Getting Off

Crimes Against Nature, written and per- formed by the Gay Men's Theatre Col- lective, has been the held-over hit of the San Francisco Season: Like A Chorus Line and Hair, Crimes Against Nature is a high-energy semi-musical in which the characters / actors expose the most private truths of their lives. Crimes, headed for Los Angeles and New York, deals specifically with athletics, jockstraps, and All-American dads' attempts to program their All-American boys into sports against their nature. Crimes is subtitled "A Play about Survival." As with Hair, one of the characters is shot, but in Crimes the fun and games turns serious. This play, like DRUMMER's sports issue is about fun that becomes self-defense. Like Network's Peter Finch, gay men today are mad as hell and won't take it anymore. If a gay man wants to lock it up, it's not only okay, it's a celebration. Why should straight guys wear all the juicy equipment? When you grow up, you can play the way your nature calls.

Taste is as taste does and DRUMMER tastes a bit of everything. DRUMMER has pinned its nuts on. Reality and fantasy both are in this issue. Jerk to what you like: drawings, comics, hot fiction, articles about the actualizing of fantasies, new photos by new photographers, the CMC Carnival, the I-Beam macho disco, and Night-Flight. You name it.

This mastubatory self-congratulation is to warn you that a new DRUMMER, good as the old, and even better to come,

If you don't have DRUMMER, buy it. If you can't find DRUMMER to buy, subscribe, because in our next issue, you're gonna get put in 'PRISON' so authentically you wouldn't believe, and on top of that, the biggest up-front pumped-up exclusive of 1978 will be heading your way: ROGER'S BACK AND Roger's ten inches is no crime against

NATURAL VS NORMAL

As Capote's Holly Golightly said in Breakfast at Tiffany's, "I'd rather be natural than normal." The "norm" is what most people do: Dull. The "natural" is what men do according to the ready of the said of the said of the s their nature: Fanfuckingtastic! As David Baker, author / actor of the Crimes' collective says: "To survive I'm Butch." He survives, as does the play, in the best DRUMMER tradition. If it's okay to be straight macho, it's just as okay to be gay, macho. If it's okay to be straight kink, it's okay to be a gay kink. After all on a desert island which would you rather have; DRUMMER's gay machismo or READER'S DIGEST'S "I Am Joe's Pancreas."

You read DRUMMER, dude, because you're macho, mad as hell, hot, horny, jocked, leathered, and getting in shape for THE SURVIVAL, SURVIVAL OF THE

FITTEST!

MALECALL / Dear Sir:

S&M GAMES

I think Jim K. hits the nail on the head when he refers to S&M as "games." That's exactly what it is - like golf and tennis only it is more enjoyable. "Fun and games" describes S&M perfectly, and Mr. Rechy has never really understood it, if he considers it brutal or something to chastise himself about.

When you enter into a ballgame you decide which team is up to bat first, and when you enter into chess you decide who gets the white and who the black. When you enter into S&M you decide who is top and who is bottom. Sometimes the same guy will be top on one occasion and bottom on another. I know I have taken both parts, and I imagine almost everybody else has done the same. You really have to know both parts to play either role well.

The object is not to hurt somebody, although hurt may be involved, but to bring great sexual pleasure to both players. The top is getting his sexual pleasure out of forcing (with consent) another human being to submit to all of his sexual advances and to suffer the humiliations and pain he inflicts. The bottom is getting his sexual pleasure out of being treated as a total slave, whose body is giving pleasure to another, and who must do what he is told whether he likes it or not. These are turn-ons to sexually inspired people, and neither player wants to be such a poor player that he turns the other off. If he is that poor a player, then he loses the game.

Being a poor player means giving more pain than the slave needs to experience slavery as a reality, or being such a baby that a little pain is treated like a big pain. Being a poor player means doing anything that could possibly cause physical damage to another, other than a few simple bruises , or which break the magic spell of intense role playing without good cause. This means that to be a good player each party in the game has to read the other well. That is why a little conversation beforehand can make the game just right. The top has to know the limits and the fantasies of the bottom, and the bottom has to have enough confidence in the top to submit completely to his period of slavery, and to get high on the thought of being another man's sex tool.

Part of the game calls for dressing the part we take, and maintaining the image of the part all the way. A player has to read the other guy all the way all the time. When he does, it's a wonderful game, and if Mr. Rechy thinks otherwise , he has never played the game the way it was meant.

Los Angeles, CA

MACHO MEN

I've had it with this "gay" crap. I mean the word. Let the fluff males have their feminine word, but for this mascu- line homosexual male, "Macho" is the best identifier.

If the straight macho male won't like our using the word to identify our- selves and if he won't want to be identi- fied as one of us, then it's tough.

As for me, I cruise Macho men in Macho bars, and I read your damn good magazine - America's mag for the Macho Male.

L.C. Hammond, PA

J / O ENJOYMENT

I have decided to subscribe to DRUM-MER instead of being at the mercy of the local book store. I wish to subscribe with your next issue No. 19.

I read your mag from cover to cover with a perpetual hard-on and only stop to J / O, I hope you guys make a million on your efforts, and a million thanks for the long hours of enjoyment.

The drawing at the bottom is done by David Eastman, he has a poster out that you may have seen called "David's Men" and if you haven't it is a line of humpy numbers in different dress and each of them is playing with the next. I think David is very good in the S&M drawing Dept. and should you be interested in writing him I am sure I can get in touch with him; he spends summers in Amsterdam and winters in New Zealand.

Keep up the good work and hope you all had a young bird to stuff for the holidays.

Dear Sir: i realize that i didn't ask permission to speak, but, Sir, i discovered some very interesting statistics in the Leather Fraternity Unclassifieds in issue No. 18 of Drummer Magazine. Sir, i'm sure You noticed that all but a few of the ads mention the advertisers' astrological sun sign, in addition to their preference (S, SM, MS or M) i decided to tally the listings

This drawing and the one on page 31 are by an exciting new artist, Matt. Prints of his action wrestling drawings are available thru Athletic Model Guild. F DRUMMER 8

wrestling, boxing, rollerballing, soaring, scuba, bodybuilding, dune bodies, films

By Jack Fritscher

He chews Redman tobacco, wears a railroad engineer's cap at the helm, and often pisses over the side of Courageous, the 12-meter yacht he skippered to the America's Cup crown. Before the America's Cup crown. Before the America's Cup races, he peptalked his crewmen as if they were a football team, playing the theme song from Rocky to fir "Captain Outrageous." Ted Turner is a perfect 38, a Georgia peach of a jock who stretched his RET initials to name his own WRET-TV station. He sees himself as Scarlett's Rhett, modernized. International yachtsman Turner owns Atlanta's baseball and basketball franchises. He buys and selly pro-ball players like Big Macs. In a former existence, the dashingly handsome Turner no doubt owned a stable of gladiators. In this existence, married, millionaire, handsome, straight jock.

SPORTS MASTURBATED

Of all the current gladiator dream- jocks, Oakland Raiders' quarterback Kenny Stabler is a man of a southern class more redneck than the aristocratic Turner. "My life-style," Stabler confessed to Sports Illustrated, "is too rough - too much booze and babes and cigarettes to be a highschool coach." Stabler is big, bearded, and so butch that after winning the Super Bowl, he described the Raiders locker room victory party as a great re- lease: "Coach Madden was all red and grinning and the guys were hugging each

Twice-divorced Stabler now keeps Wickedly Wonderful Wanda so close that she emerges "like a bauble from the shadow of his armpit." (Jock reporters, like Polyar Loase August 1992) like Robert Jones, have a way with words to make your mouth water.) Allways an athlete, Stabler, nicknamed "Snake," was 6'3" and 185 before pro-ball weight training boosted his bulk to 215. "The stronger you are, the more muscle you got around those joints, the less likely you are to get hurt."

Check out Sports Illustrated (9 / 19 / 77) to see Snake's Wicked Wonderful Wanda, to see the shining Stabler shot in loving- color "beefcake" full-page and cover photos. "Ken Stabler is a man in motion," S/'s Jones writes. "Furious, violent motion. Exultant motion." Motion just like a lubed hand.

No reflection on Stabler as a private person, but when a private person goes public and is openly touted as a sexual beast, the tempted reader who buys the magazine can stroke up whatever fantasy he wants. Stabler can take the energy as the complement it is: his manly mana only encourages lust in the grandstand. What jock-groupie wouldn't stir at Jones' story that Stabler is so tough, that when he was at Alabama he topped his girl-friend by putting her in her place in the corner and fed her with a slingshot.

SHOULD ONLY STRAIGHT GUYS HAVE ALL THIS FUN?

Even the tall, dark, and handsome Gordon Liddy, the only man who took Watergate like a man, while in prison buffed himself up to a tightlipped 190 pounds and was benchpressing over 300 by the time he went home to his wife sans slingshot. Liddy's dominant face suggests the look of the Castro Street type matured. Having achieved the character a man's face takes on passing through his thirties, Liddy's got the macho. He's got the magic. He's got the dark S-and-M look. He is so heavy, he offered himself for execution if his symbolic death would help clean up the

Watergate mess. Instead, like most cons, he worked out what he had to work out through the channeled aggression of sports and the stoicism of cold showers.

JOCULARLY STRAPPED AND LATENT

Jock is British slang for penis. Jock with strap means athletic supporter. Jock in American slang means athlete, especially a college athlete. Edward Albee's American Dream boy is a jock "who works out a little bit." Tennessee Wil-liams' Brick in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is an over-the-hill jock, terrified, remembering that with his football teammate Skipper, "Sometimes late at night on the road in our hotel room we'd reach across the space between the beds …" The American dream is the golden boy who blooms early in high school, makes all the teams, and graduates to date the college homecoming queen. The American nightmare is the beefy jocktype who, ten years later, divorced from the home-coming queen, cruises singles bars, presses his beer can up against his dropping doubleknit chest, and admits to having "played a little ball in college."

SHOULD ONLY STRAIGHT GUYS HAVE ALL THIS FUN? Jock-groupies get off on Raiders' Quarterback Kenny Stabler topping his girlfriend by putting her in the corner and feeding her with a slingshot

FUCKING: THE PRIMAL PUSH-UP

Charles Atlas made millions merchandising muscles to keep sandkicking bullies from stealing away the heart of beach blanket Annettes. Atlas' successor, Joe Weider, publisher of Muscle Builder, one of the world's truly great catalogs of beefcake, peddles classic sex in ads with Arnold Schwarzetc touting protein powder while a bikini-girl hangs over his bionic shoulder with a National Lampoon -tang look on her face. Weider's catalogs are wonderfully illustrated for one-handed reading late at night for any- one who gets off on a hyperbole of bodies.

Athletes have long endorsed products promising first of all a terrific body (Bruce Jenner for Wheaties), then a body with sex appeal (Joe Namath for you-name -it), then clothes with success appeal (Bob Griese for leisure suits from Sears), and finally the unstoppable Joe Willie - again — in his classic pantyhose. Woody Allen summed the Jock Sell up in Every- thing You Always Wanted to Know about Sex in the sequence with the two jocks, stripped down to white towels and tan torsos at the lockerroom mirror, endorsing the irresistible qualities of some sexy product on an athletic body. Naturally, they fall into each other's hot embrace, as naturally as ballplayers pat ass, snap towels in the shower, and talk chauvinist talk about broads and fags.

Athletics is attitude. Players spend as much time psyching as practicing. A jock is only as good as his body and his psyche. So when chased by jock-groupies of both sexes, players can get cynical or jaded. One baseball player recently claimed San Francisco was the worst place for a jock to try and get laid, because everybody in the Bay Area was either a hooker or a fag. Somehow, that should make it easier.

When the sport is as good as sex, as in Pumping Iron when Arnold rather truthfully states that a good muscle pump is as good as coming, then the sport includes its own sexual end. Uniforms often exaggerate body parts with protective padding or expose the body for freedom of movement . I have super-8 movie evidence I'll be glad to show any man who himself is around 6', 190, with 18" arms, that at more than one physique contest my zoom lens has, by sheerest of accident, caught certain bodybuilders during their posing routines growing erect in their sheerest of posing briefs. That's not only okay. That's the point. Among other things that it is, sports is exhibitionism. And what's the Ultimate Exhibit? The Body.

Schwarzenegger wasn't booked in as an exhibit at The Museum of Modern Art for nothing. He was booked to exploit his body. His acting career, going back to the Italian spear-and-sandal epics when he was billed as Arnold Strong, always was and always will be, based on his delts and not his diction. He and other sports-to-movies jocks are like the tone-deaf dancer in A Chorus Line. She doesn't need to sing. Her body itself has "men coming in their pants." Her pigtailed counterpart affirms the body as exhibit: tits and ass. The body is the one singular sensation, sensed in the athlete's body and sensed

Every man wants an athletic body. Lots of men want athlete's bodies. Back in the 1950's when Crazylegs Hirsch was America's football idol, after one particularly rousing game, the fans streamed onto the field and literally tore Hirsch's uniform off for souvenirs: jersey, cleats, socks, everything, pad by pad, strap by sweaty strap. Hirsch escaped in a shred of jock. He is remembered now more for the movie about his life: how he changed from sports hero to convict to good citizen. The movie, a Fifties classic, was Unchained. Its main title theme was

"Unchained Melody."

Norman Lear's short lived All That Glitters showed a professional baseball player turned actor exercising his naked chest while explaining to the camera, "Without pecs, you're dead."

WITHOUT PECS, YOU'RE DEAD?

Naked to the Greeks, who had a word for everything but poppers, is gymnos. Gymnastics, like all events in the original uncut Olympics, was movement performed naked. In the 1960's Sports II-lustrated went so far as to recommend that highschool boys attend gym class shirtless to spur competitive pride in their bodies. Nothing was said about quick glance comparisons made later in the overheated and underventilated shower. Gays have no corner on that kind of looking. At that age, every boy looks to see how he compares. The only difference is that gay guys never stop looking. Comparison shoppers to the end, they remember . For instance, a former student manager at Evansville, Indiana's Rex Mundi High School fondly recalls watching their all-star straight jock head into the shower. To this day he can describe to the inch the sudsy vision of a cut Bob Griese, long before he became the Miami Dolphins' quarterback whose blondness contrasted so perfectly with the macho darkness of those two other Dolphins, Jim Kiick and Larry Czonka, whom the sportswriters called Butch and Sundance.

Equally well remembered is O.J. Simp-son working out at the UC Berkeley gym:

O.J. Simpson long before he hurtled suitcases for Hertz, pleased more than one pair of adoring eyes while he minded his own business at U.S.C. As only Straight to Hell No. 32 could jucily put it: "Before going to Stanford, I was working in Hollywood and going to U.S.C. part time. This was during O.J. Simpson's last year at U.S.C. (1969-1970). Because I used to run, lift weights, swim and generally hang out at the gym, I room working on an exercise machine called Universal Gym. The leg press part is lowest to the floor and faces the south wall which is covered with mirrors. I was on this part of the machine when

O.J. and a couple of his Black buddies came in to work out. They wwere bare-assed except for bulging jockstraps. We exchanged nods and greetings and O.J. came over to work on the bench press section which was raised and to my left. Since I'd seen O.J. stripped to gym shorts several times before, I already knew he had a great Bod: thick neck and arms, gigantic thighs, and beautiful dark reddish brown skin. So this time I concentrated on the private parts. His jock pouch was filled out quite well, and because the bench press user has to spread his legs wide to the sides of the bench, he unknowingly gave me a fantastic panoramic view of his beautiful tight buns bulging out of the jock: dark, moist curly-haired crack; fuzzy crotch; plus just a hint of asshole and a peek of one large thick nut sac. What a juicy mouth-watering straight stud. I wonder if the sports writers realize how appropriate his pro-nickname, 'The Juice' really is.' In this media-mad world, anybody can fantasize almost anything about anybody, and Simpson even way back then, mind- ing his own business, was already larger than life.

WIDE-SCREEN JOCKS

Boxer Ken Norton infuriated Muham-med Ali by appearing in a tabloid wearing only a jockstrap. That strap was a lot covering a lot more considering what the classically built Norton displayed in Mandingo. In that Dino DeDemented movie, plantation mistress Susannah York summons slave Norton to her bedroom. Norton wears only white cotton trousers held up by a drawstring. The camera shoots Norton's broad-shouldered, sweaty, and lickable back. York, standing in front of Norton, faces the camera, but looks straight at Norton's face. Her hand reaches up and pulls slowly, sensually, and long on the symbolic drawstring holding his light trousers against his beautiful dark skin.

Not one to be undone without being done, Norton stands stock still as his trousers slide slow down his naked buttocks . The camera tracks equally slow down his noble backside as the fair-skinned York sinks to her adoring knees down his frontside.

This is acting? She gets paid for this? One black moviegoer shouted out in the hypnotized theater silence: 'HOL-LEEE-WOOOOOD!'' And his perfect review was right on. Yet through it all, Norton's innate nobility and incredible hope carried the area. body carried the scene with a dignity Ali long ago lost. His athletically disciplined body on exhibition, preserved for all time on film, is worth twice the admission price. Norton seems both to understand and be willing to share the vision of the naked body perfected by sports.

Hollywood has always trafficked in athletic bodies: Brando, Newman, Doug- las, Voight, and Stallone boxed in On the Waterfront, Somebody Up There Likes Me, The Champion, The All-American Hero, and Rocky long after the humpy young John Garfield broke jaws and hearts in movies of the 1940's. Currently, Ryan O'Neal boxes for real, owns a piece of a boxer, and wants a boxing script for himself.

Wrestling was never better before or since it peaked in Ken Russell's Women in Love when Alan Bates, who shows his ass in nearly every movie he's ever made, grapples sweaty and naked before a roaring fireplace with the very macho Oliver Reed.

Redford's body, looking good as Natalie Wood's gay husband in Inside Daisy Clover, has been through a litany of athletics: leathered and shirtless dirtbiking in Little Fauss and Big Halsey; skiing in Downhill Racer; hiking and rafting in Jeremiah Johnson; running in Three Days of the Condor; and sailing in The Way We Were, in which he also out-

wrestled Streisand frame-by-frame for skin space.

Richard Harris, sailing in Mutiny on the Bounty, was stripped, tied to an iron grate, and flogged. That took care of his backside. The Amerindian athletics of tribal life in A Man Called Horse took care of his frontside. The Indian elders strung Harris up with wooden pegs through his pecs, hoisting him up for a test of his endurance. He becomes a "man" through his initiation in pain.

Burt Reynolds wrapped (The Longest - - - -), Stallone Weathering Carl Weathers (Rocky)

Appropriately, pain is the one word all athletes use in common. Training, like sex, can become an obsession. It feels so good it sometimes becomes compulsive, addictive. The body aches for a workout. The more miles a longdistance runner logs each day, the better his threshold of pain. No man races against any clock. All men race against themselves. The mind takes control of the body and the miles pile up. This running analogy fits all sports as well as it explains much gay sex, which is the Greatest Sport, and why so many gay men ground their sexuality in endurance of s and m, fist-fucking, and marathon fuck sessions.

This Sporting Life, made at the same time as The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner, was the jock movie that took care of Richard Harris' face. Sport ing Life featured nude bathing and brawling similar to David Storey's Broadway rugby drama The Changing Room where twenty men enter the set, strip,

stretch, massage, horse around, head out to get bloodied up on the field, re-enter the lockerroom, doggedly strip off their muddy uniforms, shower, towel dry, and exit.

Rugby has its own rituals of communal baths and bawdy ballads. The rugby player is more than just the member of the team. He's part of a more latent than blatant global fraternity that emphasizes bonhomie and plenty of beer-guzzling off the field. Rival teams usually share the same lockerrooms and dip in the same team bathtub, communally, after their afternoon tussle in the mud. Every match ends with the "Third Half," a booze-up contest of bawdy ballads, where usually one or more players break into the traditional Zulu Dance, a tipsy male striptease. Admits Michael Smith who boosts US rugby out of Chicago, "I work in stockbroking because I have to live. But if I could, I'd spend all my life in rugby."

No wonder show biz types like to buy jock types. O'Neal has his fighter. Elton John has his football team. Mick Jagger, Paul Simon, Peter Frampton, and Bill Graham recently bought up the Phila-delphia franchise in the North American

Soccer League.

Burt Reynolds, sprung from a Cosmo centerfold, played football in college and in two movies since: The Longest Yard and Semi-Tough with the really tough Kris Kristofferson. Paul Newman's passion for real-life racecar driving was featured in Winning. Peter Firth in Equus played a boy who loves horses so much he hates them, and tortures them and himself (with a bloody bit tied tight into his own teeth) until "cured" by an incredible shrinking shrink.

They Shoot Horses, Don't They? And with puritan good reason. Horses in films are always symbols of passion. Equestrians always gallop toward passionate disaster: Christopher Jones' stallion for-bode sexual danger everytime he fucked Ryan's Daughter, Sarah Miles; Brando's Captain Penderton in Reflections in a Golden Eye gets carried away by his gay passion on his wife Elizabeth Taylor's horse. Throughout that film, where Julie Harris cuts off her nipples with the garden shears, fetishist Robert Forster, the young Army private after whose privates Brando lusts, rides naked wild and free. The horse's eye, the eye of passion, reflects life, love, lust, and Liz.

