Just $7.

THE CRYPT 733 4th Ave./San Diego, CA 92101

PORN presents a collection of "Too Hot to Publish" T-shirts and pillowcases. For the above T-shirt, send $10. and specify small, med. or large. Dealer inquiries welcome.

POP PORN 175 5th Avenue Suite 1101 New York City, 10011

S&M ALBUM!

Not a "dramatization"! No "simulation"! THE REAL SWEATY STUFF! Nobody treats a man like "Fist" does, and you hear it ALL on this Ip stereo record. From the first passionate gasp to the last suffocating gurgle it will keep you Hard & Happy!

Send $6.00 check or money order, plus 50c to cover cost of postage & handling, to HOT WAFFLE RECORD CO., P.O. Box 1051, Studio City, CA 91604. (Residents of California add 6% sales tax.)

From the GAUNTLET COLLEC-TION of jewelry for the piercing aficionado comes this barbell stud, as rugged as it is handsome. For maximum comfort and durability it maximum comfort and durability it is precision constructed of two threaded balls and an internally threaded 1 / 16" thick post, both of 14k gold. Unlike its common cousin, the barbell is available in many sizes. You may orde $2. for illustrated brochure.)

GAUNTLET ENTERPRISES P.O. Box 3950 Dept. DM-1 Beverly Hills, CA 90212

BLACK COWHIDE LEATHER VESTS. Made to fit like your own skin. For the times that a jacket is too much. Matched skins of soft black leather. Specify shirt size or S-M-L-XL. $45.00 THE PLEASURE CHEST

120 11th Avenue New York, NY 10011

CALIFORNIA GARDEN GROVE

THE IRON SPUR / 11086 Garden Grove Blvd. LOS ANGELES / HOLLYWOOD

INTERMOUNTAIN LOGGING CO. (western) 8250 Santa Monica Blvd. J'S RIDING SHOP (western)/1644 N. Wilcox LEATHER LOFT / 1170 N. Western Ave. MIKE WHALEN'S LEATHER GAME

5210 Metrose Ave. THE EMPORTUM / 5466 Santa Monica Blvd.

SAN DIEGO A TOUCH OF LEATHER / 751 4th Ave. HANGIN TREE RANCH P.O. Box 81988 / San Diego, CA 92138 THE CRYPT / 2820 Lytton St.

SAN FRANCISCO AMBUSH / 1351 Harrison St. CAMP FOLLOWERS Leatherneck Bar 278 11th St. FEBE'S 1501 Folsom St. LEATHER FOREVER / 1738 Polk St. LEATHER 'N THINGS / 4079 18th St. LEATHER WORLD (Jam seof S.F.) 839 Larkin St. SAN FRANCISCO LEATHER CO. 4251 A 18th St. THE EMPORIUM / 311 California St. TRADING POST (western & bike) 960 Folsom St. WEST HOLLYWOOD PLEASURE CHEST / 8549 Santa Monica Blvd

COLORADO

DENVER TRACK & SUPPLY

COLORADO

DENVER DENVER TRACK & SUPPLY 1201 E. 16th St., No. 10 DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA LEATHER RACK / 904 9th St. FLORIDA

DAYTONA BEACH ANVIL, ART & AWL The Sandal Sheaf / 811 Main St. FT. LAUDERDALE CLUB HOUSE II

JAYBIRD NEWS / 2525 W. Brownard CLUBHOUSE BATHS / 299 S.W. 8th St CLUB KEY WEST / 621 Truman Ave. PLEASURE CHEST Club Miami / 2991 Coral Way PLEASURE CHEST

DRUMMER 80

RICHARD MORB

GIVES YOU THE FINEST IN MOTION PICTURES WITH THE HOTTEST MEN EVER FILMED!

MARK, STAN & DAVID ON LOCATION DURING A FILMING

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I am over 21 years of age and solict the Richard Moore Co., of my own volition.

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Offer void in Texas, Tennessee and Florida

may your experience in the dungeon be enjoyable. 20

WEEKEND MOTORCYCLE RUNS IN THE LOS ANGELES AREA

In the last issue, the history of Motorcycle Clubs in the Los Angeles area along with their contribution to the S&M community was discussed. In this issue we will discuss one of their most common activities, the Weekend Run. Future issues will be devoted to other activities.

Motorcycling in Los Angeles is a year- round activity slowing down only when the area is deluged with an intense winter rain storm that is likely to occur anytime between October 15th and March 15th.

Because most of the camping areas are in the mountains where snow can occur at any time during the storm season making outdoor activities unpleasant ; the weekend runs are generally limited to the summer months. The first run occurs over Easter Weekend and the last occurs in the middle of October. Although the weekend runs are generally scheduled every other week, the calendar sometimes becomes crowded with several in a row.