Gay horseback riding has long been established in a very low-profile Los Angeles riding club whose members project a very heavy Marlboro Man image. Farther north, riding with a posse of gay men through Redwoods and down a Mendocino creek bed conjures a galloping sensuality of horse-sweat, creaking leather saddles, levi-asses posting in a canter of foreplay, crotches pushed up against the horn, looks cast one man to another back at the corral, leather reins in gloved hands, uncinching the horse, carrying the saddle over the shoulder to the barn, currying down the horse, turning him out to graze, and heading toward the hayloft with the rider of choice. Such weekends are often arranged out of San Francisco.

Horseback riding, of course, is not all overt sexuality. Gay men, like other men, can get into a sport for itself. The triumphant Gay Rodeo held in Reno in the Fall of 1977 received national press coverage and helped establish a positive sports image of gay men as men competitively capable of traditional American manliness in its best sense. This is affirmative gay action. Many gay athletes coming out into sports in their twenties or thirties admit to fears of athletics when they were very young - fears of "pitching like a sissy." A new liberated attitude now allows them to tackle whatever sport they like. People are learning that gay is not a synonym for effeminate . No more in sports than in bed is the ordinary gay man interested in "playing the passive female role." In both arenas, gay men celebrate together their masculinity .

This is what really lies behind the gay sports revival.

Previously, the obvious way to be gay, maybe the only way, say men who remember the unhappy days of the Fif-ties , was skirt-and-sweater camp-scream-outrage . Liberation has let real, traditional manliness out of the locker and on to the field. Suddenly, the alternative to nelly, stands on its own two Adidas.

It's okay to be Macho.

MOVIES AND GAY SPORTS

Movies stylized the gay subculture (and vice versa if you've ever been blown in Hollywood): from the mad-queen stereotype of a Bette Davis, who is her own best cliche, to the grooming of movie males on an increasingly macho scale: from the effete Valentino to the insipid Leslie Howard to the tough gangster -cowboy actors to the Ivy-League grooming of Troy / Tab / Rock to the womanless romantic coupling of Newman and Redford, Voight and Hoffman, Reynolds and Kristofferson. Movies have long taught gay men their attitudes. Movies came out of the hetero-marital closet at the closing line of Women in Love when wrestler Bates's wife asks, "Aren't I enough for you?" His answer prepared the way for Butch and Sun-dance . "No," he answers. And the movie ends.

Semi-Tough's Kristofferson says, "I figure the first year and a half of marriage is lust. After that, you just settle into a basic friendship." The boys, like Brando in Streetcar, go back to bowling with the boys. Movies of the Seventies have taught America a new attitude toward male relationships, just like Hollywood musicals , dead as New York New York, taught a whole generation of males how to be queens. Currently, thanks to Stallone, Hollywood's second biggest trip is the Jock Movie. (The first is the horror-science fiction movie.) And it is the Jock Movie that is teaching gay men the un- queenly other end of the masculinity spectrum: semi-tough macho.

Women might not like macho men. But men like macho men. Women often dislike very muscular men. So what do these female Breeders know? For instance , go to a straight gym. You'll see straight men, married and single, who are out-and-out Straight Queens: mincing, prancing, camping in nelly voices; but, ana! their sexual preference is women with whom they watch football, go four-wheeling , and skiing. Then hit a gay gym. Sure, you'll see some Muscle Queens pumping pecs they deep down wish were tits; but you'll also see the heavy Muscle Buddy trip. These guys look like stereotype straights: strong, silent, practiced movements, "spotting" each other on their heavy sets, into rag sweatshirts they work to get really soaked, eyes only for each other's correct athletic form. Yet stereotypes, ever figure out who's doing what with whom? From the uncloseting of sports has come a new viable gay life-style , visible and suitable: the athletic, men the possibility of participating in sports they long thought closed to them, because they were, from grade school on, a little "shy" as Tomlin would say, or marching to a different drummer as Thoreau would say. Somewhere, with the debunking of all the Great American Myths, sports has finally lost its straight cherry, its false modesty, its phoney purity, its stupid prudishness. No one anywhere anymore believes an athlete tackles better, runs faster, serves more accurately because he is straight. Since Kopay came out and Johnny Carson asked Namath directly about the number of gay quarterbacks, American attitudes have necessarily changed. The famous Washington Post article, Kopay's dignified disclosure, and Anita's Big Squeeze Play were the three best things to happen to the gay movement. Before this trinity happened, if a gay man came out, he came out. Point and period. What was he to discuss with good old mom and dad? Details of our midnight gymnastics? They needn't hear all that about their best little boy in the whole world. Now, a man can discuss something after disclosure. Kopay and the Post gave us a topic: athletics. Bryant gave us politics, since she politicized us to the

cruited the more tactful faculty. Wrestling late Saturday afternoons on the mats in the second-floor gym of the field-house led more often than not back to

At UC Berkeley not only was the library lav a study in tangled Adidas, the maze of gym shower rooms was highly active. Sunbathing was nude beside the outdoor pool, and in the johns outside the Olympic gymnastics room and the weight room, the sex was subtle, free, and easy. At UC Berkeley, every man is issued regulation blue shorts and a jock. My first workout, I hit the john and within three minutes, tanned barefeet padded in, turned, and curled all ten toes in the age-old signal. I pivoted my own foot slightly. Immediately, blue shorts and white jock dropped down over the tanned feet. His knees knelt to the floor and he slipped his thighs, knees first, tanned with mats of golden hair, under the partition. His cock followed: erect from a blond bush, hard, wet, and ready with the foreskin stripped half-back. I stared in disbelief, like some fucking tourist fisherman who catches a marlin in the first three minutes of his charter. Jocks, I knew, did IT, but didn't talk about it. Was this the Berkeley custom? When in Rome, do. Un-hesistant , I did. After all, Zorba the Greek said: "There is one mortal sin in life. When a woman calls a man to her bed and he will not come." This athlete called me to the vaulting pole of his cock and I'm no mortal sinner. He was the first of many good sports that summer.

If gay men are anything, they are often insecure. Los Angeles psychologist Ralph Greerson believes that men generally deal with anxiety by compulsively facing it. If they are afraid of violence, they may become addicted to football, play it, see it again and again." When a man fears something, he counters the phobia by doing exactly what scares him. So years ago you got a "D" in Phys Ed or beaten up on the playground. So what. Fuck explanations of behavior.

On any playing field or any white- water raft, the reasons for being there are as many as the men involved. Fear. Fun. Fucking. Walk into a gym and shout, "What insecurity brings you here?" (You can also shout it in businesses, busses, and churches.) Do jocks buff up with tremendous muscle motivated by the cliche of a four-inch cock? Then let's hear it for four-inch cocks. As a coach told an embarrassed bare-assed boy at Chicago's Lawson Y: "Big cock, small cock. Yours gets hard, doesn't it?" The kid nodded yes. "Then that settles that."

Gays once were afraid to be anything but closeted or queenly. One new-found jock said, "When I was sixteen, I thought I was the only one like me in my home-town . When I was nineteen, I discovered others. They were hard not to discover because they were so nelly and outrageous . I thought to be queer I had to affect a limp lifestyle. Then I moved to New York, found out I wasn't queer, but that I was gay, and that the Limp Style was only one of many ways to be gay. I turned in my ruby slippers for something I'd wanted all my life: boots, cleats, and Adidas."

Now that gays are a political issue,

Divers do it Deeper/ Underwater Photos by Gene Weber his partner had to pick it up with his mouth, and put it back in place. These races were considered the highlight of the evening.'

Not to imply anything about Shaw's straight sexuality, but he adds: "It seems rather ludicrous now, but my best moments as a freshman Longhorn were spent at the same time every day, in the same toilet stall, and on the same john. Being able to lock that stall, and then sit and read a magazine in total privacy for thirty minutes each day, enabled me to survive that first year."

HOT SPORTS

All sports until recently were heavy team sports: major equipment for ten to thirty guys, either seven feet tall or 250 pounds. Anything less than basketball, football, or baseball was sissy. Schools today emphasize individual sports a man can play his whole life. Tennis, once strictly for women and Latin males, has a whole new machismo. TV has internationalized sports, junking All-American Babe Ruth baseball, and going beyond seasonal football and basketball to include hockey, soccer, handball, racquet- ball, soaring, sky and SCUBA diving. To find the full variety read the bumper stickers. DIVERS DO IT DEEPER is one sticker that the accompanying photo taken off Gran Camen Island at an 80- foot depth gives a raised fist salute to.

Admittedly, the jockstrap boxer in Waiting for Mr. Goodbar was about as hot as DeNiro steeling himself to endure in Taxi Driver through hard workouts. But the ultimate jockstrap movie is Paul Newman's Slapshot. Actor Michael Ont-kean plays a hockey goalie who skates around the ice arena crowded with spectators cheering on an illegal icebrawl.

Ontkean breaks it up by stripping his hockey uniform piece by piece to the strains of "The Stripper," getting down bare-assed to nothing but his skates, socks and his cheek feel of socks, and his chock-full-of-nuts jock. All in dlowmotion. It is a High Moment of cinema fetishism. Ontkean's slow strip stops the disbelieving brawl, proving, if nothing else, that sex, especially in Ontkean's overflowing cup, can stop violence. Continued on page 70

Continued from page 17

GAY SPORTS: TUFFY

Peeled down the same way, Tuffy's Sportswear on Castro in San Francisco caters to outfitting the jock from the jockstrap on out, layer by layer, out to whatever sports uniform is needed. Tuffy himself is behind the competition be- tween San Francisco and Los Angeles for the First Annual California Cup in gay all-star football, basketball, and volley- ball. Through Tuffy's USA Club, white-water rafting trips are currently co- ordinated by Larry Kratzer, a veteran tour guide of whitewater trips through northwestern Colorado and northeastern Utah.

Tennis, racquetball, and squash are coached by Jim Stacy, athletic director for gay racquet sports. Stacy has instituted a challenge system for advanced, intermediate, and beginning players. Stacy is one of northern California's top squash players. The caliber of coaching and play for tennis, racquetball, squash, and badmitton is geared to provide the good gay athlete with quality competition while insuring adequate instruction for the beginning player.

Bodybuilding, sponsored by Tuffy's USA, likewise looks to the interests of the beginner. Since most gay men belong to either a traditional weight gym or a Nautilus Fitness Center, this bodybuild-ing association addresses itself to the needs of gay pumpers wherever they work out. Utilizing the buddy system, advanced bodybuilders share their training tricks with men on the threshold of a properly bulked and defined physique. An openly gay physique contest is planned for the near future.

Tuffy's interesting shop is located at 597 Castro in San Francisco. The USA Club phone is (415) 621-2128.

BAY AREA BOXING CLUB

Greg Varney is a man who knows what he wants and how to organize what he gets. Native to the Bay Area, Greg has wrestled and boxed in a variety of cities, but chose San Francisco as the founding city for his Boxing and Fighting Club. The disarming Varney, who has the face of a Botticelli boxer, has plenty to say about sports and the gay men who play them.

"I started boxing when I was eight years old," Greg says, "and I won a Golden Gloves title when I was seventeen. I've always loved boxing for itself. Those lockerroom romances are porn-film fantasies . Not that boxers aren't gay. Just that most male athletes at the mere mention of homosexuality really tighten up. I mean when I watch a bout I don't go to see the bodies per se. I go to watch the technique. Secondarily, the bodies from light to heavyweight interest me.

"What turned me on sexually to boxing was once when I was thirteen I boxed naked with another kid for about thirty seconds. I tried not to think about that during my amateur career; but when I was twenty-four, I came out. Ever since

Cash and carry: for any fantasy or reality, call Joe (415) 673-8471

then, my main purpose has been to open up boxing to gay men who never were aware that this sport could be available to them. For instance, my roommate, Mike Mooney, started boxing in May, 1976. When I started teaching him to box, I found he was really good and highly motivated. So I took him to my local gym and we started his amateur career. So far, he's had two amateur bouts and is scheduled for his third. Something Mike always dreamed about thing, but integral to the country, has happened — so far successfully.

"Meeting men such as Mike who like boxing and fighting doesn't happen easily on the streets or in the bars. So I put ads in various gay publications and got a real flood of letters and calls. Right away I knew I had to weed out the phonies, and there were plenty — about 75 percent. A phoney, I judged, was a guy more interested in jerking off looking at himself or me in our Everlast gear than at himself of me in our Everlast geal united he was in actual training or sparring. Sex is for-sure involved, but secondarily. With this premise, I started the Bay Area Boxing and Fight Club in 1976.

"Mike and I looked fo both to live and to box. We finally found

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"It hurts … it . .

by G.B. MISA

Chapter 7

Maybe it was because the rain suddenly stopped and the corn colored moon had raced past the smoky clouds. Maybe it was because the ancient redwoods were casting moonshadows. I'm not sure but the fear left me as I stared at the seven foot giant standing on the stone steps with a bullwhip in his hand.<br>Ten Russian wolfhounds so motionless they looked like statues directly behind him. Somehow the giant was no longer a threat. Anyway, he looked silly in his leather jock strap with the zipper down the front of it.

self?"

I didn't get down on my knees like he had ordered. Instead I climbed a step and looked him right in the eye, even though I had to stand on tip-toe. "Hey, sweetie-pie, what's hap-penin'?" I winked at him.

"On your knees, faggot!" he screamed again, his enormous

biceps tensing. He raised the bullwhip over his head.

I coughed, making sure I got a good one in my mouth and<br>then I let fly. It caught him directly on the bridge of his nose. I grinned as the spittle dripped down his nose and onto his

nin. He was so stunned that his mouth fell open. Now my ands shot out and I viciously twisted the dark pink nipples on his mountainous chest. He let out a grunt again lifting the pullwhip but I beat him to the punch. I shot a left jab to his olar plexus and a right cross to his chin. He didn't move a nuscle. It was like trying to knock out a boulder or a rock. There was a touch of a smile on his rugged face as I hit him with a combination of lefts and rights. It was like trying to beat up a brick wall. I wondered if the big bastard was going to kill me and then suck the blood from my veins. I knew he could tear me apart with his bare hands.

Again our eyes met and held. It seemed like an eternity. In that moment I knew I would have to dominate the big son of a bitch or Killer McKenna would lose the gym and all of us

slaves would be out on the streets of San Francisco.

Concentrating my strength I slammed my right knee directly into the black leather jock strap. I don't think I've ever heard such a crazy, wild scream. I thought it was going to take the leaves off the redwood trees. His face turned purple as he dropped the bullwhip and bent double, grabbing for his balls. He was a sitting duck as I caught his chin with my knee … right on the button! He went over … toppling like one of<br>the ancient redwood trees. I almost felt like yelling 'timber' ! The Russian wolfhounds scattered, then grouped around him, whining. Picking up the bullwhip I cracked it and the wolfhounds moved to the bottom of the stone steps of the colonial mansion. Then I heard a strange sound. At first I didn't know what it was. The man-mountain was crying softly as he held his fucked up balls. "You…you…my scrotum

"Shut the fuck up," I snarled, I felt like kicking him in the head but instead I put my boot on his mountainous chest.

I cracked the bullwhip almost taking off his left ear. "You want this across your back, cocksucker?" "Don't … don't … hurt … me … anymore. I …"

"Unzip my fly, asshole!" My voice was cold as ice.<br>He looked at me with big cow eyes. "What … what did

you . . ?" "My dick … take it out … on the double!" I kicked him in the ribs. "You some kind of a retard?"

A moment later my raging erection snapped out of my pants, flopping against the side of his face. I could see the tears streaming down his cheeks. Just the thought of dominating the big son of a bitch almost got me off with a load right into his face.

His hot lips were around the head of my dick. I wanted to slam it all the way down his throat and shoot off my load but instead I pulled it out and slammed my foot into his belly. He grunted and turned a green-purple as he flopped back onto the

stone steps. He looked like a beached whale.<br>"I didn't give you permission to suck my dick!" I held my<br>raging hardon in my hand. I picked up the bullwhip and snapped it hard across his massive chest. He screamed and his face turned white when he saw the long gash streak his

chest. "Don't you know your master when you see him?"

A flash of anger twisting his mouth and then it was gone. He bowed his head. "Ah … yes, master!" I waited for the exact right psychological moment and then

I let go with a heavy stream of piss right into his eyes. He jerked away but then he closed his eyes and there was a touch of a smile as the yellow stream splashed on his face and ran in rivulets down his huge chest. He was crying softly but his hand moved to his leather jock strap and he grabbed

his crotch. "Who the fuck gave you permission to play with your-

Quickly he pulled his hand away. Grabbing his head I jammed it onto my burning hot cock. He went wild. His huge arms wrapped around my waist almost crushing me. His hot mouth was like a vacuum cleaner and for a moment I thought he'd suck my whole body down his throat. He was a great cocksucker! I knew if I let the suction go on for another five seconds I'd pop my cookies. I pulled out quickly, "On your back, fag!"

"Oh, yes, Master. Anything you say, sir! Just let me suck your beautiful cock, sir. I love it … It's …" "Shut up, asshole!" My boot smashed at his chest, pushing

hom on his back. I straddled his face, sitting on it. "Eat it

out!"

Since I've been taking ten thousand units of Vitamin C every day I've been farting a lot. I let go with a big one right in his face. He gasped but then he pulled my ass down tight over his mouth. "Fuckin' fart eater!" I cursed.

chauffeur!

Christ, his tongue was long and rough. It was like getting reamed out by a lion, only better because he shoved his tongue deep into my bunghole. He fucked me with his enormous tongue as I sat on his face with all the weight of my body. I lit a Camel, took a deep satisfying drag and looked up at the stars. The clouds raced the corn colored moon to some unknown destination in the universe … finally they caught the moon, surrounding it, capturing it. The stars were gone.

I dragged deeply on the Camel as I felt the white heat of my orgasm building. Christ, he had an educated tongue. The tingling sensation began in my calves, moved up to my knees and then to my thighs. I threw away the Camel and groaned in rapture. The ecstasy was about to erupt from my boiling balls.

"God damn! Best fuckin' ass eater in the universe!" I

screamed.

And the universe seemed to answer. A raindrop on my face another and another. Faster and faster the raindrops until it was coming down in sheets. My head was back, my mouth open. I drank the warm summer rain. Then a flash of lightning … a moment of intense light … a clap of thunder as my body convulsed and I shot my burning spunk all over my rain soaked chest and stomach. I flopped back, still with the giant tongue deep inside my guts. I stared at the violent sky. The smoky clouds parted and the corn yellow moon appeared. It hadn't become the slave of the clouds after all.

His ass would be blue in the morning.

Still the giant's tongue was up my bunghole. Relaxing

completely I let go with a loud fart.

He screamed as if he were being killed. I dunno … I guess it was my fart that did it. His dick was out of the black leather jock strap and it must've been twelve or thirteen inches long. It was like the giant geyser at Yellowstone National Park. Tremendous gobs of giz jetted out of his giant knobhead, splashing against his face, his shoulder, his chest and finally his stomach. And still he screamed as if he were being killed. I didn't think the giant millionaire would ever stop shooting his load. I grabbed a gob of it and slapped him hard across the

gangs and their gum chewing broads.

mouth, shoving my fingers down his throat. "Fuckin' queer fart eater!" I stood up, pulling at my pants. "You're wonderful … oh, master!" He looked at me

adoringly. "We're hitting the road … right now!" I snarled. "We're what?" The giz dribbled down his chin.

I snapped the bullwhip across his big, beautiful ass. I got an instant hardon as the blood oozed down the crack of his<br>muscular buns. He jumped half a mile. "Master or Sir! Ain't gonna tell you again, asshole!"

"I'm sorry, sir! Please forgive me, Master!" He was crying

again.

"Stop your fuckin' cryin'," I yelled. "Shit, men don't cry!" "Yes sir, you're right, sir!"

"I forgot your fuckin' name." "Alastair Ames, sir!"

"We're goin' back to Killer's gym … but not until you get<br>the mortgage papers."

He looked startled. "I don't understand, sir!"

"You're gonna sign all those papers over to Killer McKenna

so he owns the gym outright!" "I am, Master?" His eyes blinked rapidly. "You want me to cut you to ribbons?" I ran the bullwhip

gently across his back.

He hesitated a moment. "Whatever you say, sir." He moved to the carved oak door. "It'll only take me a few minutes to

change, Master." "You're comin' the way you are!"

"Yeah … three to two. "How old are you, boy?" "Ah … 18," I lied.

He gulped. "The way I am, sir?" "You heard me, fart face! On the double!"

I sat on the steps, smoking another Camel, feeling a deep satisfaction. The gym would be Killer's. Maybe he would give me my reward tonight instead of waiting for the Mr. Bay Area contest. Maybe Killer would give me his ten inches of uncut dick. I sighed, feeling my cock stiffen.

He looked funny as hell coming down the stone steps with

"No, I don't!"

an attache case, wearing only his leather lock strap. He turned to the chauffeur. "We're driving into the city, Reeves!"

"He ain't drivin' nowhere, fart face. You're the new

"Me, Master?" I realized that the big son of a bitch could pick me up with one hand and throw me against one of the redwoods. He probably would if he hadn't liked the smell of<br>my farts. "Get your queer ass behind the wheel!"<br>His body sagged. I'd broken his spirit. He moved quickly

to the Rolls Royce and held the door open.

"You creep! You goin' into San Fran with your zipper un-

zipped? You wanna get busted by the vice?"

The big son of a bitch was a lousy driver. I eased back into the plush upholstery of brown leather and lit a Camel. I fixed myself a scotch and soda from the built-in bar. I knew if Killer caught me breaking training he'd lock me in the closet. I tensed my bicep, staring hard at it. Almost eighteen inches. I knew the next two and a half weeks were crucial. Killer had given me my new workout schedule. Three hours in the morning on my upper body and three hours in the afternoon on my lower body. Yes, I had to win the Mr. Bay Area Contest.

I finished the scotch and fixed another one. I flipped on the stereo. Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue." A damned good title. I wondered if Alastair Ames was picking up on the humor.

I closed my eyes … listening to the music … at peace with the world. I was half asleep … and the images took over I floated out of the Rolls Royce … I was in a bar … The Rolling Stones on the juke box … sawdust on the floor . . the Turtle. Yes, I was back on the North Side of Pittsburgh selling the bulldog edition of the Post-Gazette. I was fifteen. Dad had lost his job in Santa Cruz and we had taken the bus to Pittsburgh … three days and two nights of eating bologna sandwiches.

The North Side was a slum … Aunt Tiller was on welfare and Dad couldn't find a job. I'd wanter the streets late at night, hawking my papers to the customers in the greasy spoons and the run down bars. But I spent most of my time around the Turtle. It was a tough joint, with a fist fight guaranteed on a Saturday night. It was a hangout for all the young working class studs but especially for the motorcycle

I hung around the Turtle because of Boog. Whether it was summer or freezing winter he wore the same outfit. Black boots, thin, torn blue jeans and a crummy old leather jacket against his skin. His torso was covered with heavily matted hair. I found out later that he was a construction worker. He'd sit at a round table with his left hand playing with the twat of some chick while his right hand scratched his hairy chest.

It was a cold January night when I first spoke to Boog. I'd wandered through the bar without selling a single paper. I went into the john to take a leak and Boog swaggered in, pulling at the buttons of his fly. He had to bend backwards to release his dick from the confines of his skin tight blue jeans. I realized why when he pulled it out. It was as hard as a rock. He held it proudly in his hand. "Fuckin' cunt out there!" He winked at me. "Can't take a leak until it goes down."

I tried to pull my eyes away from the drippy red knob-head . I had an instant erection and I don't know if Boog saw it. I jerked my body away from the pisser, quickly stuffing my hard dick into my pants and running out of the john as quickly as I could. I didn't want Boog to know I was a queer.

I couldn't keep my mind off Boog. I wanted to suck his drippy, red knobbed tool. If Boog wasn't at the Turtle, I'd wait until he showed up. He finally appeared about a week later. I waited until he went to the john and I nervously followed him in, my knees shaking. And again Boog held his cock

proudly and again it was hard and dripping.

He gave me a sidelong, wise look. "Pirates win?" "Yeah three to two."

"You look twleve!" Quickly he shoved his fingers under<br>my nose. "Breath in, boy!" He grinned. "You like the smell of it?"

"Pussy juice, boy! Pussy juice!" He licked his fingers.

"You a virgin?

My eyes were glued on his drippy dick. It wasn't more than six inches long but it had the thickness of a baseball bat. "Shit, no!" I turned scarlet. "I ain't no virgin!"

house … aces and kings."

His hand grabbed mine and I felt my fingers wrapping around his baseball bat. "You dig it, boy?"

His hand grabbed mine and I felt my fingers wrapping around his baseball bat. "You dig it, boy?"

"I…ah …I.."

"No wonder you're a virgin!" He scratched his hairy chest. "You dig cock, boy!"

I made a terrified lunge for the door but he grabbed me by the scruff of the neck. His hand grabbed my ass. "I'm gonna pop your cherry, boy!

I gulped, wondering if he'd know that my step-father had already cornholed me many times … since I was eight years

old. "Be at the corner of Federal in fifteen minutes. If you ain't there the next time I see you I'll whip your ass! You get that, boy?"

"Yes sir!" I ran out of the bar and stood in the cold, staring through the dirty window. I watched Boog and the blond. His fingers worked on her snatch. Then he'd put his fingers to his nose and smell.

My throat was dry as Boog turned up to the corner of Federal Street. His leather jacket was open. I guess all the matted hair on his chest insulated him from the cold. It was ten degrees below zero. "I don't want no reputation for makin' it with chicken," he growled.

Then we were barrel assing down Federal Street on Boog's Harley-Davidson, across the grey bridge and into the Golden Triangle. My arms were wrapped around his bare waist and my head pressed against his black leather jacket. He pushed my frozen hand down to his swollen crotch as we hit the freeway and he rode the white line. His dick was still rock hard and I wondered if he slept with a hardon.

Christ, it was cold. Now the hilly countryside and Boog skidded off the asphalt and I hung on for dear life as he dragged his boot along the shoulder of the road. He laughed,

dragged his boot along the shoulder of the road. He laughed, finally getting control of the half ton monster between his legs and we were sixtying up a dirt road, riding the bumps, the bike jumping two-three feet into the air. I shut my eyes tight and prayed. Finally there was silence except for the chirping of

the crickets.

It was a rundown shack that managed to hang onto the side of the hill. It had once been painted white, probably during the Depression. A skinny dog with its ribs showing lay on the stoop, raising its skinny neck. I gulped as I saw the row of gleaming bikes lined up against the side of the shack. I heard<br>the loud male voices. I thought of running away but where could I go? We were in the middle of nowhere.

"Just you and me … just …" I pushed my body back-

ward, ready to make a break for it.

Boog was greased lightning. I didn't see him move and a gleaming knife was at my throat. The steel was even colder<br>than the night air. "You do what I say or …" He ran the knife across my throat. "You wanna be buried on the side of

the hill, boy?'

My knees were knocking together as Boog pushed at the creaky front door. The one room was small, filled with smoke, and had a round table in the center of it. A naked light bulb hung from the ceiling and a fat winter fly circled it. Six dudes were playing poker. All of them were bikers … some wore their leather jackets … others were stripped to the waist. A black stud glanced at me … his eyes were veiled with hate. My teeth chattered, even though the pot bellied stove overheated the room. I wondered if I'd come out of this adventure alive. They were a rugged, mean looking bunch and they looked like they'd rob their own mother for a nickel. And then my eyes saw the blond stud. He was stripped to the waist. His nose was flattened against his face and he had a cauliflower ear. My heart guickened.

"What you got there, Boog?" He smiled, showing a broken

tooth.

"Got us a chicken, Bucky!" Boog slapped him on the back. Bucky … Bucky … the name reverberated in my head. Crazily I thought of the game I used to play when I was in grammer school. It was called "Buck, Buck, how many fingers up?”

Bucky scratched his balls. "I want some of that young

"As soon as we finish this hand," the black dude said.

"Bump ya twenty, Bucky!" "You're covered." Bucky threw in a twenty. "I got a full

Bucky's face was expressionless as he hauled in the pot. His body was covered with tattoos. MOM inside a heart. A girl in a hula skirt on his deltoid muscle, and on the joints of his fingers…LOVE on his left hand and HATE on his right hand. Just like Robert Mitchum in the movies.

Bucky leaned back in his broken down chair, "Hey, Boog,

how come you don't bring us no pussy?" "Because I want a boy cherry!" Boog stuck out his chin pugnaciously. "How 'bout you guys?"

"One of us is gonna pop it, right?" the black dude said. "You catch on quick!" Boog answered. His arm shot out there was the sound of ripping cloth … before I knew

there was the sound of ripping cloth … before I knew what had happened Boog had ripped the clothes off my back with his bare hands and I stood naked as the guys looked at

me. "He's got hair around his dick!" Bucky slapped his leg.

"Bend over, boy!" Boog ordered, slapping me hard across the ass. "Grab your ankles!

I bent over quickly, my knees trembling. I felt his rough finger pushing hard against my bunghole. "Tight as a chicken's ass!

"You bin fuckin' my chickens again," the black dude asked.

Bucky stood up. "Five cards up. How's that?"

The black dude was slobbering at the mouth. "Cherry bustin' time!"

I watched in fascination as Boog dealt the cards. I finally realized I was the poker prize. I was terrified and yet I wanted either Boog or Bucky to win. But it wasn't my lucky night. The black guy with the angry eyes got an Ace on the last card and won.

"I get sloppy seconds," Bucky crowed.

My body flew into the air and then I was lying on my<br>stomach on the poker table with my head hanging over the side. The sons a bitches lined up behind the black unde with the beard. All except Boog. He grabbed my hair, pulling my face toward his fat, stubby dick. I felt the hot, pulsing knob head press against my boylips. "I knew you were a fag the second I saw you, boy!". His dick was so f mouth around it but that didn't stop Boog. He slammed it deep into my throat just as I felt the searing pain tear at my asshole. I tried to scream but instead I choked on Boog's baseball bat dick. I blacked out and when I came back to consciousness the floor looked like the ceiling turned upside down.

Boog had his baseball bat jammed all the way down my throat. It was a real jawbreaker. "Baby, I'm comin … I'm shootin' off … you're a great cocksucker … eat my fuckin' spunk … you teenaged faggot!"

I hardly paid any attention to the bearded black guy who was pumping away at my tail. He had a small dick and I could hardly feel it. He shot off and still I licked the drippling giz from Boog's fat cockhead. Finally he pulled it away from my hungry mouth and shoved it in his pants. It was still hard.

Now it was Bucky's turn. He pulled down his pants and my eyes feasted on his flat belly and the nest of black hair that held his monster cock. Shit, it was big. Almost nine inches

long and fat. "Off the table, kid!" he ordered me.

My eyes were mesmerized by the fat animal between his legs. The ex-pugilist's body was a ripple of muscles and he moved like a panther, his tattoos moving in different directions . He picked me up in his arms as if I were a baby he was going to nurse. For a second I was sure he was going to sing me a lullaby but instead he sat me down on his huge prong and it slammed all the way home, lubricated by the giz of the black dude. I was so hot for his meat that it didn't hurt at all. My ass was on fire as the sexy stud pumped away at my burning bunghole.

"Son of a bitch, … son of a bitch," Bucky moaned. "You ain't no virgin, kid. Bet all the studs on the North Side bin cornholing you … Shit, you're a great piece of ass … you're the real thing . . the real . . my God . . my God … ah … shit … fuck … corruption … snot … YAHHHHH."

As he shot deep inside me his calloused fingers were twist-<br>ing my nipples and I shot off, my spunk spraying all over the<br>floor. I closed my eyes and after that I couldn't remember too

much … it was a smoky haze … just like the room … a kind of delirium … hot cum … piss … sweat … tattoos … every time I opened my mouth hot cum spurting against my tongue … my throat, my lips, dribbling down my chin … no sense of time … or place … two studs were fucking me in the ears and somehow another stud had his dick in my mouth and another one up my ass. All four of them came at<br>the same time … the two dude's pulled their pricks out of my ears and shoved them in my mouth … at the same time … it went on all night … I can't remember when they did the circle jerk. I think it was just before dawn. All seven of them surrounded me, each one throwing twenty bucks down on my sperm wet belly and chest and the bet was who could shoot off on me first. He would win the pot.

ripped at my nipples.

tain.

It was a trip … all these guys standing over me jerking off and yet I couldn't keep my eyes off Bucky. Maybe it was his flattened nose but he drove me wild with desire. He was talking a mile a minute as he stood over me, his legs spread wide, whacking away at his big piece of flesh. Looking up, I could

see his bunghole opening and closing. "Your tits, Jenny … you got the biggest tits … great … I fucked you between your big tits and your tongue licked the head of my dick. I shot all over your face and you just smiled. My cum was dripping from your mouth and your … "Shut the fuck up, Bucky!" Boog yelled as he pounded madly at his meat. "You're cheating!"

"JENNY … ALL … OVER … YOUR … BIG … TITS … OHHH … SHIT … HERE … IT … IS … JENNY … HERE IT IS … FUCK!"

Bucky's asshole puckered and his hot giz splashed all over my face. I got some of it on my tongue and swallowed it. A second later the next batch hit my body … splatting against my belly button … the next and the next … it was glorious all of them shooting their loads all over my body. I was sure I was drowning in an ocean of love juice. Then Bucky sat on my face and just as my tongue entered his beautiful puckered asshole I shot an ocean of cum. It seemed like I shot torever.

All the studs went back to their poker game to recoup the money they lost in the gang jerk. Not Bucky. He was the big<br>winner so he sat on my face for about an hour until he got his big dick hard again and then he fucked me slowly. I fell asleep a couple of times but I smiled when I woke up … still Bucky's hot prong deep inside my guts. He was screwing me front ways with my legs up over his shoulders and his teeth bit into my left nipple as he shot off and I screamed in pain, wondering if he had bitten my tit off. I sat up. The sun was slanting through the dirty windows. All the guys split and I was alone with Bucky. He winked at me. "I'm gonna make you my mascot. You're good luck!"

He peeled off a twenty dollar bill from the fat roll in his pocket. "You earned it, kid!"

He was a nice guy. He made breakfast, pancakes and eggs and we gobbled them down. Then Bucky went to the closet and pulled out a pair of pants. "Won't fit right but good enough, kid!"

perfume on it?"

The pants worked on the principle of long johns, only they didn't have buttons on the back … they had a zipper. One zip and my bare ass would be available for a good fuck. I

got into them with the zipper unzipped.

The weak winter sun didn't warm the below zero weather as Bucky gunned the motor of his Harley. He ordered me to grab the handlebars and lower myself onto his big, hard dick. I'd been fucked so much that night that it slipped in almost too easily. Christ, before I settled back he took off with his dick up my ass and I was hanging onto the handlebars. "C'mon, kid, you drive the bike, and I'll drive you!" He laughed wildly, tearing at my nipples.

It was fantastic. Bucky didn't move a muscle. We'd hit a<br>bump and the bike would fly three-four feet into the air and when we hit the ground I thought his dick was going to come

out my mouth.

"Shit!"

Now Bucky gunned the bike and we tore assed up the side of the mountain. I almost ran into a spruce tree. We hit the ridges every few feet and we bounced our way up the side of that mountain. I didn't know how we'd get to the top of the mountain but I didn't give a shit. I felt the rapture building in my guts … now the front wheel shot high in the air and we rode on the back wheel. Finally the front wheel grabbed the frozen dirt and still his long prong was deep inside me. I

screamed with the ecstasy of my building orgasm as Bucky

We were close to the top of the mountain and miraculously both of us were still riding the bike. "Best fuckin' fuck in my life," Bucky screamed. "Better than fuckin' Jenny between the tits. Sen … sa … tional!"

We shot over the last ridge and hit the top of the moun-

The bike flip flopped … both of us went flying high into the morning air simultaneously like a couple of dogs stuck together . High in the air I could feel his dick exploding like a gun and I shot my load. It was incredible. Both of us were still shooting off as we hit the rock hard ground. His arms were tight around me and his teeth were biting into my back. Finally both of us relaxed. When he pulled out his dick the cold winter air rushed inside me. The bike was lying on its side with the wheels spinning. Not even a fender was dented.

I sat in the back of the Rolls Royce laughing as my giant slave exited off the freeway. That Bucky … what a trip he was. I got the inspiration when we were a half a mile away from the gym. "Pull into the shopping center," I ordered. "Yes, Master!"

"We need a dog collar and a leash!"

"We need a dog coinar and a leasts: "Ah… yes sir!" He was back in a few minutes. "Put the collar around your neck, Fido!" His eyes blinked rapidly but he quickly put the collar around his neck. I snapped the leash onto t

in front of the Killer McKenna Gym and he jumped out. He

was barking as he held open the door.<br>"Shut up, Fido!" I wondered if I should walk him . . train him to shit in the gutter and piss against a fire hydrant but I was too eager to show off my prize puppy to Killer. Making sure he had the brief case with the all important papers I held the leash tightly as I walked my monster dog through the lobby.

My heart sank when Killer wasn't in his office or in the apartment. I figured he was having a late workout so I went into the gym proper. The neon lights were on full but still no Killer. Instead I saw Rip Powell and Percival. The golden boy of baseball had the tiny peroxided kid tied down to a five<br>hundred pound barbell and was fist fucking him. He had it in

up to the wrist. "Where's Killer?" I asked nervously, tying the 'dog' to the

Rip pulled his hand out of Percival's ass. It was glistening with Crisco. Still Rip wore his blue bikini and one of his

golden balls hung out of it. "You know, Georgie, Percival keeps his shithole clean. Did you know that he douches three times a day and it's got

perfume on it?"

"Where's Killer!" I felt anger in my throat. "Oh…ah…he's out!" His gold fleck eyes looked at the giant in the dog collar. "Where'd you get him…at the dog pound or Bide A Wee?"

"Bide A Wee's for cats

"Seems they never got divorced, Georgie."

My mind screamed back to the day I'd met Killer … she was in the office reading the National Enquirer and chewing bubble gum … red lipstick and peroxide hair … and she was

still his wife!

"She's moving back in. And we ain't sleeping in the walk-in closet no more."

"We're sleeping in the locker room in sleeping bags." "Fuckin' shit! I sat dejectedly on an exercise bench. "You up to some good fist fuckin'?" I knew Rip was try-

ing to cheer me up. Rip clenched his fist and slammed it deep into the vulnerable ass. Percival didn't move a muscle as Rip's hand disappeared up to the elbow.

Despite my disappointment I got an instant hard-on.

"Drink up. Drink up. Let me fill your cup with the promise of a man."

Neil Young, Harvest

Gay reality often reads like fiction, Mainly because the gay sense of adventure , that sense of openness to experience , causes fantasy to turn into fact; and, once turned, that fact is often so outrageous in its reality, it sounds like fiction to people too chickenshit to pursue their fantasies. "What," they ask, "would happen if you actualized your fantasies? There'd be nothing left to fantasize about,

Wrong. There would be new fantasies, one-step-further fantasies, push-the-limit fantasies. There would be bent, sick, twisted, and new lost horizons to celebrate .

A man without fantasies is a man of the First Kind.

A man afraid to actualize his fantasics is a man of the Second Kind.

A man who acts out his fantasies is a man of the Third Kind.

HOW DO YOU SPELL RELIEF?

The backroom bars, watering holes for night bloomers, are phenomena of the Third Kind: Contact. They are native to San Francisco and New York. They began sal Iteral backrooms, spontaneous, in bars like The Tool Box, The Folsom Prison, and The Ambush. They came out on their own as The Covered Wagor, The Anvil, and with Increasing intensity, The Zodiac, The Toilet, and the la The Mine Shaft.

After midnight, after the lights go down low, a man of the Third Kind can see what the boys in the backroom will have: fantasy actualized a la carte. New York's Mine Shaft is the current front-runner . Down a steep stairway, The Mine Shaft offers "The Lourdes Room," featuring a full-length white porcelain bathtub suitable for baptizing and initiating any man who dares.

Any given night, a man can climb into the tub for nonstop Golden Showers. Fairer faucets, major and minor (less than seven inches), than he ever dreamed of, turn on - literally - to him and all over him. Saturday nights, especially, on three sides of the tub, men press in, six or seven deep. Men nearest the tub unbutton their levis, unsnap their leather codpieces, or go for their meat by peeling down their jocks. They are the front line of the Third Kind, pressed from behind by dozens of others chugging their beers as they press forward toward the tub. RUB A DUB DUB

A single red light illuminates the dark faces, the blond moustaches, the bared chests wet with the humid cellar sweat. Often, a man of no patience drops to his knees to drink the piss of a man three rows back from the tub. The pissers move around the private scene toward their target: the man, laid back in the white tub, sometimes naked, more often wearing only construction boots, athletic socks, a piss-soaked jock, maybe a USMC fatigue hat.

One night, a perfectly groomed dude climbed into the tub wearing wingtips, a Brooks Brothers dark wool suit, Ivy League tie, a white exford cloth dress shirt which, when he pulled open the suit coat, exposed holes cut out over his large nipples on his hairy chest. His hands found his crotch and fished his own cock hard from his white jockey shorts. On all sides, he looked up at the fifty or so piss-filled men looking down on him. A guy in full leather hawked up some deep spit and flumed it down on the dark suit. His baptism had begun.

The ritual runs nightly the same. The dozen men closest to the tub rim are in various erect stages of pissing, Some unbuttoning, some whipping it out fast. Others teasing it out slowly. One peels back his lip of heavy foreskin through his full hard-on. One stands, muscular arms folded across his thick pecs, eyes closed, waiting for his piss to work its way down from inside his tight belly to his dick hanging out of his jeans: untouched, untouchable, but willing to piss down hard and heavy on the right mother fucker laid back in the tub. One by one, then in pairs, building to four and five at a time, they join together in a waterfall of piss.

Each chooses his own target. A man in the tub can study how some guys choose to piss on his boots. Others on his jock. Many on his chest. Most on his face and shoulders. The streams come thick. Some with firehose force. The hard ones piss straight down on his body. The thicker soft cocks rain down in a curved arc of beer-rich piss.

Ordinary to great bodies climb into the tub. Every body looks better hosed down with gallons of shiney piss. The look of the wet skin. The sound of hot piss splashing on warm flesh. The feeling , from celebration to humiliation, of aiming cock to piss on another man's cock and balls. The feel, to the man in the tub, of twenty streams of piss hitting him at once. The hot energy trade-off, man to man, in a communion of piss.