Popular sites for a weekend are in the nearby San Bernardino and San Gabriel Mountains. For long weekends, sites range from The Coast Range between Los Angeles and San Francisco to the Sierra Nevada Range and the Mother Lode Country of Gold Rush Days. Local ranches are also popular sites.

A typical run requires a lot of planning and work by the host club. First a theme must be selected, a campsite obtained, and equipment to cook rounded up. Then the menu is selected, games and a show planned and finally, food, drink and prizes purchased. The cost of a run ranges from $25 to $40 per person depending on the costs of the services to be rendered . These costs include the campsite rental, prizes, food and drink. Beer, soda pop and coffee are available at all times. Large meals are served along with an evening cocktail hour. During the run, members of other clubs often assist the host club and everyone generally pitches in to make the event a success. Attendance may run from a low of 60 to over 250 persons. Typical themes have been "Easter Fiesta," "Weekend on Troldhaugen," "Meanwhile back at the Ranch II," "Grecian Games," "Christmas in July," "The Rose of England or the Second Hand Rose," "Happy Hunting Run," etc.

A weekend run usually begins late Friday afternoon as attendees begin to arrive as they get off work. People arrive at all hours up through Saturday morning . Often on Friday evening there will be a late meal along with the usual beverages. To allow everyone a chance to become acquainted, there will be a campfire and possibly dirty and / or straight

Official Handkerchief Color Code movies.

Breakfast is usually served late Saturday morning to accommodate late sleepers and arrivals. A registration table is set up to record the attendees and to issue identifying run pins to prevent gate crashers from getting a free ride.

Motorcycle field events usually begin late morning and are spread out over the afternoon and into the next day if it is to be a three day run. There are also people events for those who do not compete on motorcycles. All events are centered around the run theme. Awards for motorcycle field events are broken down into five classes: Lightweight, Driveshaft, Middleweight, Light Heavyweight and Heavyweight. In addition there are awards for novices and buddy riders.

Late afternoon, showers are provided in which the host club trys to make hot water available - often with primitive means. Usually it ends up as a cold, freezing experience.

The evening's events begin with a cocktail hour at various club camp compounds and ends up finally at the main cocktail hour site which is sponsored by the host club. Here the participants show themselves off, discuss the day's events and relieve their thirst.

Finally, after everyone is saturated, dinner is served and people upon gathering heaping plates of food, spread out, gorging themselves on the gourmet de- lites devised by the host club.

Following supper, everyone gathers in front of a portable stage for a live pantomime show produced by prominent members of the gay community and for a distribution of awards for the run's events. The show's skits are centered around the run's theme and require the participation of prominent club mem- bers. The talent is usually quite good but there can be some busts as there is little rehearsal time. After the show the crowd disperses to do their own thing which includes additional cocktail parties. The last day of the run is a point of exhaustion for the participants. Few take time to rest. Breakfast is served late after morning eye openers. By noon everyone has packed and disappeared.

Attention Motorcycle Clubs! News of your events is being solicited to be published in this magazine. Articles and photographs should be sent to Gary

Barnhill, Club Editor.

DRUMMER 80

BIKE CLUBS

First, I'd like to announce that the "Militia" Motorcycle Club of Norfolk, Virginia has come into existence. Right now we are only 10 strong, but considering that 3 weeks ago, a club had never really existed in this area, that isn't too bad. At present we are formulating plans for runs, beer bashes, etc. for the future, with our first run to the D.C. Eagle to hand our colors (we'll write you when that date is firm). If any of your readers have any suggestions or helpful items as to initiation ceremonies or run activities, we would greatly appreciate hearing from them. % Militia MC, P.O. Box 1842, Norfolk, VA 23501. Our officers are: John M., Commander; James P., Lt. Commander; George M., Lt.; Mike M., Sgt. at Arms.

GARY BARNHILL, DRUMMER's new Bike Club and Bar Scene editor is pictured at the right with one of his favorite slaves. Send Bike Club news to Gary direct at 1851 Boca Ave., Los Angeles, CA 90032.