SIGHTS TRULY SEEN: PISS JOCKS

One dark-headed guy stands at the head of the tub with a dozen orange and blue Bike supporter boxes. He opens them slow and deliberate. One by one. Pulling out of each a clean new jockstrap. He opens the first box and throws the jock on the belly of the body soaked in the tub. Three dudes turn their dicks directly on to the new jock, it soaks up their piss fast. The second Bike box opens and the second jock lands in the tub. Again and again. The bearded guy tosses each box to the floor as he tosses each jock on top the man in the tub.

Another guy, one of those blonds with a thick red Marlboro moustache, sticks a finger through a small hole near the neck of his own white teeshirt. Slowly he fears the white cotton, shredding it to strips of rag, revealing his good pecs and smooth belly. He holds the rag of teeshirt balled up in his hand. His other hand pulls out his cock. He pisses long and heavy into his torn tee-shirt . His cock hardens as he pisses.

The other men, except for one with a piss-load that won't quit, stop leaking to look at the big long blond. When his teeshirt is soaked, he balls it up, wrings it out over the face of the man in the tub. Then he pisses in the shirt some more. Two other guys piss toward his cock pissing into the shirt. One hits the shirt. The other hits the brond's jeans.

Nothing bothers him. Pissed out, he lobs the dripping teeshirt like a wet softball into the face of the man in the

UNBUTTONING MY LEVIS I SOON HAVE HIS TONGUE FROM THE TOP OF MY BOOTS TO THE BOTTOM OF MY CROTCH …

I met him at Larrys. He is from Long Beach (I seem to be a magnet to out of town hunks), really good fooking, about 5'8" tall, dressed sort of casual in a dark Pendleton shirt half rolled up to his elbows. I liked him and pretty dangerous.

Sald yes, but the five outs in a lots on a pretty dangerous. There are two hot toilets in Long Beach. One is at the far end of the Pike Amusement center. Real off the wall types go there, a lot of straights and also an occ good test of how hot someone is - is to put a few cars between you (while checking them in the mirror) and watch them

We pull onto my street (a quiet residential area of LA)… so we get out of the cars and he follows me down the sidewalk. We walk down the dark side of the bours and lean almost feel the result. the house and I can almost feel the pres- sidewalk. We walk down the dark side of fite house and I can almost feel the pressure on him … going around to the rear in the shadows is a detached building. We walk up to it and I stop and pull keys out of my pocket. U

Pushing him all the way down he lays on the cold concrete floor … feels even better as his pants come down and my fingers work slowly up his beautiful and yes, I was right, hairy ass, I get over him and my hot longue i ass is satisfied.

Later as we are walking back to the street he says he liked it a lot and can we do it again.

My mystery space was a garage, the strange dark forms were tires propped against a wall and an old desk, the rub- ber restraints were an old garden hose. ber restraints were an old garden hose. Making the inconspicuous space a surprise dungeon is a real turn on. Always carry on you, your basic equipment—your belt, some aroma in your pocket—what else do you really need? Othe

the pleasure of polk street

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AGUARIUS JAN. 21-FEB. 19

moved forward and took the end of my dick in his mouth. I pulled him up more and started shoving my cock as hard as I could into his throat. He sucked on it like it was the last cock he'd ever have to suck. He was good.

I held on to his hair and pulled his face on and off my cock. Then I pushed him back against the wall and moved towards him, jamming his head against the solid wall, and I face-fucked him. He took it and was running his hands up and down my legs at the same time. He looked innocent, but he liked things rough.

I pulled my prick out of his mouth and stood erect, looking down at him for a few seconds. "C'mon," I said finally, "let's head to the bedroom."

He crawled the whole way on his hands and knees. I liked that, too.

I followed him down the hallway to the second bedroom. He went inside and stood there, glancing around at the equipment . I shoved him hard towards the bed and he sprawled on it, face down. I was on his back immediately, dry-humping my hard cock against his ass. I wedged my hands down under his chest and took hold of his tits. I worked on them hard, really hard. He moaned. I was hurting the hell out of him. "Please, sir, not so fast," he begged, but I didn't give a shit. I leaned up and spit in my hand. I wet my cock and was back on his ass. I pulled his ass cheeks apart and aimed my prick. I felt his asshole fighting me and I pushed harder. "Loosen up, fucker," I said. He tried to relax. I felt my cock slip past that first muscle. The kid had a nice, tight asshole. I shoved harder. I slipped in a few inches. He lurched away from me and let out a loud moan. "That hurts," he said. "Sir." With the flat of my hand I bopped him alongside the head and told him to shut his fucking mouth. I shoved again and my dick slid all the way inside him. He again lurched away from me, trying to get off my prick, but I held on to him. I puleld out fast and showed it hard again into him. He squealed. I pulled out again and showed it in even hate-hard. I got into him to the balls. Still he tried to get away from me; he was whining. I slammed my hand into the side of his head again. "Shut up, you fuckin' asshole," I said. He got quiet.

I had him flat out on the bed, his belly jammed against the mattress. I was on top of him, pounding my cock into his ass. I kept moving faster and faster. He was groaning quietly and involuntarily pulling his ass away from me. I was still hurting him. I reached under his chest and started working on his tits again. He lurched away against that pain.

Then, just that quickly, on one of my fucks into him, his groan turned from one of pain to one of pleasure. I knew I had him. Instead of pulling away from me, I felt him pushing his ass up to me as I came down into him. He shoved his arms straight out over his head and opened himself up to me. I had him; I could do anything I wanted.

I fucked him until my cock was getting sore from the dryness of his asshole. I pulled out of him and stood at the bottom of the bed. He was wriggling his ass now, wanting my cock back. I told him to turn over. His cock was roaring hard. He was tensing his body all over; he looked good. He was a hot little man. I reached for the drawer next to the bed and got out a sheath for his cock. I fitted him in it, tight. The tit clamps were next. He groaned when the ends closed over his erect nipples. got him back on his belly and got his wrists and ankles tied to the bed. I shoved a blanket under his belly and then stood back to survey the scene. What I saw was a beautiful little ass, raised and waiting. I decided what the kid needed was a good-sized fist up his ass.

I shoved a popper up his nose and reached for the Crisco. He didn't object. "You want a fist up your ass?" I asked him. "Yes, sir," he answered, "but please go slow. I haven't done it much."

"Once is enough," I said, laughing. "One fist makes you an expert." I spread the Crisco all over his ass and up his asshole. Two fingers made it inside him easily. Three was no problem.l knew I was moving too fast. I slowed it down a little. I started talking to him. "It's gonna feel good, baby," I said. "A good fist up your ass. Open yourself, baby, relax." All that kind of shit I was saying to him and I like a canal lock.

His asshole fought me for about thirty seconds and then I felt my hand slip inside him. I held still for a while, letting him get used to it. He was groaning like mad; he really liked it. I reached over and got some more Crisco and greased my arm to the elbow.

I clenched my fist inside him and started slowly to move deeper. He wanted it now. He was pushing his ass back against me. I watched my hand move farther and farther inside him. I twisted my fist and then brought it back to its original position. I pushed and another couple of inches disappeared into his ass.

It was at that point, just then, that I heard the voice. "Hey," somebody shouted, "is anybody home?" I stopped in mid-fist-fuck. Who in the hell was that? Why had I left the door open? I leaned down next to Beau. "I'm going to pull out," I said. "Relax it good."

Beau turned and looked at me. "Are you coming back?" he asked.

"You want me back?" I asked.

"Yes, sir," he said. That was just the right thing to say, and the right way to say it. pulled out of him and stood up. He moved over quickly as far as he could and opened his mouth. I put my dick in his mouth and let him suck me. Then I pulled out and walked towards the living room.

I made it down the hallway quickly. "Who's out there?"

I yelled. "It's me," came the answer. "Who the fuck's 'me'?" I asked, getting even angrier. I turned the corner into the living room. "It's me," he said. "I came for the blanket."

Christ, it was my beautiful buddy cop, standing there in all his glory. No uniform this time, unless you call Levis, T- shirt and shit kickers a uniform. He was standing in the door-

I laughed weakly. I felt like a fucking idiot. I was standing there stark naked, my arm dripping with Crisco, my cock still hard. But what the hell, I thought, that was the only way he'd ever seen me. He was used to it, except maybe for the

Crisco. "Do you want to sit down a minute. I'll make you a pot of coffee, I mean a cup. I'll put some pants on …" I was as nervous as a librarian at her first fuck.

"Sure," he said, and moved towards a chair. His ass looked better in Levis than it did in his uniform. Christ, he was one beautiful man. I started for the bedroom.

"What are you doing back there?" he called as I was walk- ing, "Baking cookies?"

I got to the bathroom and got the slop off my arm and then went to the bedroom. Beau was looking at me like I'd deserted him for life. I sat down on the bed next to him. "Look, I got a visitor," I said, "and I don't think he should see you. Just keep your mouth shut and I'll be back with you as soon as I can.

"I have to go to work soon," Beau said.

I don't know why that pissed me off, but it did. I guess it was just that things were getting a little too hectic. I started to get him loose. "Fuck ya, then," I said. "Get your ass out the back window."

He tried to argue, but I wouldn't have any of it. I kept untying him. "I can wait a little while," Beau said finally. He said it in such a way that my heart warmed up a little. He meant it. He really wanted to stay.

I put my arm around his shoulder. "Listen, kid," I said, "we got a lot of time. You come over some other day, you you hear?" He nodded, but he wasn't happy. Shit, why does everything I do have to get sticky with problems?

I got him loose and headed back down the hallway and into the kitchen. I put some water in the kettle and on the fire. I walked back into the living room. "I forgot my pants,"

I said. The cop looked up at me. "That's alright," he said. "It's kind of free that way. You know…" He looked away.

Since it was alright with him, I sat down starkers. I was comfortable if he was comfortable. "You got a name?" I asked. I used my deep, don't-give-a-damn voice.

"Sure. Harry. Harry Vicconti."

"You Italian?"

"A little bit. I'm a lot of things," he said. "I'll bet you are," I said. We were getting nowhere.

"I came for the blanket because they'll charge me if I don't get it back," Harry said. "I mean, it's a good blanket."

1 smiled. Hot damn. Harry was getting nervous. I could tell by what he said and the way he said it. That made me a hell of a lot less nervous.

"You're up early, aren't you? For working at night?" "I couldn't sleep," Harry said. He looked at me and smiled a small smile. His eyes lit up when he did it. He was gorgeous. just made a confession. Maybe he couldn't sleep because he was thinking about me. About my cock. About how my cock was going to be shoved up his ass . .

Just then the kid from the bedroom appeared at the front door. He'd done as I told him and gone out the window, but now he was gesturing like crazy from the front porch that he needed his clothes. They were still in a pile next to Harry's chair. I guess the kid couldn't pedal his ass home in just a jock strap.

"Ah, hell, Beau, come on in," I said after not being able to Harry turned in his chair to come up with any other solution. Harry turned in his chair to see who I was talking to I watched him as he looked. He turned a bright red, slowly, from the neck up. God damn, I couldn't believe it. The fucker was blushing. I hadn't met anybody who blushed in the last five years.

Beau cautiously walked into the living room. He stood next to Harry's chair. "Harry, this is Beau. Beau, Harry," I said, getting angry at the whole situation. The two shook hands. "This is my laundry," Beau said lamely. "I laundry. Beau, get your stuff and get your ass out of here." Beau got himself assembled nervously and then headed for the front door. He got his bike away from the wall and was just ready to take off when he leaned back into the living room. "Don't forget," he said to me, "you owe me a fuck." Then he took off like a bat out of hell.

So it was out in the open. Maybe it was better that way.

Harry and I could have sniffed around each other all day. I looked at him. "I like to fuck guys," I said. "I know that."

"Is that what you're here for?"

"I don't know.

My cock was reaching for the sky. I'd been with a lot of guys in my life, but I wanted Harry more than any of the rest. It wasn't just because he was a cop - that was part of it, I guess — but there was something more. His looks, his body, his attitude. Jesus, I really wanted to get inside that ass. And day." "I didn't think you did. Have you ever done it?" "A few times."

It was a tense moment, and I thought he might just get up and walk out. I didn't want him to do that. It was important to me that he didn't.

I was trying desperately to think of something that would get us on the right track. I had a feeling that the heavy stuff wasn't for Harry. No meat hooks or fist-fucking. And to tell the truth, I wasn't all that interested in that kind of activity with him. Not then anyway. I just wanted to get into bed with him, feel him next to me and get my cock into him. Fuck him slow. All day.

Harry, not me, came up with the solution. Without looking at me, he stood up. He opened the fly on his Levis. His hard cock, nothing elaborate in the size department but beautifully formed, popped out. He looked at me then. "Suck on it," he said. His voice was flat.

I continued sitting where I was. I didn't move; didn't smile. I didn't do anything. "I said suck on it," Harry said. There was a quiver of something in his voice.

"Fuck you," I said. "Get over here and suck on this." I had a hard-on that would have pierced steel.

He stared at me for a couple of seconds. His cock bobbed, I hoped with excitement. Then he dropped his head and I heard him say, "Oh, god." But then he started to move. He got to in front of me and slowly got to his knees. I sat absolutely still. I watched as he moved his face towards me. His hand reached out and took hold of my cock. He moved even closer. His mouth opened and even more slowly, as though it were hurting him, he put his mouth on my cock. I felt him suck it inside him. He wasn't too good as a cock-sucker, but just his doing it got me so hot I almost shot right then. "No teeth," I said. "Just suck on it." I arched my belly and cock up farther towards him. I felt my cock slip down into his throat.

He sucked on my prick for a short time, with his eyes closed, until I reached out and took his head in my two hands. I pulled him away from my cock. He looked up at me. "Shit," he said.

I laughed. "Does that mean it's good or not good?" I asked.

"You know it's good," he said. "Yeah." We both laughed at that. "C'mon, Officer, let's go to bed."

The next four hours were maybe the highlight of my life. It took coaxing but I got into his ass and I rode him three goddamned times. Each one was longer and even better than the one before. I fucked him on his back, on his belly, on his knees, standing up, bent over, on the floor, leaning against the wall. I even got him tied down and fucked him. I sucked him; he sucked me. I licked all over that beautiful body and then I fucked him some more. No poppers, no dope, just the natural high of being together.

After the third come from each of us, we were a little worn out and took a break. I lit cigarettes and climbed into bed next to him. I looked over at his belly. It was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. Hard and defined and tapering down to his crotch. And his eyes … shit, I could talk about him for months.

We were lying there with my arm around him. He was leaning over, I think, and licking on my tit, when the doorbel rang. Somebody is always ringing my doorbell at the wrong time. I looked down at Harry. "I guess I ought to get that," I said. "It's probably the vice squad, l

I walked down the hallway and went to the door. I was feeling too good to think about who might be there. I didn't even consider Jesse and his buddies. Then I opened the door and almost puked. Thomas was standing there. He was wearing only a pair of shorts and his whole body was a mass of welts and cuts, most of which were bleeding. He'd been whipped mercilessly. "My god, help me," Thomas whispered. He was leaning against the wall of the house.

I tried to get his arm around my neck so I could help him into the house, but he was in too much pain. He couldn't even raise his arms. I called for Harry and waited until he got to the living room. "Jesus, what the hell happened?" he asked. "I think it's another practical joke," I said. With one of us on each side, we got Thomas into the house and back to the bedroom. We put him gently down on the bed. the bedroom, we put him gently down on the bed. "I'll call a doctor," Harry said. "No. No doctor," Thomas said. His voice was little more than a whisper. "I'll be alright." "Yeah, in about a year," I said. "Just let me sle shuddering into a drug-induced relaxation.

Harry was the one who found the note. It was a small, folded-over piece of paper, stuck under the dog collar that Thomas had around his throat. Harry opened the note, read it nad handed it to me. "I'm going to help you catch these ass-holes ," he said.

I took the note and read it. It was short, as usual, and to the point. I looked at Harry. I was glad to have his help. The note said: "You're next."

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EPISODE 1: NEW RECRUIT

(0900 hours) Stark-naked and summer-bronzed, the husky young blond snapped to attention. Exhilarated from the up- hill hike, he sucked at the cool mountain air in steady, measured breaths. The clean, spicy scent of Montana forest filled his lungs and sent blood pounding to his temples.

He had followed the letter of instructions carefully - all his clothes and personal belongings were a mile or so down the trail, locked in the back of his jeep. With just keys and application form, he'd made his way up the trail bare-assed to the camp's main gate. His final instruction had read more like an order: Obey the guard on duty!

So, straight as a Great Northern pine, the young man waited patiently before the small guard house with its long, striped pole and sign that demanded "HALT!" Opposite him stood the brawny guard with a clipboard, dressed in a uniform of khaki trousers and black combat boots, mirrored sunglasses and a blinding white helmet with "MP" stenciled on both sides. He was bare from the waist up, with a torso as big around as an oak tree and completely denuded of hair. A black leather strap slung over one shoulder sliced diagonally across his chest and attached to the belt around his narrow waist. When the young man handed him his things, the guard put the keys in his hip pocket, then checked the papers against his list of new arrivals. At the top of the form it read: "Camp Big Timber — An S / M Training Ground for Men. "Name?"

"Buck Doyle."

The guard looked up, scowling. The young man stared nervously at his own reflection where the other guy's eyes should've been.

"Buck Doyle, WHAT!?" "Buck Doyle, SIR!" the young man said emphatically. "That's better. Occupation?"

With a hint of a grin, the guard silently took inventory of the naked recruit: Five-ten or eleven, with shaggy, straw-colored hair. Bright blue eyes. Clean shaven and handsome in that cocky-jock sort of way. Pecs, biceps round and full, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. Stomach rippled as he breathed. Sharp tan lines around hips breatied. Starp tan lines around nips and thighs emphasized his nudity. Muscular legs, bulging with athletic vigor, lightly covered with golden fuzz. His stance — aggressive. Attitude — eager. The guard's silvered gaze lin

Buck's stomach twitched as he said it. Six weeks! He'd read about this place in the classified of an S / M magazine — a summer "boot camp" run by ex-Army guys, crawling with hunky dudes into heavy, wild sex. But now, for the

The guard returned his eyes to the clipboard. "You've been assigned to C Company. The drill instructor is Sergeant D' Angelo. He'll be along any minute to take over your … orientation. Any questions? "No, Sir!" "Then at ease."

While the guard and the new recruit had been sizing each other up, a man appeared on the trail up ahead, jogging toward them. Dark, Italian-looking, with a square jaw and close-cut black hair, he was the kind of man you couldn't call handsome but who had rugged masculine appeal nevertheless. Spotless fatigues and combat boots weren't enough to conceal the massive, powerfully-built body he carried underneath. On his shirt, right over the tit, was a name tag: Sgt. D'Angelo. The guard gave a crisp salute as he approached.

"This here's your new man, Sir."

The sergeant walked a tight circle around the recruit, gray eyes glinting like pieces of flint under the low brim of his cap. He surveyed every inch of the young man's hard, tanned body. Buck stared straight ahead.

"Did ya stamp 'im yet?" "No. Sir." The MP ducked into the guard house and returned seconds later with a rubber stamp and ink pad which he handed over to the officer. "Bend over, boy!" the sergeant barked. Buck bent. With a hard punch, the sergeant stamped "New

Recruit" on his right asscheek.

"Now we'll show you the ropes." Officer and guard both laughed. "Up that trail, boy. NOW!"

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Buck took off at full speed. His new DI brought up the rear, eyes focused on the firm, muscular ass running just ahead of him. The main gate was no longer visible through the tall pines behind them when they broke out into the open on the edge of the camp compound. There Buck saw four long, low buildings forming a quad, and beyond them a parade ground and athletic field. A football game was in progress, and as far as Buck could tell, the players wore helmets, jock-straps, socks and cleats — and that's all. Beyond them was nothing but

"Over there, boy." The sarge pointed to the far side of the quad. "ON THE DOUBLE!"

As they jogged across the grounds between the barracks, Buck's groin began to tingle at what he saw. Humpy dudes were everywhere - standing, sitting, lying around in various stages of undress. Some wore just fatigue caps and combat boots. It was not here in the open sun, and one soldier in just a sweat-soaked olive drap T-shirt sprawled on the grass, napping. He had a raging erection. The men began to whistle and shout at the new recruit, shaking their cocks in his direction and calling out for a piece of his tight ass. "It ain't always so easy here," said the sarge when he noticed that Buck was taking in all the sights. "This is free-time. But there's a lot of hard work, too. You'll see."

On the far side of the quad, Buck and the DI came across two nude guys wrestling like wild-cats in the dirt. A crowd gathered around, shouting encouragement and taking bets. One of the wrestlers suddenly pinned the other on his stomach , and now he was trying to shove his dust-covered prick up his opponent's dry asshole. The man on the bottom howled.

Far-fuckin' out! Buck thought to himself. He wanted to stay and watch the action, but the sarge continued on, rounding the corner of the last barracks, then on around behind it.

Stop here!" the sarge shouted suddenly.

Jerking to a dead halt, Buck once again snapped to attention. They'd stopped near two metal poles planted in the earth about four feet apart, each with shackles and chains. Cement held them in place, and they looked sturdy enough to hold the strongest motherfucker --- no matter what. Sweat began to trickle down Buck's forehead and chest.

"Alright, you piece of shit," the sarge growled. "Git yer ass between them poles! PRONTO!"

Buck followed orders while the DI kicked at his feet, making him spread his legs wide. The sarge clamped the leg irons from the bottom of the poles around his ankles and secured them, then he lifted the young man's arms high above his head and snapped the handcuffs around his wrists. The 'cuffs hung from adjustable chains welded to the tops of the poles. Metal clanged loudly against metal, attracting everyone's attention. After making sure he couldn't get loose, the sarge fixed the chains so that Buck was forced to stand on his toes. Stretched under his own weight, Buck's chest heaved as he sucked in air. The sarge ran his fingers over the taut flesh in silent appreciation .

The strange feeling of helplessness, of being exposed to all eyes and probing fingers sent chills of excitement through Buck's backbone. His blond fuckpole stood straight out from his groin in a posture of attention. When the sarge swatted his low-hanging balls, a grunt of brute desire escaped from his throat.

A knot of soldiers gathered around to watch the show, some standing, others squatting on their haunches. Taking one of the men aside, the sarge sent him off inside the barracks. A few of the spectators displayed stiff meat, and Sgt. D'Angelo, although fully dressed, had a blunt protrusion straining at the crotch of his fatigues. Minutes later, the soldier returned with a small black case.

"OK, hose 'im down." the sarge said.

The same soldier grabbed a rubber garden hose from the side of the whitewashed building, aimed it at the chained recruit, and let him have it full force. Ice-cold water sent spasms through Buck's stretched body. He twisted at his chains, trying to escape the stinging spray while the soldiers laughed at his torment. Water gushed in his face until he thought he would drown. Then the soldier swung the hose lower, tracing a path down the center of his chest and belly until he hit the exposed crotch. The punch of the powerful jet on his nutsac made Buck scream in pain. "STOP!" the sarge bellowed.

As Buck hung there dripping wet and gasping for breath, his face a contorted mask of pain and relief, the sarge pulled a can of shave cream out of the black case and threw it into the crowd.

Lather 'im up, somebody."

A dozen soldiers scrambled for the privilege. Finally, a big hairy guy in khaki shorts and dog tags got the can, walked up to Buck, and squirted lather on him from head to toe. He kneaded the slippery flesh, rubbing the suds all over, paying

particular attention to the blond's cock, balls, and ass. Before he finished, he stuck the nozzle of the can between Buck's

Gagging involuntarily, Buck spat the noxious suds on the ground while the sarge pulled a straight razor from his black case. The glint of honed steel caught the sun and flashed in Buck's fearful eyes.

"All new recruits git shaved their first day," the sarge said. "Keeps 'em in their place." Grinning sadistically, he grabbed Buck's foamy nuts and pulled on them so hard that the recruit had to arch his back to relieve the

Buck didn't dare breathe as the DI scraped the gleaming blade across his scrotum, removing every bit of golden fuzz. Then he shaved the crotch, holding on to the hard pecker which dripped fuckjuice while he cut off all the blond bush around its base. Finished below, he defoliated Buck's head all of it! Working his way down from there, he scraped each armpit clean, then began on the tawny young chest. Buck jerked slightly and winced in pain when the razor passed over his rigid nipples, nicking them slightly and leaving a thin thread of blood. The sarge finished off with his arms, legs, and ass until there wasn't an inch of skin he hadn't gone over.

After the body-shave came another dousing with the hose until Buck was as smooth and slick as a ten-year-old. He stared down at his crotch and was shocked at how it looked without its yellow fur. On the cement below he saw the pile of hair that had once adorned his head, and for the first time his face was hot with embarrassment. There was something about being naked and hairless in front of other men, all of whom

Stepping around behind the suspended recruit, he spread the young man's ass with one hand and rammed in the brass nozzle of the hose with the other. Buck bellowed in pain as the cold metal penetrated the tight muscle-ring, but the sarge kept on shoving until the entire nozzle had disappeared. He left the entire hose sticking out of Buck's smooth butt like a long, black tail. Swaggering back to the side of the barracks, he

He teased the frightened recruit, playing his fingers over the metal spigot, watching the blond's anxious face with amusement. Buck met the DI's steel gray eyes and felt a renewed stab of fear in his gut. Despite the cold shower before, he could taste his own sweat on his lips. Suddenly, the sarge gave the spigot two full turns.

Buck lurched violently. His muscles bulged as he jerked around on the ends of the chains, trying to expell the spurting monster from his butt. A river of ice water filled his guts, his eyes grew hot and wet, and he bit his lower lip to keep from screaming. The soldiers just laughed as they watched the

Just when Buck thought he was going to explode, the water stopped.

Buck panted heavily as the sarge reached between his thighs and rudely yanked the hose out of his ass. He clamped his cheeks hard as the nozzle popped free, his face turned red with exertion. He concentrated on holding the water in while the sarge made all the soldiers line up behind him, single file.

"Each of 'em gets one chance to make you lose it." he said with a smirk. "And you better not let 'em do it, or yer ass is grass!" The sarge hollered "GO!" then stepped back to watch.

The first guy in line gave the recruit's hind quarters a sharp slap. Caught off guard, Buck shook uncontrollably while struggling to keep his stinging ass closed. Then the next guy smacked him. Then the next. Soldier after soldier stepped up from behind and planted a hard palm squarely on his butt. His asscheeks grew red and sore, and handshaped welts etched themselves on the smooth, white flesh. But he held on. He couldn't see how long the line was. He didn't want to know!

When the last man had gone by, the sarge smiled with approval . "You got the makin's of a good soldier, boy." he said. "OK, you can let it out now. Come on, kid. Let's see ya shit!"

Buck had never done that in front of anyone before. His inside screamed for relief, but something kept him from letting go. The sarge walked up and punched him in the belly

With a loud, animal grunt, Buck's body let go by itself. He went slack in the chains while water and pieces of shit spewed out his sore asshole. At least a gallon of murky water splashed to the ground, forming a puddle under Buck's feet. Breathing slow and deep, he went limp. The sarge, meanwhile, unzipped his pants and hauled out his rigid, b

Moving around behind the naked recruit, the sarge stood in the mucky puddle and put the tip of his fuckstick between those burning asscheeks. Buck had no strength left to resist. He hung there helplessly while the sarge wrapped his powerful

The sarge began humping the blond jock like a sex-starved gorilla. Chains clanged against the metal poles as he bounced the new recruit up and down on his hard manfucker all the way to the hilt.

The soldiers cheered. "Fuck 'im, Sir!" "Fuck his ass good!" "Give it to 'im, sarge!" "Show 'im who's boss!"

They all began jacking off, forming a circle around the DI and his bound partner.

"Git up here and cream on the bastard!" the sarge ordered.

Amid whistles and catcalls, they shot their loads one by one, covering Buck's hairless crotch and stomach with their manly juices. When he saw the jism flowing freely, the sarge began to jack Buck off from behind as he continued to fuck his butt.

Buck began to tremble. The sight of all those hunky soldiers draining their cocks on him, plus the hot, hard rod in his ass sent sparks through his taut body. His balls slapped loudly against his wet crotch as the sarge pumped his dick faster and faster. Buck looked down at that big hand wrapped around his cum-covered cock, jacking it wildly. A muffled cry of lust burst from his lungs, and he came. Feeling the contractions around his cock, the sarge squeezed him harder and made one final lunge. "TAKE IT UP THE ASS, BOY! TAKE IT! TAKE IT! I'M CUMMIN'! OH CHRIST! I'M CUMMIN'! I'M CUMMMINN'!"

The DI's bullcock erupted with hot white cream, filling up Buck's cleaned-out guts. Yet he continued to fuck, pumping himself dry into that wild, pulsating asshole. Little streams of jism dribbled down his balls and fell in long, stringy drops to the ground.

When they were all satisfied, the sarge released the new recruit and made him stand at attention in the puddle of water, shit, and cum. "What's yer name, boy?" "Buck, Sir! Buck Doyle."

"Men, meet Buck. Show 'im around camp, but don't be too hard on 'im, y'hear. It's his first day, y'know."

They all laughed. Sgt. D'Angelo shoved his cock back in his pants and walked away. Buck remained at attention, quaking from the incredible aftershocks of sex. The other soldiers gathered around eyeing him, and Buck could tell they were thinking hard about games to play with their new toy. He swallowed hard, and promised himself that no matter what, he would take it like a man.

EPISODE 2: BARRACKS

(1900 hours) By evening of his first day at Camp Big Timber , Buck was ready for a good night's sleep. His orientation that morning had been rough - a complete body shave including his shaggy blond head, a garden hose enema and group spanking, followed by a bear-hug fuck from his new DI, Sgt. D'Angelo. After that, the regular soldiers of C Company put him through his paces for the rest of the day. Endless push-ups in the dirt, hauling garbage, KP, a three-mile run naked and barefoot around the camp perimeter, with more spankings whenever he didn't move fast enough - no wonder he was tuckered out! At evening mess the new recruits ate from bowls on the floor, down on all fours with their asses in the air, exposed to all eyes. Two new guys were there along with

Buck, but they weren't allowed to talk to each other. They were hungry, though, and those three young studs wolfed down a dinner of leftovers like starving dogs.

Yet none of the soldiers had tried to have sex with him, not since that morning with the sarge. Buck wondered about that while resting on the grass after mess, but he couldn't figure it out. The "New Recruit" stamp on his ass meant he couldn't wear any clothes at all, not even boots. And as the sun set behind the Montana hills that firs to get cold. Living without clothes was gonna take some gettin' used to!

He found the barracks with the C Company insignia and went in long before official lights-out to get warm. The long, narrow building was bare inside except for a row of cots along each wall and footlockers down the center aisle. The floor was wooden and rough, the walls unpainted. Bare light-bulbs hanging from the ceiling, surrounded by cone-shaped metal shades, provided the only light. At the far end were the showers, with four showerheads lined up along one wall. Two floor-to-chest urinals, the huge old-fashioned kind, stood opposite. Shitting, Buck learned later, took place in a small clearing behind the camp compound. If you had to take a dump - day or night - that's where you had to go. Soldiers who dug that sort of thing hung around, and many were the horror stories about guys who got ambushed by the SHIT-FUCKERS after dark!

A few soldiers were already in the barracks, clustered around one of the cots playing cards. Buck recognized a couple of them who had been at his initiation that morning. They were all good-looking in their own way, and each was magnificently fit. If nothing else, a stint at Big Timber was a good way to keep in shape!

The men were so intent on their game that they didn't notice Buck as he approached. "Excuse me," he said, standing beside the cot.

No one paid the naked recruit the slightest attention. "Uh… excuse me!"

A big guy whose bare back was turned toward the newcomer slowly swung around. It was his DI, Sgt. D'Angelo! His broad muscular chest, unrestrained by a shirt, was covered with a mat of soft, black fur. Silver dog tags glinted on a chain around his tree-trunk neck. He looked up at the intruder and snarled.

"What d'ya want, dickhead?"

"Uh . . excuse ine, Sir! I … I just wanted to know … where my bunk is," Buck stammered. All the soldiers looked up in surprise. "No one … assigned me a bunk … yet."

The sarge laid down his cards, chuckling to himself. He rose from the cot and stood wide-legged and menacing before the young man whose body he'd shaved that morning. His biceps bulged like knots of iron cable, and his enormous pecs rolled sensuously when he moved his arms. Putting his fist on his hips, he inhaled deeply and spat right in Buck's

The other soldiers grinned and laid their cards down, too. Buck just stood there, spit dribbling down his cheek, not knowing whether to stay or run. "Your bunk!?" the sarge asked incredulously. "You think you're entilled to a bunk!? Did ya hear that, guys? Dickhead wants to know where his bunk is!"

Laughing at their private joke, they rose from the cot one by one and formed a ring around the nervous recruit. There were five of them plus the sarge, who was the only one wearing pants. The others wore jockstraps and / or athletic T- shirts, or nothing but caps and combat boots with thick wool socks. The mood of the room changed abruptly when the sarge's face switched from a grin to a scowl. "Shit, boy! New recruits don't git bunks. Didn't nobody tell you that?

"No, Sir," Buck said sheepishly. He searched from face to face for a sign of friendliness, but all he got in return were hard, leering stares. With automatic modesty, his hands moved to conceal his hairless crotch.

"You don't git no privacy either." The sarge spat the words out. "Not when you piss, shit, or shower. You gotta ask permission. From me! You're my property, understand? Until that stamp on yer ass wears off. Hell, don't even jerk off without asking me. GOT IT!?"

Buck jerked his head up and down. "Yes, Sir."

"YES, SIR!" "GOOD!"

The sarge relaxed and let his hands fall to his crotch. He rubbed himself lightly, reaching underneath to feel those bull- balls dangling in the loose material. "I'm tired of playin' cards," he said: "What d'ya say we have a little fun with our new recruit.'

The other soldiers responded with enthusiasm. "Down on the floor, boy!" the sarge demanded. "On yer hands and knees!"

Buck did as he was told. The sarge rummaged around in his footlocker a bit and came up with a dog collar and leash. The collar was black leather with sharp pointed studs around it. He squatted down and put the collar around the recruit's neck, then attached the leash to it with a metal spring clip. "That's a good boy," he said, patting Buck on his bald head. "You're gonna be sarge's doggie for a few days. OK?"

Buck didn't answer. "I said 'OK?" "The sarge slapped him hard on the ass. "YES, SIR!" Buck barked. "That's better."

The sarge stood up, undid his belt, and dropped his pants. Holding the leash in one hand, he stepped out of the olive-drab fatigues, sat on the edge of the cot, and put his heels up on the metal frame. His hairy crotch was now fully accessible to the attentions of the spirited young recruit. Rolling back slightly on his elbows, the sarge pulle

Staring at the dark crevice inches from his face, Buck inhaled deeply the musky scent of the DI's genitals and ass. Two huge balls hung down in full view, but the squinting target lay hidden in a tangle of black fuzz. The sarge lifted his hips

One of the other soldiers put his hand on the back of the recruit's neck and shoved his face into the sarge's butt. Buck resisted at first, but soon the warm, sweaty smell turned him on. He stuck out his tongue and softly probed the entrance to the man's body.

"That's it, soldier! Stick yer tongue up there and eat it out good! Ahhhhh!"

The sarge groaned with pleasure as he watched the young man chewing at his butthole. Buck was more eager now shoving his wet lickmuscle deep into the musky channel. The soldiers began to jack themselves slowly, and one of them inserted his finger into the recruit's upturned ass, poking roughly at the dry fuckhole. Buck let out a muffled moan, clenching his ass and the probing finger as it wiggled its way deeper into his gut. He attacked the sarge's ass with renewed vigor, burying his nose and mouth completely between those

"OK, boy. Now my nuts." The sarge jerked on the leash. "Clean those nuts like a good dog!"

Buck licked the plum-sized glands in their loose sac, then took them one at a time in his mouth. The sarge began to breathe heavily as his new pet chewed his balls. When his cock was lying hard up against his belly, he pushed the recruit away and stood up.

"Grab 'im!' he ordered.

Two soldiers snatched Buck off the floor while the others threw the mattress off the cot, scattering cards everywhere.

"Down there!"

They threw Buck on the bare springs on his back. Prongs of sharp metal dug into his shoulders and legs, sticking him in the butt as he writhed around. The soldiers held him down while the sarge tied his wrists and ankles to the corner posts with nylon-web straps.

"OK. Let 'im go.

Buck lay panting and spread-eagled on the bare cot springs. A little dazed from the rough treatment, he could focus only on those six hot cocks arching over him. "I get 'im first," the sarge said, kneading his nuts. "Any complaints?"

No one said a word. "Good." He grinned at the naked stud bound to the cot. "Now you'll see what that stamp on yer ass really means, boy. It means you're fair for me and all other comers." He laughed heartily at his own joke. "And we mean to come plenty right now, don't we guys!?" "RIGHT!" they all shouted.

Buck had only a second to think about getting gang-raped before it happened. Straddling both the new recruit and the cot, the burly sergeant squatted on Buck's chest and stuck his the dog you are!"

He rammed the turgid shaft against the young man's lips. Buck stuck out his tongue slightly and touched the throbbing manflesh. The sarge slapped him across the top of the head. "I SAID 'LICK IT,' BOY!"

That's all it took. Buck lapped at the sarge's sweaty tool like he was starvin' for it. "Yea, man! Eat my meat! Lick it good'n clean, boy!"

The soldiers shouted at the recruit, telling him to eat the sarge's fuckin' dick. Suddenly the DI raised up on his knees and plunged his spit-covered fucker down Buck's throat. The blond gagged as the huge rod stuffed his face. Holding on to the bar at the end of the cot, the sarge pumped his ass as he off while their DI face-fucked the new recruit. Then the sarge stopped pumping and held his cock deep in Buck's throat. Buck felt it jerk slightly, then he tasted a drop of warm liquid. Twisting his head violently, he let the gorged shaft flop out of his mouth. The sarge grabbed him by the chin and pulled that handsome face back in line with his dripping piss-hose . Buck clamped his eyes shut a split-second before the beer-tainted piss sprayed in his face. "Piss on 'im, Sir!" a soldier shouted. "Show the dickhead who's boss around here!"

The burly sergeant drenched him completely, rising up on his haunches to wet the recruit's chest and crotch. When he was finished, he stood up and shook the last drops onto the wet wood floor.

"Turn 'im over," he said. The gang of soldiers untied him, rolled him over on his belly, and secured him to the cot frame once again. One guy crawled underneath and worked Buck's cock and balls through the springs until they were free-swinging. "Hey, lookit that," he called to his buddies. "Dickhead's got a hard-on!"

It was true. Buck was quivering with excitement as the soldiers prepared to fuck him. The springs dug painfully into his chest and thighs; but his cock was rock hard just the

His protest only excited the soldier more. He kept it up, using Buck's cock and balls like a miniature punching bag. The sarge jumped on the cot once more, this time straddling the recruit's muscular hams. He spread those taut, white asscheeks, put the crown of his fuckpole against the puckered hole, and shoved. Instantly, Buck forgot about his balls and yelped in pain as the searing organ plugged his dry butt. The men cheered.

"Ride 'im, Sir!" "Yea, fuck 'im good, sarge!"

The sergeant fucked hard, shooting a heavy load of cum deep into the squirming recruit. After he was through, he let the others take their turns. While one plugged him from above, another would pull and twist his swollen cock and balls from below. By the time the last soldier was ready to shoot his wad, the sarge was hard again. He squatted at the front end of the cot and stuck his funky-smelling tool in Buck's mouth. They screwed him from both ends, filling the squealing blond with their sticky balljuice.

Their lust temporarily satisfied, the soldiers untied him and made him lie on his back in the aisle between the rows of cots. More of the men of C Company were coming into the barracks now, and they all gathered around to watch the show. For their amusement, the sarge ordered Buck to jack himself off, flailing his clean-shaven meat like a fourteen-year-old with the hots.

Buck had never been so turned on before. The soldiers were hooting and hollering as he beat his meat for them, when suddenly the sarge yanked his legs up and pulled them over his head so that his cock hung right above his face. "Lick yer dick, boy!" the sarge demanded. "Show the guys here how dogs love to eat their own cum!"

Reaching through his thighs for his cock, Buck began to pump it harder. He stretched his neck as far as it would go until the dripping dickhead brushed against his lips.

"Eat it, kid!" cried one of the spectators. "Yea! Let's see ya cream in yer mouth!"

The soldiers went wild as Buck stuck out his tongue and licked his meat in earnest. The sarge leaned on the back of the recruit's legs, bending his spine into a doughnut and forc- ing the whole crown of his cock in his mouth. Then he slapped the blond's upturned ass in slow march cadence, right below the balls. Buck went crazy. As the sarge's palm heated his ass, his whole body quivered, and with muffled grunts he shot in his mouth.

"EAT IT, DOG!" the sarge bellowed. He slapped the recruit's ass extra hard. "SWALLOW IT! SWALLOW IT

ALL!"

Buck pumped himself dry, gobbling up the torrent of his own manjuice to the cheers of the soldiers. Only when he dropped his head to the floor in exhaustion did the sarge let go of his legs. Stretched out on the rough wooden floor, Buck let drops of jism dribble out the corners of his mouth.

The show was over. The soldiers strayed away to their own cots, some pairing up for the night. Sergeant D'Angelo led Buck off to the showers where he instructed his new charge in the art of cleanliness. Buck wasn't allowed to use soap on himself as he washed off the sweat and piss. It was against the rules, at least until the stamp on his ass wore off. It would take a few days naturally, the sergeant said, and no sense hurryin' it up any. But Buck did get to lather down every inch of the sarge's hard muscles, paying particular attention to the crotch. Squatting on his heels, he rubbed down each of those stallion legs and reached between them to wash the asshole. The sarge just stood there under the warm water and let his new pet clean him from head to toe.

It was just time for lights-out when they left the showers and returned to the sarge's cot at the head of the barracks. Some of the soldiers had begun to get it on, and Buck couldn't help but stare. The sarge took a blanket from his

"You sleep here like a good dog," he said with a grin. Buck sat on the blanket while the sarge tied the loose end of the leash to the bedframe.

"See ya in the mornin'," he said. Then the lights went out. The sarge climbed naked into bed and rolled over while Buck curled up on the floor. Listening to the sex-sounds that filled the darkened barracks, he began to understand a few things about camp. There was some sort of pecking order at Big Timber, a sexual hierarchy tacitly but strictly enforced. And he was at the very bottom! "Learning the ropes," as the sarge had so aptly put it, was gonna take some time!