THE CLUBS

ALASKA KNIGHTS OF MALTA M.C. Nanook Chapter P.O. Box 2871, Anchorage, AK 99504 ARIZONA SONS OF APOLLO c / o the Ramrod 395 Black Canyon Hwy., Phoenix, AZ 85009 SONS OF APOLLO BUDDY CLUB 395 Black Canyon Hy., Phoenix, AZ 85009 CALIFORNIA CONSTANTINES M.C. P.O. Box 4964,San Francisco,CA 94101 SAN FRANCISCO SERPENTS M.C. P.O. Box 4964, San Francisco, CA 94109 RECON M.C. P.O. Box 11102, San Francisco, CA 91401 COLORADO KNIGHTS OF MALTA, Stockmen Chapter P.O. Box 8802, Denver, CO 80201 CONNECTICUT THUNDERBOLTS M.C. Inc. P.O. Box 307, Windsor, CT 06095 DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA VULCANS R.C -D.C. CHAPTER Box 28282 Central Sta., Washington, DC 20005 FLORIDA HARD CORPS M.C. P.O. Box 13231, Jacksonville, FL 32206 BROTHERS M.C. P.O. Box 4283, Jacksonville, FL 32201 THEBANS M.C. P.O. Box 7273, Miami, FL 33133 SUNRAYS M.C. of S.E. FLA P.O. Box 600122, No. Miami, FL 33160 BROTHERHOOD OF MAN M.C. P.O. Box 8312, W. Palm Beach, FL 33407 ADVENTURERS - SUNCOAST P.O. Box 3452, Seminole, FL 33542 GEORGIA ATLANTIS M.C. c / o Mrs. P's, 551 Ponce de Leon Ave. N.E. Atlanta, GA CHICAGO-KNIGHT M.C. P.O. Box A 3037, Chicago, IL 60690 T.S.M.C. c / o R. Smrt. Apt. 2-B 5331 No. Kenmore, Chicago, IL 60640 LOUISIANA

SELECTMEN M.C. P.O. Box 1855, Fort Shelby Station Detroit, MI 48231 MINNESOTA THE BLACK GUARD 4126 Upton Ave. N / Minneapolis, MN 55412 THE MINNESOTA NORSEMEN P.O. Box 9673, Minneapolis, MN 55440 MISSOURI GATEWAY M.C. P.O. Box 14055, St. Louis, MO 63178 NEBRASKA KNIGHTS OF OMAHA 514-16 S. 16th St., Omaha, Nebr. 68102 NEVADA KNIGHTS OF MALTA, Western Chapter P.O. Box 7726, Reno, NV 89502 NEW YORK NOVA NYC P.O. Box 1991, New York, NY ROCHESTER RAMS P.O. Box 1727, Rochester, NY 14603 OHIO CIN CITY M.C. P.O. Box 1151, Cincinnati, OH 45201 PENNSYLVANIA VANGUARDS M.C. 4 424 South St., Philadelphia, PA 19147 OREGON KNIGHTS OF MALTA, M.C. Black Rose Chap. 242 SW Alder St., Portland, OR 97204 TEXAS WRANGLER M.C. P.O. Box 35853, Dallas, TX 75235 TEXAS RIDERS M.C. P.O. Box 61553, Houston, TX 75235 ROUGH RIDERS M.C. Inc. P.O. Box 30057, San Antonio, TX 78285 WASHINGTON HANDLEBAR M.C. 2018 1st Ave. Seattle, WA 98121 KNIGHTS OF MALTA, Jet Chapter P.O. Box 21052, Seattle, WA 98111 CANADA OTTAWA KNIGHTS P.O. Box 9174, Alta Vista Postal Sta. Ottawa, Ont. Canada KIG 379 SPEARHEAD M.C. P.O. Box 293, Station A Toronto, Ont., Canada M5W FRIENDS LEATHER & DENIM CLUB OF MONTREAL P.O. Box 1135, Sta. 14 Montreal, Quebec, H3G 2N1 IRON CROSS M.C. P.O. Box 1721, Station A Montreal, Quebec, H3C 3A5

JAY. illustrator / car-A . toonist … creator of "HARRY CHESS", the world's first gay cartoon strip, now appearing in DRUM-MER , announces the publication of "RAW MEAT". This limited edition portfolio of six solo drawings is beautifully detailed and printed on 8-1 / 2 x 11" quality stock. Very suitable for framing. If you are into big guys with big pecs, big nipples, and big equipment — this hot set of drawings is for you! A definite must for collectors, connoisseurs and erotic fantasizeurs!

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These drawings are intended for adults. All orders must have your signature stating you are over 21 years of age.

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5 HOT LOCATIONS

NEW YORK CITY 38 W. 28th Street (212) 684-9846 500 Hudson Street at Christopher (212) 929-3064 (a landmark in the gay capitol of the world)

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PHILADELPHIA 1919 Market Street (215) 567-8354 120 S. 13th Street (215) 732-9894 OPEN 24 HOURS

HOT LOCATION FOR STRAIGHT MATERIAL ADULT WORLD: 1236 Arch Street, Philadelphia (215) 972-9031

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