EPISODE 3: LATRINE DUTY

(0700) Tall and proud in his new olive-drab fatigues, young Buck fell into formation beside his buddies on the parade ground. It was the first day of his second week at Camp Big Timber, and his first inspection as a full-fledged private. The "New Recruit" stamp on his ass had finally worn off, which wasn't surprising with all the use his hind-quarters got from the sarge and the other guys of C Company. His hair was growing back, too. Already it was military length on his head, and an itchy blond bush sprouted anew in his crotch.

The whole camp had spent most of yesterday getting ready for the inspection. Buck himself had slaved for hours, washing and ironing his new uniform so that it practically stood up by itself, then spit-polished his combat boots until he could see his handsome face in 'em. The fatigues were a bit snug in the pants, showing off his hefty crotch at its best, but that suited Buck just fine. A couple of new recruits were there, too. Washed and groomed for the occasion, they knelt beside their temporary masters in naked obedience.

While they waited like statues in the brisk morning air, the drill instructor from A Company wandered by on his way to headquarters. Their own DI, Sergeant D'Angelo, was already with the Camp Commander and his fellow officers. Buck recognized this guy as a mean son-of-a-bitch who was always giving him a lustful eye whenever they crossed paths. Spotting him among the ranks, the DI swaggered up and stood just inches from the young blond's face.

Buck didn't even blink. It was forbidden to move while waiting for inspection.

"Well, lookit here," the burly sergeant sneered. "If it ain't

the little dickhead from C Company, all decked out in his new duds."

"Fuck off," Buck muttered hoarsly.

"You say somethin', soldier?"

The private was silent.

"Say one more word, buster, and I'll have you in the stockade!" The DI spat the words in his face. "As my personal guest!"

Buck was well aware that the sergeant could make good on his threat. And from the stories he'd heard from the guys, being a sergeant's "guest" in the stockade was no adolescent circle-jerk. It was definitely "for Men only!"

Satisfied with his show of intimidation, the sarge pinched the private's nipples through his shirt. HARD! Buck's face screwed up in pain, but he didn't resist.

"You little turd! You think you're such hot shit, don't ya! I'll show you what you are! Unzip your pants!"

Buck stood still as a stone. "Unzip 'em, I said!" The sarge's face was angry red. "AND THAT'S AN ORDER!"

When Buck still didn't move, the sergeant reached down and unzipped 'em himself. Then, undoing his own trousers, he hauled out one of the thickest manjoints Buck had ever seen. He was hung like a beer can - short and super-thick, and against his own as the hot fleshstick slid in against his bare leg-He began to get aroused in spite of himself when a geyser of warm liquid suddenly erupted in his trousers.

The inspection! Buck was horrified, but there was nothing to do as the DI's torrent of piss poured down his leg, making a huge dark spot in his new fatigues. He fought back the desire to punch the bastard in his piggish face, knowing all too well what would happen to him if he did. The sarge just laughed at his frustration as he pulled out his fat hose and stuffed it back where it belonged. "We'll see who passes inspection now," he teased, patting the private daintily on the cheek. Then he turned and left, laughing. A buddy on Buck's right just shook his head sadly. "You'd better scram before anyone sees you like that," he warned. "No shit, Sherlock," Buck snapped, still shaking with anger. But just as he started to take off, the Camp Commander marched across the parade ground with Sgt. D'Angelo and the camp's top brass, plus a brawny MP. He was trapped. They stopped to inspect each company in turn, and Buck's stomach sank to his knees when they came to his. The group of officers halted directly in front of him. Buck could feel all their eyes boring straight through his gut, and he swooned under a wave of nausea. "You piss your pants, soldier?" demanded the Comman-

Buck didn't answer. He couldn't! It was against regulations to rat on an officer, no matter what. Standing there mute and red-faced, he could see the anger in Sgt. D'Angelo's eyes, and knew that he was going to catch hell from him later. "Guard!" the Commander shouted.

The MP stomped up from the rear and stood to one side of the frightened soldier. He was a huge guy - the bodybuilder dressed like the guard at the gate. Just khaki trousers, type - high black boots, and a wide belt with leather strap slung over one shoulder and across his smooth muscled chest. White helmet with the MP insignia and mirrored sunglassed denoted his station. Billy club, handcuffs, and ring of keys hung from his belt, all on the left.

"Take this man to officers' quarters," the Commander instructed. "Latrine duty for the day!"

"YESSIR!" The guard saluted crisply.

At the Commander's signal, Buck was hauled away. The MP escorted him roughly across the parade ground toward the officers' quarters secluded on the far side of camp. Behind the main barracks stood a small gray shed that served as the latrine . Throwing the private inside, the MP followed him in and closed the door.

The latrine was filthy. Flies buzzed in through the open window, the floor was sticky and damp, and the odor of stale piss stung Buck's nose. There were no urinals, just a continuous trough in the painted cement floor at the base of cinder-block walls. Running along three sides of the shed, it was clotted here and there with drains and cigarette butts. The drains didn't work very well. Heavy metal rings were bolted to the walls about three feet off the floor. Five along the far wall, four on either side, evenly spaced. Buck wondered about their purpose, but not for long. or anything in sight with which he could clean the place. And why should he shed his uniform when it was piss-stained already?

The guard grew impatient. "I said strip, soldier-boy!" He grabbed Buck's shirt from behind. Yanking it roughly from the tight-fitting trousers, he pulled it off over the blond's head without unbuttoning it. Then he knocked the private to the floor, unlaced the shiny leather boots, and pulled them off too. Stunned by the fall, Buck didn't re hands removed his web belt and tore open his fly. Easily lifting the young man off the floor, the guard held on to his pants and dumped him naked onto the puddled cement.

"On yer knees, pisshole!"

As Buck scrambled to obey, the guard drew his arms behind his back and secured them with handcuffs. Whipping a leather collar from his hip pocket, he fastened it around the

The muscleman kicked Buck in the ass repeatedly while he scurried into position. He forced the young jock to squat on his haunches, his backbone rubbing against the rough cinder-block and his feet, still clad in soggy sweatsox, resting in the pisstrough. With a heavy spring clip, he hooked the back of the collar to one of the metal rings in the wall.

The situation began to dawn on the dazed private. Latrine Duty! It doesn't mean you clean 'em. It means you are one! That's what the rings were for there were places to hold a dozen guys at once! Buck's imagination exploded in raunchy scenes: Gangs of beer-guzzling soldiers human urinals, naked and bound. Buckets of piss, splashing on the floor, sloshing through the overflowing pisstrough. Belly laughs and gurgling groans. A half-dozen gushing cocks sprav- ing you at once … While it all sank in, the MP clamped a metal ring around Buck's golden balls and fastened them to a tether in the trough with another clip. This done, he stepped back to admire the new pisser.

Buck's position was uncomfortable, but somehow erotic. Squatting like that on his heels, he couldn't move much without either choking himself or pulling on his nutsac with breathtaking pain. He was balanced like a coiled spring, and his muscles bulged with the effort of maintaining equilibrium. The MP licked the sweat off his upper lip, enjoying the sight of the hunky private rendered immobile, dick swinging long and semi-hard, ready for pissgames.

"'Spose I oughta try va out first," he said, reaching in his khakis. Taking a wide-legged stand before the nervous soldier, he played with his hairy copdick, slipping the dark fore- skin back and forth over the crown. "OPEN UP, PISSHOLE!" he growled.

Buck stared at the hunk of uncut meat as a single drop of dark yellow fluid oozed from the slit in the head and hung there like a golden pearl. He slowly opened his mouth to take it when the MP rammed the toe of his boot into his tethered balls. "WIDER!"

Grunting loudly in pain, Buck stretched his jaw as far as he could. Grinning triumphantly, the MP aimed his dripping hose down the private's throat and pissed — long and wet. "SWALLOW IT, YOU LITTLE CREEP! YEA, DRINK MY FU it all. It overflowed his gaping mouth, spilled out the corners of his lips and down his chest. The guard whipped his dick from side to side, spraying the funky liquid all over the naked soldier. Buck was dripping wet and choking from the piss up his nose when he finally stopped.

The MP put his dick back in his pants and zipped up. "Have a good time," he laughed, then gathered Buck's uniform off

the floor and headed out the door.

Buck was left alone to contemplate the whole day ahead of him as a urinal. He shook his head to get the MP's piss out of his eyes and tried to lean back against the wall to relieve the tension in his legs. It wasn't much use. The only good thing was the strange fact that his cock still stood out stiffly.

It wasn't long before the door opened again and in strode a tall, wiry lieutenant whom Buck had often seen around camp. Returning from his usual morning run around the camp perimeter , he wore nylon running shoes and a jock-strap - shorts being unnecessary at Big Timber. Sweat trickled down his hard, angular chest, soaking waistband and pouch of his jock with salty male sex-oils. Sandy brown curls clung to his chest and forehead. He rocked back and forth on long, sculptured legs to relieve the cramps while fondling the swollen pouch of his jock with one hand. "Well, ain't we got a pretty pisshole today!" he said with a broad, toothy grin. He quickly pulled off the jock-strap, stepping out of it with a runner's agility, and let his piss- filled cock flop around freely.

Wasting no time, the lieutenant stood over Buck and put his jockstrap upside-down over the private's head. He pulled the waistband down around the kid's neck and hooked the leg straps over his ears. The V of the crotch was right between Buck's eyes, the odorous elastic pouch completely covering his nose and mouth. Buck could see around it on each side as he looked up at the lieutenant. Strong musky scents filled his nostrils and set his heart pounding. "Hey, jockface! Ya like that, huh?" the lieutenant laughed. "Nice sweaty jock to sniff!" He played with his dick, keeping it in a state of semi-erection as he rubbed the tip against the pouch over Buck's face. "Here, soldier," he said, aiming his rod at the helpless private. "TAKE IT!"

A yellow flood burst from his cock, soaking the jock-strap and Buck's head and shoulders. The lieutenant stepped back slightly and sprayed his remaining piss over Buck's chest and genitals. When the gush turned to a trickle, the lieutenant began to jack himself off.

Buck could hardly breathe. The jock pouch, completely soaked in piss, clung to his mouth and nose, making each breath long and laborous. It was a claustrophobic, yet highly erotic sensation - like drowning in a mist of heavy, pungent piss. His chest heaved with effort as he watched the flopping cock and balls in front of his face. "Wanna see it come, jockface? Huh?" The lieutenant flexed his whole body as his nuts slapped against his fist. "You love t'eat cum and piss, don't ya, soldier! Yea, suck that jock!" He pumped faster while Buck chewed hungrily on the piss- drenched jockstrap. He wanted it, alright! The officer's long dick erupted in spurts of white jism that thick gobs, mixing with the other male fluids that he inhaled with each breath.

Still panting from his strenuous orgasm, the lieutenant re- trieved his jockstrap and climbed into it. "Hope t'see ya around again, soldier," he said almost friendly-like. Then he jogged out the door, bare-assed.

The day passed slowly, blending into a steady stream of hunky officers and their piss-spurting cocks. In between bouts as an unwilling recepticale, Buck tried to ease the distance of the p comfort of his position, but always in vain. Once, when his legs began to twitch violently and the cramps in his toes were unbearable, he slumped down against the wall and nearly blacked out. Forgetting his situation, he raised himself up to ease the pressure of the collar on his windpipe and screamed from the sudden jerk on his stretched nuts. Thus he had to choose which pain he would inflict upon himself at the relief of the other. And all the while his own prick continued to spew out the endless buckets of golden juice he'd swallowed. It just seemed to keep coming while his belly sloshed noisily at every movement.

It was late afternoon, going on mess time, when the Camp Commander entered the latrine flanked by two young men. The officer wore fatigues and boots, but his companions were naked as jaybirds except for studded black dog collars. Extremely muscular guys with stupid, brutish faces, they were the Commander's personal set of "German Shepherds." Each carried a can of beer which they chugged at, and Buck knew

"Untie him," the Commander ordered.

Slugging down the last of their beers, the two young men obeyed orders without a word. They released Buck from his bonds and let him roll around in the puddles on the floor panting with relief. The blood came rushing back into his head and legs, making him dizzy. But when the two guys grabbed at him, and he felt their strong paws on his body, he jerked himself up violently and shook them off.

The Commander laughed heartily. "That's it, soldier. Fight 'em! Tell ya what - if you can out-wrestle 'em both, I'll let ya go here and now. OK?"

Hearing his challenge, the Commander's 'pets' attached the private in earnest. Buck was too tired to fend them off. Sure, he was a big strong boy, too. And he knew that he could've taken on one of them in a fair fight. But both were just too much. He put up a helluva scrap, though, and by the time the other guys pinned him to the cement, all three were red-faced and sweaty.

The Commander chugged at his beer. "Sorry, soldier. Looks like you lost that one!" He leaned against the wall, lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply. "OK, boys, have your fun."

At his signale, the two lusty 'boys' rolled Buck over and pulled him up on hands and knees. While one squatted behind him holding on to his hips, the other scrambled around front and grabbed him by the ears. Buck gagged and groaned at the simultaneous rape of mouth and anus. They plunged their huge cocks in to the root, but they didn't fuck. Instead, they just left their semi-swollen rods buried deep within his trembling body. Then both together, the Commander's dogs pissed in him, filling up the exhausted private from both ends.

The golden screw up his ass was nothing compared to the raunchy stuff in his mouth. Buck could drink no more. He let it splash out over himself and his assailant, which just excited the young stud even more. Pulling Buck up by the ears, he lifted the kid's mouth off his spurting pecker and pissed square in his face. "YAAHOOO!!" he cried, digging the sight of the blond cheered them on from the sidelines.

When the piss stopped flowing, the young men renewed their assault. This time they fucked the private hard and mean until he grunted loudly. The guy behind rammed his cum-squirting organ deep in Buck's ass while his buddy covered his handsome face with heavy, white cream. They came like they hadn't done it for months. When they had drained themselves, the Commander snapped his fingers. "Bring 'im here," he ordered.

Still on their knees, the two studs dragged the panting soldier to their master's feet, holding him up by the arms. The one on the right grabbed his neck from behind and tilted his head upward. The Commander glared down at him, downed muscles as far as they would go while the officer pulled out his cock. Taking a last drag on his cigarette, the Commander casu- ally tossed it into the private's dripping mouthhole!

Screaming in agony, Buck gagged on the hot cinder and tried to eject it with his tongue. He was terrified that it would fall down his throat. The two young men held him tight while a quick splash from the Commander's cock put it out, sending chunks of paper, carbon and tobacco down the private's gullet. Buck drank eagerly now, lapping at the officer's funky piss to sooth the burns in his mouth. When he had drained himself completely, the Commander let Buck go, without a warning about breaking the rules again.

Back in his barracks, Buck was relieved to find out that Sergeant D'Angelo wasn't mad at him. "Don't worry about it," he said. "The guys told me what happened, and you'll be glad to hear that we ambushed the best of who pi bastard who pissed in your pants.

"Buck's jaw spring open. "You what Sir?" The sarge smiled devilishly. "Yep. Me and the guys, we got him tied out in the shirt-pit for the night. We'll see how cocky he is in the morning." They both laughed.

As Buck drifted off to sleep that night, he heard howls and laughter coming from the clearing behind the barracks. Just imagining the dark orgy going on back there, with the DI from A Company as the guest of honor, made him smile with satisfaction.

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ALABAMA

ANNISTON, M. Gemini, 42, 5'9", 185. White,

ANNIS (UN. M. Gemini. 42, 5:9", 185, Whita. 69". Knowledgeable. Heavy bondage. No drugs. Box 358. BIHMINGHAM. S. Scorpio. 50, 5:9". 145, White. 69". Knowledgeable. Shawed head Muster seeks obedient slave for mild S&M, WIS,

ALASKA

ANCHORAGE. S. Capricorn. 25. 6'1". 230. White: Knowledgeable, Professional un-Professional , un- seeks well-White . Knowledgeable. Professional, derstanding, respectful Master seeks v built partner under 30. No fems. Box 052X.

ARIZONA

PHOENIX S. Virgo, 53. 6'2". 180. White, 7". Experienced. Willing and able to train slave over 35 for permanent relationship, Box 0142. PHOENIX S. Leo. 37. 6"2". 180. White, 8". Knowledgeable. Seeks masculine slave to 40 Should be imaginative, versatile. No blood, fats. Box 017Z.

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ARKANSAS

FORT 8". Kr SMITH, S. Leo. 29, 5'9%", 130, White, 8" Knowledgeable, Sensible, selfish, arrogant S wants true M, experienced and sensuous. Must be small and cut. No fems, role-switchers, parasites, permanent relationships, Box 135.

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AVALON, SM. Leo / Virgo cusp. 43, 6" 135. Latin, 64", Novice, Willing to give / accept most Latin 6%". Novice, Willing to give / accept most terms in active / no talk scene with butch partner to 45. Must have boat, good build. No fats, eat, body odor, permente Box 318V.

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CARLSBAD, M. Leo. 43, 5'9½", 175, White, 7½", Knowledgeable, Seeks person 35 to 50 who is experienced, enthusiastic, discreet and respects limits. Box 225.

CLOVIS. S. Capricorn. 38, 6'2" 190. White. 8". Knowledgeable. Muscular, good-looking, intelligent. Seeks muscular slaves to 50 for discipline training. Prefer some body heir. Bald a plus. No dirt., drugs, smokers, heavy dr Box 185G.

CORONA. M. Virgo, 42, 6', 185. White, 6',''. Experienced, Wants to service masuline dudes 20 to 33 with good bods in light kinky scenes, Box 169A.

COSTA MESA, M. Sagittarius, 31, 5'4", 138. White, 6½". Novice, Butch, muscular, good-looking, responsive to other's needs and desires. Wants man-to-man relationship with warm fectionate, dominant partner to 45. Should be well-built, respectful of limits. No fems, dopers, alkies. Box 185G7.

DAVIS SM. Leo. 36, 6'. 190. White, 6". Com- pletely inexperienced. Masculine, take-charge dude seeks partner with thick-shafted, big- headed cock, uncut preferred. No drugs, drunks. Box 132R. grunks. Box 132R. DANA POINT, M. Leo. 35, 6'2", 185, White, 6'8". Novice. Seeks knowledgeable, well-pro- portioned partner into leather, Levis, Western. No fats. Box 18623.

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HOLLYWOOD. S. Sagittarius. 30, 5'10", 150. White, 7". Old hand, Dominant, goodlooking dude digs husky, muscular, well-endowed partners to 39. Should be tall, dark-haired, white.

Smooth dest preferred, box 017J. Hold Lt., Gark-haired, White. HOLL YWOOD. MS. Gemini. 38. 6. 165. White. YWOOD. MS. Gemini. 38. 6. 165. White. YWOOD. MS. Gemini. 38. 6. 165. extreme muscle control. Wants goodlooking man i

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

HOLLYWOOD. M. Pisces. 40, 5'6". 130. White, 5%". Novice. Will give his all to Master who respects limits. No scat, shaving. Box 227.

HOLLYWOOD.*M. Scorpio. 43, 5'10", 147. White, 5%". Knowledgesble, Handsome, willing to try out anything with discreet, masculine, trustworthy partner to 45. Tattoos a turn-on; fats, fems, scat, personal dirtiness are turn-

HUNTINGTON BEACH. M. Gemini. 41, 5'10's", 180. White. 6". Novice. Good-looking. French active, Greek passive to serve trustworthy, respectful partner to 45. No fats violence. 8 per 3190. violence. Box 318A.

IRVINE. SM. Cancer. 34, 6'3". 180, White. 9". Knowledgeable. Dominates with warmth, respect, affection; seeks same. Likes return affairs with white pertner to 40. No blood, bruises, sever pain. Box 186P.

LIVE OAK, S. Gemini, 31, 6', 165, White, 6". Old hand, Experienced Leather Master, specialist in piercing, titwork, genitorture, W / S, FF, bondage, seeks well-disciplined slave for group with other Leather topmen, or scenes will trade slaves for added experience. Box 219M.

LONG BEACH. M. Virgo. 29, 5'10". 150. White, 8". Old hand. Hot and ready to serve totally experienced, good-looking muscular Master to 35 into heavy action. No shit, shaving lenge fats. Roy 078. ing fems, fats. Box 078.

LONG BEACH. MS. Sagittarius, 31, 5'11' 180. White, 7''. Completely inexperienced. Willing to be obedient slave or compassionate Master with respectful partner under 30. No heavy pain, drugs, scars, blood. Box 017Q2.

LOS ANGELES. S. Libra. 40. 5 / 10". 185. White. 6". Knowledgenbile. Attractive, imaginative Studies good top man for obedient, unin-hibited partner. No havy drugs, drunks, tems, fact. Loves and laxx 133. 28. 26". 140. Orient

LOS ANGELES, SM. Taurus, 30, 5'11", 155. White, 7½" Knowledgeable, Heavy action man with right partner who is sure of himself and with right partner who is sure of himself and knows what he wants, what he likes and what the scene will be, 30x, 301. LOS ANGELES. M. Cancer, 41, 61, 155. White. 71. Novice. Leather-lover, bik-covner seeks husty, cleancut

LOS ANGELES. M. Pisces. 35, 5'7". 145, White, 7". Novice. Wants to be totally possessed and dominated by aggressive, well-hung S to 40. Greek passive, French active. Into B&D, groups, dirty talk. No drugs, W / S, FF, pain, f

LOS ANGELES SM. Vigo. 41. 6', 230. White. Completely inexperienced. Will try anything that does not cause bodily injury or excessive pain. Partner should enjoy intimate contact, stimulating discussions, bike riding. Must b

LOS ANGELES, S. Virgo, 34, 6'1", 168, White, 11". Knowledgeable, Intelligent, imaginative, hunky Master seeks virile, well-endowed partners to 50 into leather, drugs, music, FF. No Orientals, redheads, Box 430.

LOS ANGELES, M. 30, 6'1", 190, White, 9½", Knowledgeable, Wants S 45 or older.

59.5". Knowledgeable. Wents S 45 or older. Box 040. LOS ANGELES. MS. Segitarius. Do 15'9". of / the / pisses [×10+]

LOS ANGELES, S. Aries, 38, 5'6", 135, White, 6". Old hand. Seeks masculine, submissive M under 40, No scat, fats, mutilation. Box 018.

LOS ANGELES. MS. Aries. 42. 6'1". 180. White. 6'4". Novice with strong desire to learn. Prefers masculine bodybuilder type with large stack. Rev. 609. cock. Box 050S.

LOS ANGELES. MS. Leo. 42. 61". 165. White, 6". Novice. Willing and eager to learn complete submission, to suffer or cause suffering within limits with reliable partner to 45. No mutilation, physical handicapped. Box 208.

Market [×5+]

MIRA LOMA, S. Taurus, 30, 51", 180. White, 8". Knowledgeable, Tattooed biker wants M who can be prepared for whatever is commanded, Must be masculine, into Levis and Leather, Box 182Z.

MONTEREY, MS. Sagitterius, 48, 5'11", 150, White, 7½", Knowledgeable M / Novice S. Im-Im - aginative, sensitive to partner's needs. Looking for person or group with whom to join in the total physical-emotional S&M, B&D involvement . No fats, dirty types, pain. Box 247.

NEWPORT BEACH. M. Sagittarius. 31. 5'4", 138. White. 6'k". Novice. Butch, muscular, good-looking, responsive to others' needs and desires. Wants man-to-man relationship with samm, affectionate, dominant portner to 45. Sund

NORTH HOLLYWOOD, M. Virgo. 48, 5'8" 145. White. 6". Knowledgeable. Seeks fac- sitters, any race, 18 to 58, but not fats. Like to rim and worship ass and to be mouthfucked. Also likes humiliation, bondage, being used. likes humiliation, bondage, being used. Box 060H.

OAKLAND, S. Libra, 40, 5'10", 170, White, OAKLAND. S. Libra. 40. S to 170. winter. 6'4". Knowledgeable. Experienced, discreet, masculine, good-looking dude, well equipped with toys, seeks slim, submissive partner to 30. Should be clean shaven, clean cut. Box 2500.

052G. OAKVIEW. SM. Cupricom. 44. 6 / 3". 25.5 White 6 / 8". Novice. Virile and versatile, wither to enjoy sox to the highest possible degree with muscular, mature partner 30-50. No drugs, skinnies, Box 170. PALM SPHINGS. M. Le offs Box 3182.

PALO ALTO, MS, Virgo, 44, 57", 155, White, 7" knowledgeable, Uninhibited, obedient, Into anal action and WS. No fems, fats, boozers, Will travel, Box 206.

PACIFIC GROVE, S. Virgo, 28, 58", 210. White, 052"

PALO ALTO, M. Scorpio (Sun, Moon, Venus). 38, 6', 145, White, 7", Novice, Hot trim body- 38. 6'. 145. White, 7''. Novice. Hot trim body- builder with firm tight ass into B&D, W / S, tit work. Seeks sensitive, masculine, affectionate, honest partner to 45 with well-proportioned body for bizer-but-not-heavy scenes

SACRAMENTO. S. Gernini. 32. 6'2". 170. White. 6" Novice. Will genuinely consider any fetish or lantasy other than Nazi regalia. Set for 8&D. W.S. scat. FF. etc. Will M at times. Slender or muscular, butch or fem, tall or n Long hair a plus, straight long hair more so. 30s, 20s or less. Liquor fine but prefer no hard 30s, drugs or cigarette smokers. Box 184.

SACRAMENTO. Ms. Cancer 39, 6'1", 225, White, 6%", Knowledgeable, Prolonged bondage and training, Box 296A.

SAN DIEGO, M. Aries, 43, 5'10%". 190. White Novice. Bondage, No drugs, Box 340.

No fats, ego trips, fems. Box 180S.

SAN FRANCISCO. S. Cancer. 38, 5'8", 130, Black. 51 / 8", Novice, Former M wishes to work out S fantasies with inexperienced partner born on the 21st of any month. Body hair a must. No forms, forts, blonds. Box 032. SAN FRANCISCO MS. Scorpio. 31, 6'1".

SAN FRANCISCO MS, Scorpio, 31, 61". 165. White. 6½". Novice. Obedient, trusting, willing to experience with limits. Wauld consider S role only under direction of experienced S. No heavy S&M, fems, fats, over 45. Box 084.

SAN FRANCISCO. S. ARies. 32. 5'6\%''. 148. White. 6\%''. Old hand, Fair but dominant Master seeks obedient, trustworthy slave ready to serve completely without question. No cry-babies , pretend slaves, drugs. Box 290T.

SAN FRANCISCO, SM. Pisces, 44, 5'8", 135. White. 8' '. Knowledgeable. Seeks partners into full leather, motorcycle cop boots and bree- ches, sex. Sincere, honest replies only. Will switch roles for true leather and sex guys. Box 314A.

SAN FRANCISCO M. Virgo, 40, 5'10", 200. White, 9". Knowledgeable. Enjoys being spanked with hand or strap by masculine men over 50. The older the better. No physical filth. Box 294V75.

SAN FRANCISCO. M. Pisces. 30, 5'10", 150. White. 8". Novice. Macho appearing, appreciative submissive with small hairy ass and tattoos

RUMMER 56

hunky, masculine, hairy partner to 45 mill respect limits. No fems, bottoms. Box 3180

FRANCISCO, S. Virgo, 39, 6'2", 175 175 and for scenes in tight black leather. Hooded est wanted to give head and more to this proycle-riding, leather crotch man. Slaves ald be well-stocked with LUST and must be ench active. Greek passive with a madness masochism, leather felish, bondage, some ling and ritual. This is a decadent space and rittal, this is a becadent space and in a black room warehouse. I get off codpiece pants, leather breeches, high hoods, gloves. Have BMW motorcycle. sety bottoms need apply. Box 184F. FRANCISCO. SM. Sagittarius. 55. 5

White, 5". Knowledgeable, Riding breeches inhist seeks same to 35. Fetish most impor-

No fems, women's clothing. Box 205P. FRANCISCO. M. Gemini. 27. 6'. 150. 6'.'' Novice. Will supply Master with sous mouth and ass. Eager to be trained to 61 / 4". Master in exactly the way he wants to be Wants long scenes with bondage and on, preferably from Oriental or Master to 45. No fats, pain for its Wiation. sake. Box 240.

EAN FRANCISCO, MS. Virgo, 31, 5'8", 155. 6¼". Novice. Masculine, good top or to please the most discriminating. 6%' waist, seeks young well-built companion develop S&M and bondage roles. Limits Limits ected and expanded with imagination and ection. Photo and details assure prompt relite. I". Knowledgeable. Enjoys giving deceiving rough sex with clean-cut, straight-paring partner to 40. Should have good be well-endowed. No ferns, fats, red-

scotteres [×16+] over and uniform worshiper craving heavy sical and mental obedience training under cent, demanding, hirsute, trustworthy disci- scian. No scat, blood, permanent damage. Box 377.

EANTA ANA. SM. Cancer. 29. 5'8", 130. inte. 6½". Knowledgeable. Good-looking, sculine man seeks well-hung, trim studs for wiledge and limit expanding sessions. Look- as for top men, bottom men, men who enjoy both. No seat, blood, bruises, brutality. Main zere is bondage and C / B torture, but will maider almost anything else. Sand informative emer and name your game. Photo. Box 380.

SHERMAN OAKS, SM. Libra, 35, 5'6", 130, White, 7 Novice. Seeks knowledgeable, under-manding partner under 50 who respects limits. ats, Box 181T.

FUDIO CITY, MS. Scorpio. 32, 5'7%", 160.

E. 5'8" Knowledgeable. Seeks understand-partner who wants a relationship out of bed well as in. No blacks, dirty bodies. Box

BUNNYVALE, MS. Virgo, 30, 6', 180, White. Novice. Imaginative, masculine, intelligent, schonate. Seeks considerate, understanding, sinative, firm, military oriented partner 30. No W / S, scat, heavy drugs, permanent ury. Box 085.

LOS ANGELES, SM. Scorpio. 28, 6'2". MEST 90. White, 6%". Novice, Adventurous, strong, achievement-oriented, seeking understanding, et, affectionate partner to 40. Beards, hair, muscles a turn-on. Caucasian only, niserree! no fats. Box 310.

COODLAND HILLS, M. Pisces, 40, 5'9%".

S. White, 8", Enjoys C&B action, catheters, memas, serious sex by controlling Master. Three-ways OK, Box 132M.

COLORADO

ASPEN, 'S. Pisces. 26. 5'11". 150. White. 6" adsome, well-built intelligent S seeks muscu- mature M for spread-eagled bondage and L Looks unimportant; musculature and are. Will consider relocating, particular-to Hawaii. No role-switching, slobs or weak- gs. Box 318R. y to Hawaii.

DENVER. M. Aquarius. 24. 5'8". 150. White. Knowledgeable. Sincere leather lover digs police scene. Wants to get into prolonged total bondage, dog and toilet training. Willing to experiment and correspond. Box 110. DENVER, MS. Scorpio. 28. 6'3". 195. White.

Completely inexperienced. Prefers partner 28 for mutual fulfillment of fantasies with om to learn or who will teach well, respect mg limits. Also wants to correspond with / meet others into wrestling movies, etc.

DAHO SPRINGS.* MS. Libra. 43, 5'9". 147. Knowledgeable, Masculine, well-White , 7%" construction man will do anything to sa- may a Master, knows and respects limits but will experiment. Has fantasy-trip location and equipment for sessions with masculine, sincere, heavy-hung guy to 45. Prefers rugged, outdoors type and will consider permanent relationship. No fems, fats, hustler, dopers. Box 213.

CONNECTICUT

GREENWICH. S. Cancer. 45, 5°11", 160. White, 6". Heavy leather scene. Has fine leather toys, seeks macho partner who knows how to serve. No phonies, fats, fems. Box 051E.

LEBANON, MS. Sagittarius, 36, 6'1", 190 White, 7". Knowledgeable, Imaginative, muscular , attractive, heavily into bondage and most scenes. Seeks Master or slave to 45 with good scenes, Seeks master or slave to 45 with good body, Box 300. MYSTIC, S. Aries, 50s, 5'10", 175, White, 8". Old hand. Experienced top man will train sexually uninhibited, honest partner to 50. No drugs, phonies, dullards, f

145 NEW HAVEN MS Gemini, 23, 5'11" White, 6". Novice, Has sincere desire to learn both roles from knowledgeable partner to 35. No drugs, freaks, redheads. Box 1680.

NEW LONDON AREA, S. Aries, 50, 5'11", 180. White, 8", Experienced leather Master available. Top man, Most willing to go into genitorture or whatever. Limits respected and expanded. Good judgment and discretion assured, Box 329.

STAMFORD, SM, Virgo. 26, 5'7". 158. White. 87". Knowledgeable, Gives slave what he needs with care and responsibility. Prefers bottom. Seeks partner 35:50 for give and take relationship, possibly permanent. Must be mature, responsible, capable of feeling as well as fats, hustlers, alcoholics, unstable types No

Box 326. WEST HAVEN. M. Capricorn. 21. 5'10". 140. Chinese. 6". Knowledgeable. Obedient, willing to learn. French active, Greek passive. Will wer restraints, harnesses, clemps, etc. Seeks knowledgeable, dominant, understanding partner with own living quarters and equipment. L / L scenes, white a plus. No fems, heavy S&M. Box 052E3.

DELAWARE

WILMINGTON, SM. Virgo, 41, 5'11", 185. White. Knowledgeable. Compatible with most people, seeks partner to 50 who truly enjoys wearing (not just owning) boots, leathers, wearing (not just owning) boots, leath Levis. No fats, slobs, under 5'6". Box 062H.

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA

WASHINGTON. SM. Sagitarius. 33. 5'7". 130. White. 10". Knowledgeable, Very interested in a variety of sexual experiences and willing to try them with mature, uninhibited partner, 45 to 50 preferred, No fems, fats, long hai

WASHINGTON, MS. Libra, 30, 5'10", 168, White, 6%", Novice, Adaptable in either role to the desires or demands of understanding part- ner to 45. Large endowment, muscular pre-ner to 45. Large ferred, Box 125K5.

WASHINGTON, SM. Leo. 42. 5'10". 165. White. 6" S&M story-writer anxious to cor respond with guys willing to tall him about their hot times. Interested mainly but not solely in real-life group scenes: frat initiations, bett brig / stockade brutality, prison reform, mili- tary interrogation, hazing, etc. Box 017M.

WASHINGTON. M. Sagittarius. 54. 5'6'4". 182. White. 6". Novice. Relishes being sub- servient to decent, good looking, mature, servient to decent, good looking, mature, well-educated, well-endowed Master who is sincere and has a sense of humor. Prefers cut under 36. No beards, redheads, professionals, hairy bodies. Box 2275.

WASHINGTON. S. Pisces, 35, 5'10", 145. White, 10", Hairy, masculine, super macho Italian looking for hairless / near-hairless well-built butch M to 35 who has endurance and can really please a stud. Want someone into B&D, W / S, etc., but will respect limits. I am stable and intelligent but arrogant enough to cominate both physically and mentally. Blonds a real plus. This could be a regular or permanent relationship . Willing to correspond for further meeting. Send frank letter. Photo a must. Box 220F

FLORIDA

COCOA BEACH, S. Capricorn, 59, 5'6", 155. White. Knowledgeable. Open-minded, willing to please. Box 360.

FT. LAUDERDALE. M. Aquarius, 28, 5'10". 135. White. 7". Novice. Wants control and training from manly, respectful Master to 40 with imagination. No fats, fems. Box 124.

FT. LAUDERDALE. MS. Leo, 32, 5'9", 160. White bodybuilder-31"waist, 43" chest, 17" arms-seeks same or natural builds. No fats or fems. Eager to find those into giving scat and W / S only, L / L, Box 249.

FT. LAUDERDALE, M. Pisces. 43. 6'2". 160 White, 6". Novice, Will obey and completely serve dominant, masculine disciplinarian to 45. Beards, tattoos a plus. No scat, FF, Box 346.

FT. MYERS. S. Libra. 28, 5'6", 136, White. 8". Knowledgeable, Masculine, well-built, at- tractive stud seeks muscular, well-endowed partner. Other bodybuilders, Marines pre- ferred. Box 294V50.

HIALEAH, SM. Pisces, 32, 5'8", 165, White. 6". Knowledgeable. Experienced in both roles to go as far as partner's experience permits. Partner should be well-built, over 28 not in Miami or Ft. Lauderdale. No fems, fats, long- hairs. Box 009. HIALEAH S. Sagittarius. 32, 5'11'. 180. White 8'' Knowledgeable. Will provide skillful application of pain / pleasure and fulfill fantasies of muscular, deep-throated partner to 40 into long sessions. No fats, shit, burning or cutting. Box 136.

HOLLYWOOD, M. Libra, 24, 5'11", 155, White, 7½", Into B&D, W / S, Would like good-looking butch Master under 35 for discipline, training, permanent relationship. No fats, blacks, fems, hardcore S&M. Box 369.

JACKSONVILLE, M. Taurus, 33, 5'7", 140. White, 7". Knowledgeable, Exceptionally good-looking , enjoys lots of ass action with mascu- line partner to 45 into fantasy trips. No scat, needless brutality. Should be well-endowed. Box 309M

JACKSONVILLE, SM. Libra, 26, 5'11", 155. White, 6". Novice, Attractive, masculine, highly sexed dude wishes to expand experiences with tolerant partner to 45 respectful of limits. No fems, fats, ego trippers. Box 051A.

JACKSONVILLE. S. Sagittarius. 46. 6'. 150.

White. Novice. Thorough, patient, respectful follimits and tolerance. First and foremost a foot fetishist. No fats, gross personalities.

Siender, sexy feet a plus. Box 159. LAKE WORTH, SM. Pisces. 36. 6'1". 175. White, 8". Old hand. Can endure much in either role and wants no-nonsense partner who knows what he is doing. Into heavy S&M, regular sex. No fems, amateurs. Box 1251.

MIAMI, M. Aries, 48, 5'9½", 155, White, 8½", Knowledgeable, Will submit to and serve rugged, masculine partner to 50. Funky, hairy, sweaty a turn-on, Blacks, straights preferred but sveaty 4 union. Backs, adaption in not necessary. No fems. Box 059. MIAMI MS. Leo. 39, 5'11", 170. White, 6%". Knowledgeable. Will serve hunky, bearded Master to 40 who respects limits and can give love, dominance. Should dowed, masculine biker. No fems, fats, alco- holics, drugs. Box 260.

SATELLITE BEACH. S. Virgo. 47. 6'31 / 2". 175. White, 7". Knowledgeable, Will provide any ex- perience desired with respect and understanding of limits. Reliable, trustworthy. No fats, fems, hard drugs. Box 199. ST. PETERSBURG BEACH. M. Taurus. 42. 6

222. White 6" Novice. Passive with high pain threshold. Will serve a knowledgeable Master who respects limits. No heavy booze, drugs. Must be clean. Box 062L.

GEORGIA

ATLANTA. S. Capricorn. 38, 6'4", 175,White. 8", Old hand. Experienced to teach young man to 25 who is butch in appearance and wants training from partner understanding of limits Box 009D.

ATLANTA. SM. Leo. 40: 5'8". 135. White Novice. Sensitive to partner's needs, body signals, limitations. Seeks partner 30 to 55 able to entertain. Travels frequently to California , Texas, Florida, major Eastern cities, No fats, drunks, Box 052R

LITHONIA, M. Cancer, 48, 5'11", 153, White. 6". Knowledgeable. Seeks young, willing part- ner of medium height. No fats. Box 220P.

HAWAII

HONOLULU, M. Aries, 41, 5'10½", 154, White, 7". Knowledgeable, Needs strong, well-built Master to enforce slavery, Racks a special fantasy. No fats, drunks, drugs. Box 017P.

IDAHO

BOISE SM. Taurus. 42. 6'1". 150. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Tolerant, patient, intel- ligent, will respect limits fully of slender, light-complected partner to 50. Should have little or no body hair, be into suspension and/ or spread-eagle bondage. No fats, scat. Box 052F8.

ILLINOIS

ALTON, S. Capricorn, 35, 6', 170. White, Knowledgeable, Versatile, muscular, hunky Stud seeks partner to 35, Should be clean-cut , no fats. Box 159M.

BERKELEY, MS, Virgo. 32, 5'8", 175, White. Completely inexperienced. Imaginative, 6%" willing to experiment with virile, good-looking, butt Master 18 to 40. No drunks, drugs, dirt, heavy S&M, Box 0702. CHICAGO, S. Aries, 27, 6', 180. White, 6½'', Knowledgeable. Demands and will reward Knowledgeable. Demands and will reward respect and obedience from submissive partner humiliated by assertive, attractive partner under 40. Box 300Y

CHICAGO, SM. Capricorn, 37, 6'6', 220. White, 7', Strong S / Novice M. Mazculine Enjoys giving pain. As M. moderate pain a turn-on with very macculine partner, Should be fall, well-built, experimental, under 46, have good se

CHICAGO M. Capricorn, 47, 5'6", 160, White, 6". Knowledgeable. True M into heavy B&D has high pain tolerance. Seeks knowledgeable, masculine partner to 40 who knows what he's doing. No role-switching, fats. Box 342.

CHICAGO, MS. Cancer, 31, 6', 162, White, 6". Completely inexperienced. Intelligent, respects limits, will do anything with / for intelligent, understanding partner to 50. No selfish, uncaring, unfeeling. Box 010.

CHICAGO. M. Cancer. 39, 5'11", 185. White. Knowledgeable. Seeks bodybuilder type up to 45 able to totally dominate. Must be masculine, clean, straight in appearance. Box 052Z1.

CHICAGO, M. Taurus. 34. 5'10%". 195. White. 7½". Knowledgeable, Wishes to meet Master who likes to be served, knows how to get service. Past training allows for thoroughly experienced M in all facets except scat. Groups can be arranged. No fats, drugs, drunks. Box 070Y.

CHICAGO * MS. Gemini, 25, 6'1", 180, White, 7½". Knowledgeable. Weightlifter with an understanding and tolerance for pain seeks ath- letic, well-built, hairy partner to 40. Should be into bondage and rough sex but know when to No ferns, fats, drunks, cigarette smokers. Box 180X.

CHICAGO. SM. Scorpio. 38. 5'11". 175. White. 8". Knowledgeable. Adaptable, experimental. Partner must be interested in mutual pleasure. Big balls, hairy chests a plus. Box 181S.

CHICAGO. M. Aries. 29, 5'10", 175. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Enthusiastic and willing to try almost anything with levelheaded partner in good physical condition. No fems, fats. Box 186Z.

CHICAGO, SM. Sagittarius, 30, 5'11", 160, White, 7\%". Knowledgeable, Will switch roles for right partner to 40. Should be above average in looks, build, endowment. Must be clean, respectful, discreet, willing to switch. Box 228A.

CHICAGO, S. Cancer, 32, 5'11", 160, White, 6'4", Knowledgeable, Experienced Master with gentle style suitable for training novices as well as expanding limits of experienced slaves into bondage, S&M. Must be clean, discreet, mascu- line. Box 294V.

EVANSTON, S. Scorpio. 46, 5'11", 175. White, 6", Knowledgeable, Turned on by high, heavy BOOTS and wants slave with same strong interest for mutually booted sessions. Respects limits. No fats, fems, hard drugs. Box 017R25.

LANSING. M. Taurus. 32, 5'10", 155, White.

Knowledgeable. Into leathersex with masculine partner over 30 who is REALLY the Master. No long hair, fems. Box 294V15. with

MAYWOOD, S. Gemini, 45, 5'11", 190, White.

MAYWOOD. S. Gemin. 45.5'11". 199. White. 82". Completely inexperienced. Seeks clean, clicrest partner. Box 142. 142. 150. White. 62". Novice. Nice tight hot ass, good muscle control. Needs to please, worship, service, tattoos, large endowment, rugged biker

5'8" SPRINGFIELD, MS. Aries, 51, 5'8", 170, White, 5'4", Knowledgeable, Wants to meet muscular hairy men for bondage, 30-50 pre- ferred, Box 335. WHEATON, M. Scorpio, 35, 5'10", 195. White, 8". Novice, Training and reducing to better serve and please you, Sir! Box 160.

INDIANA

FORT WAYNE. S. Taurus. 37. 5'11". 157. White. 7½". Old hand. Masculine, dominant, levelheaded, athletic guy with experience in a variety of activities seeks trim, well-proportioned, emptionally stable partner to 40 with re heavy drugs. Box 369P. INDIANAPOLIS, S. Libra. 35, 6', 150, White.

7". Old hand, Very demanding but considerate Master heavy into S&M, bondage, humiliation with mature, dependable true slave to 45 chickens, beginners or those unable to follow complete domination, Box 132F.

INDIANAPOLIS AREA, M. Aquarius, 43, 6', 170. White, 7". Knowledgeable, Imaginative, responsive and discreet. Into leather bondage scene, groups a turn-on. No fats, fems. Correspondence invited, exchange photos and experiences. Box 150M. INDIANAPOLIS. S. Virgo. 45. 6'3". 190.

White, 6%", Novice, Firm, understanding

Master seeks clean, discreet, masculine partner anywhere in U.S. Must be under 35, Blond, uncut preferred, Box 180Q.

IOWA

CEDAR RAPIDS, S. Sagittarius, 29, 6'3", 160. White, 9". Novice, Possessive, confident, enjoys giving help, security, and guidance to someone who shows appreciation with respect. No one over 30 or overweight. Box 193.

KENTHICKY

COVINGTON. S. Virgo. 35, 6'4", 190, White. 7½". Old hand, Well-built stud into hot, sweaty pain trips, oil. Well-built, white only to 45. Box 153H.

LEXINGTON, S. Leo. 39, 6'1", 197, White, T. Knowledgeable, understanding. Partner must be experienced, smaller, straight appearing, educated, discreet, without conscience conflict in these and related matters, over 25. No fems, fats, dopers, suicides. Box 258.

LOUISIANA

BATON ROUGE. S. Leo. 28. 5'10". 170. White, 8". Knowledgeable, Good top man enjoys satisfying slave's real desires. Must be at least 8", masculine, Box 047W.

HARVEY SM. Leo. 42. 6'. 215. White. 7'.''. Novice. Firm but gentle, understanding of partner's likes / dislikes. Seeks similar into role- parties sittes / asinks. Seeks antifer mit order switching. No fems, drunks. Box 1302. NEW ORLEANS. S. Gemini. 44. 61". 195. White. 6". Knowledgeable. Prefers young (21-30), good-looking proportionately built Ms who are tota fats, suicidal, unstable or dishonest persons. Box 305

NEW ORLEANS, M. Scorpio, 32, 5'7". 140 White 85". Novice, Pleasant, intelligent, self-confident, sensual, REAL man, a stallion to be tamed by domineering, proud, masculine partner to 40, Should have good body, intelligence, endurance, large endowment. Box 162.

MARYLAND

WANTLAND ADELPHI / HYATTSVILLE. M. Aquarius. 40, 6'6'. 235. Black. 10". Novice. Bodybuilder seeks knowledgeable bodybuilder Master who respects limits and will train. Under 45, white preferred. Must have sincere understandin

HYATTSVILLE. M. Cancer. 49, 172, White. Knowledgeable, Good cocksucker for clean 8" cut white partner who can take it easy. Must be sober and discreet. Box 125L.

LANHAM, SM. Sapittarius, 36, 5'9", 180. White, 6'4". Knowledgeable, Sever Master will strain to but not beyond limits, Has unusual endurance in M role, Seeks partner to 40 willing to work toward increasing mutual endurance . No psychological S&M, fats. Box 016.

ROCKVILLE. Aries. 34. 6'. 170. White. 5''. Novice. Not into S&M but totally into Leathersex. Seeks slim, smooth, leather-loving partner to 35. No fems, fats, balds, egocentrics, rightwing, heavy S&M. Box 367.

SILVER SPRINGS, MS, Taurus, 51, 5'5', 170, White, 7'4" Into French, Greek, W / S, rimming, enemas, wants to learn more about B&D, whathaveyou. No FF, scat. Box 121.

MASSACHUSETTS BOSTON, M. Gemini. 29. 6'. 190. White, 8''. Wants to feel used and satisfy hairy, husky, demanding Master to 50. Box 232. demanding Master to 50, Box 232.

BOSTON, S. Gemin, 31, 62", 156, White, 8".

Knowledgeable, Seeks fully submissive M to 35 willing to give himself over to natural, attsylving, highly sexed S. Must have good ass and BOSTON

BOSTON, S. Aries, 42, 5'10", 150, White, 6", Knowledgeable, Seeks partner over 18 for strict discipline and prolonged bondage. Same size or smaller, smooth body. Must submit to pubic shaving and being owned, WASPS especially welcome, discretion assured, long-term relationship possible, Box 253.

BOSTON, SM. Scorpio, 47, 5', 170, White, 8". Knowledgeabla, Hunky, experienced.Imaginative stud seeks partners under 50 into 8&D, WIS, GT. Has equipment but no suspension facilities. Box 067.

BOSTON, SM, Taurus, 48, 6'1", 200, White, 6'4", Knowledgeable, Firm, demanding, strict, strong S will thoroughly punish well-built

country / of / the [×4+]

CHICOPEE, SM. Aquarius, 37, 6'2", 180, White, 6", Knowledgeable, Has strong desire to dominate well-endowed partner in 30s or 40s. Light to moderate scenes only; no heavy stuff, Box 369D.

LEOMINSTER, SM, Taurus, 28, 6', 165, Black, 7". Completely inexperienced. Would like to master large, discreet partner to 40. Should master large, discreet partner to 40. Should have good testicles, body hair, muscular body. No drugs, tens, fats. Box 023M. No drugs, tens, fats. Box 023M. Sign. 160. White. Sign. Completely, insepareimend but imaginative. graphically convenient. No fems, heavy maso- chism. Box 005.

WORCESTER. S. Libra. 36. 6'1". 190, White. 10"+ Knowledgeable. Firm Master demands experienced slave under 35 to satisfy every need. Moderate to heavy pain tolerance and masculinity a must. Box 286.

MICHIGAN

ANN ARBOR, M. Aries, 23, 5'8", 130, Black, ANN AHBUR, M. Artes, 23, 98 - 130, Blasson, 65°. Novice: Enthusiastic, imaginative, willing to learn from cool, confident, open-minded well-endowed partners to 45. White preferred. No fats, violence. Box 304N. BAY CITY. M. ing by experienced S under 35, Box 045.

BERKLEY S Virgo, 33, 5'6", 135, White, 8½". Knowledgeable, Firm Master demands obedient experimental Slave, No balds, fats, descripting 28, 10,6750. dominants. Box 052D.

DEARBORN HEIGHTS, S. Pisces, 43, 6', 160. White, 7". Knowledgeable, Has ability to command and get things done, expects obedi- ence and gets it or else! Seeks tall, handsome, well-endowed partners to 40 into Levis, leather. western. No fats, fems, phonies, red Must be clean, in good health. Box 1850. redheads.

DETROIT AREA. SM. Gemini, 27, 5'11". 165. White 5'". Novice. Leather / bondage enthusiast digs leathermen, bikers, uniforms. Will do anything to or for a real uniformed leawmen. Prefer partner willing to awitch roles. Discre Box 051M.

BOX USTM. Libra. 26, 5'10". 160. White. 8". Knowledgeable. Professional man respects limits of psychologically sound partner who knows what he wants. Should be 25 to 40, wall-built. No fern, insensitive persons. BOX 15544. TEAM

DETROIT. SM. Scorpio. 34, 5'10", 155, White. 6%", Cut. Reesonable Master with equipped house; bondage, S&M a must. Box 340B.

HILLSDALE, SM. Pisces, 30, 5'10", 150. HILLSDALE. SM. Pices. 30. 510°, 150. White. Completely inexperienced. Imaginative and intelligent, seeks discreet, educated Caucasin partner to 33. No redhoods, fats, dirty or uncount types. Box 226. LIVONIA. M. Virao. 58. be masculine. No public humiliation, full leather dress, excessive material demands. Box 348.

MARQUETTE, SM. Leo. 28, 6'1", 180, White, 7". Completely, inexperienced. Imaginative, semi-muscular. Seeks muscular, understanding, versatile partner into leather, western, uniforms , Box 008, MARQUETTE, MS. Aries, 25, 6'1".

168. White 7" Completely inexperienced Virgin ass. Will obey good teacher who is a real man and straight in appearance. No fems, drugs.

MIDLAND, S. Taurus, 25, 6', 165, White, 6', 'Knowledgeable, Young MIDLAND, S. Taurus, 25. 6'. 165. White, 65'. Knowledgeble Young, aggressive, versatile, will try anything at least once with butch M to 45. Moustache, beard, hairy belly turnons. Into cock, ball, ast work. No fens, fats, s

MINNESOTA

MANKATO, M. Aquarius, 37, 6', 190, White, 6'," Novice, Seeks imaginative interrogator in Minneapolis-St. Paul area willing to experiment with old and new methods to extract information. Digs genital toys. High pein threshold, Box 066. threshold, Box UBB.

NEW PRAGUE, SM. Pisces, 40, 5' 11", 200.

White, 7". Completely inexperienced, Wants to learn from and seek new pleasures with muccu- lar, clean-cut, powerful yet gentle Master to 40. No hippie or dirt or orig users. Box 450. ST, PAUL, M. Sagittarius. 39. 6'1"' 165. White, 6". Novice. Eager and willing to please firm, \nexperienced, discreet, understanding Master to 45 who will respect limits. No fems, role- switching

MISSOURI

WISSOUH COLUMBIA, SM. Gemini, 25, 5'11", 165, White, 55", Novice, Leather / bondage enhusi-ast seeks straight-appearing partner who is discreet, will switch roles. Bikers, uniforms a plus. Wants contacts in Michigan, Indian

Box 051M. KANSAS CITY. S. Aries. 36. 5'11" 190. White 3". Knowledgeable. Intelligent, imagina- tive. Seeks candidates interested in a total in- volvement who are truly submissive and enjoy pain, humiliation, discipline. Tr pain, jutilitation, juscipline, ir zives frequents to Omaha, Minneapolis, San Francisco, D.C., Dallas, Houston, Detroit, Atlanta, Denver, New Orleans, St. Louis, Sait. Lake City. No one insincere, indiscreet. Box 230P.

KA to try new things with masculine, understanding partner to 45. Uniforms a plus. No fems, fats, filth. Box 180Z.

ST. LOUIS. S. Leo. 31, 5'9", 210. White, 6". Knowldegeable. Demands strict obedience; will punish any infraction with pain, Partner must have stamina, youthful appearance, can be to late 40s. Box 245.

MONTANA

SWEETGRASS. MS. Aquarius, 50, 6'1", 180. White, 6", Old hand, collection of used cow-boy / leather gear. No ferns. Box 230.

NEW JERSEY

CHANGEWATER, SM. Cancer, 22, 6'4", 150. White, 10%", Knowledgeable, Has played both roles, sager and curious to fearn what he may have missed with knowledgeable, imaginative partner to 40. Must be masculine in appearance, actions. No glasses, acne, body odor, small endowments. Box 120.

HIGHTSTOWN. M. Leo. 35. 5'8". 160. White, 7". Novice. Seeks well-built, rugged, gentle but demanding Master to 40 willing to go slowly at first. Box 136E. NEWARK. MS, Libra. 56. 5'9½". 155. White.

NEWAHR, MS, Libra 56, 59%; "15b, White, 85%; "Novice, Seeks training from patient part- ner, 5ox 294W. PRINCETON, MS, Aries, 42, 5111; 190, White, 7", Novice, Virile and versatile, wishes to enjoy sex to highest depre

BANDOLPH. S. Scorpio. 36, 6'2". 180 White. 6'4" Knowledgeable. Seeks permanent slave, 20s to mid-30s, to share life and private house. Into leather bondage. Willing to train and will respect limits. No fats, fems, hard drugs. Box

MILLINGTON. S. 48. 5'7". 158. White. 6". Old hand. Levelheaded, sensitive, flexible. Seeks clean, interesting, open-mided partner. No fats, liars, neurotics, drugs, plimples. Box 1523. 153N.

NEW YORK

ALBANY, S. Gemini / Taurus, 40, 6'2", 225, White, 7", Knowledgeable, Wants straight-White , 7". Knowledgeable, Wants st appearing who digs police scene. Box 317

BLOOMINGBURG S. Cepricorn. 41. 5'10". 150. White. 8". Knowledgeable. Will humilate and dominate partner with fetish for uniforms, breeches, boots. Fetishes and complete slavery a must. Box 068.

BRONX. M. Libra. 56. 5'11". 150. White. Knowledgeable. Has need and capacity to serve mature uniformed, booted officer, police / military preferred. Unconditional ser- police / military preferred. Onconditional service, Sir; total commitment. Box 017. BROOKLYN. M. Aquarius. 33. 6f. 170. BROOKLYN. M. Aquarius. 33. 6f. 170. Cherökee Indian. 7k.". Uncol. Noviedgaable. Smooth, body-building, t

BROOKLYN. S. Aquarius. 25, 6'3". 190. White, 6". Novice. Dominant dude seeks part-ner under 30 into Levis, wrestling, ocasional role-switching. No ferns, fats, blacks. Box 125F. CLAYTON. SM. Aquarius. 28, 6'73" 160. White,

White. 52". Completely inexperienced. Eager to learn from articative, open-minded, discrete duda. No fems, tast, socis. Box 292.

COPIACUE. 3M. Scorpio. 47. 510". 165. White. 65". Knowledgeable. Attractive, congenial, trus

6". Knowledgeable, Biker into Leather / Levi/ masculine scene seeks intelligent, butch partner. Will switch roles for right person. No fems, 6" blacks Box 052H olecks Box U5 / 2H, GREENWICH VILLAGE. M. Gemini. 25. 6'. 150. White. 7''. Novice. Actor / playwright believes in worship of the male body. Pertner must be highly intelligent, liberal, under 40, well-endowed. Box 302. 1LION. M

"Semini, 47, 58, 130. White, 55." Completely inexperienced. At best when told what to do and forced by patient and understanding Master, preferably blond Aryan type. Must be cut and clean, well-endowed. Box 141.

NASSAU COUNTY. SM. Taurus. 43. 5'9". 172. White. 6". Knowledgeable. Trustworthy, responsible, intelligent, creative and fully aware of risks and dangers. Wishes to fulfill M fantasise with masculine, discreet, clean, unsel fakes, Box 185R. fakes Box 185R. NEW YORK, S. Taurus, 33, 5'8", 160. White, NEW YORK, S. Taurus, 33, 5'8", 160. White, NEW YORK, S. Taurus, 33, 5'8", 160. White, NEW YORK, S. Taurus, 33, 5'8", 160. White, New York, S. Taurus, 33, 5'8", 160 serve trustworthy, hairy, masculine, loving S over 45 who will encourage new physical and psychological levels. No scat, phonies, redheads, amateurs, verbal abuse, one night stands.

Box 328. Meteurs, veroa abuse, one riight stantos. Box 328. NEW YORK. M. Capricorn. 5'8". 200. White. 6". Knowledgeable. Desires moderately ag- gressive young 5 for humiliation, some bondage and norture, W / S, scat, boot preferred, Box 018C.

NEW YORK, MS. Gemini, 47, 5'10½", 155, White, 6½", Knowledgeable, Original and imaginative to serve mature, compatible partner who proves himself superior. Should be flexi- ble, strong, well-endowed with well-defined pie, strong, well-endowed with well-defined legs. No ego trippers, psychos, freelooders. Box 0237. NEW YORK. SM. Virgo. 44, 6: 190, White. 7". Novice. Will do anything with hairy, butch partner. No permanent damage, no fem

NEW YORK, SM. Leo. 44, 6', 180, White. New YOHK, SM. Leo. 44, 6', 180, White, 9" Old hand, Into heavy role-playing, able to waitch. Discreet, respects limits, Wants partner to 55 for week-day scenes locally, any time out of town. No permanent relationships. Box

NEW YORK, M. Virgo, 33, 5°11", 198, White, 65". Completely inexperienced, Sir, would you like a kid of your own? Affectionate, good boy needs his rough-loving macho Daddy to take him home and housebreak him. Train me to se Ivy Leaguers, drug users, heavy drinkers, Age, race, looks unimportant. Box 156Z.

NEW YORK, M. Cancer, 40, 6'2", 210, White, 7". Intermediate but learning fast, Masculine weightlifter with 48" chest, 34" waist wants to weigntlitter with 48" cheat, 34" wast wants to expand experiences with experienced, clean, masculine S. Box 023.

NEW YORK, M. Pisces. 29, 5'10's", 140.

White, 63". Knowledgeable, Will serve, obey and satisfy completely a 252B

NEW YORK, M. Libra, Late 50s, 6'3", 180. White, 5". White haired man of distinction type will serve virile male, any age or race, who has fantasies of beating Daddy's ass, fucking the professor who failed him in French, pissing into his priest or making his boss suck his as Have poppers, toys, dog collar, Box 290X asshole

NEW YORK, M. Taurus, 46, 6', 175, White, 9", Novice, Seeks masculing party. 9". Novice. Seeks masculine partner into golden showers, beating, chains, humiliation. Box 0596

US945. NEW YORK, S. Capricorn, 40, 5'10", 150. White, 8" Knowledgeable, Will humiliate and dominate partner with fetish for uniforms, breeches, boots. Fetishes and complete slavery a must. Box 068. NEW YORK. S. Scorpio. 45. 5'10". 173. White. Knowledgeable. Trustworthy, will re- spect limits of slim, well-built partner under 50. No fats, TVs, scat. Box 220.

NEW YORK. S. Lee, 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. uncut cock. Must be knowledgeable, clean. Box 153P. NEW YORK. SM. Virgo. 26. 6'. 180. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Sober dude gets off on mutual enjoyment with over-sexed, level-headed partner under 55. No fems, youths. Box 1

Box 168K.

NEW YORK, SM. Capricorn, 21, 5'8%", 120.

White. 684". Completely inexperienced, Seeks masculine, straight-acting, straight appearing partner to 40. No ferm. Box 262.

NEW YORK, M. Taurus, 36, 5'9", 145. White.

NEW YORK. M. Aquarius. 36, 5'6". 130. White, 7". Novice. Into domination, humiliation, WS from masculine, clean-cut, dominant but not unkind partner 27 to 50. No brutality, sadism for its own sake. Must be physically clean

NEW YORK.*M. Gemini. 48. 6'. 140. White. Knowledgeable. Enthusiastic, butch, ever-hard and ever-ready, seeking partner sincerely into

NEW YORK, M. Taurus, 48, 6', 145, White, 6' Chowledgeable. Wants relationship with clean, me igent man with leather tastes. No hardcore 38M, drugs, fats, blacks. Box 252C.

ACK. M. Leo. 30, 5'8", 150, White, 6", ince. Has sincere desire to please demanding NYACK. 10 40. No fats, dirt, handicaps, balds, Box 12515.

OCHESTER, M. Capricorn, 43, 5'8". 165. Completely inexperienced. Willing 6 a eager to learn from patient, understand her to 50. No outright brutality. Box

MOODBURY, LONG ISLAND, SM. Taurus. 59" 172. White 6". Knowledgeable. sworthy, responsible, intelligent, creative fully aware of risks and dangers Wishes to M fantasies with mesculine, discreat,\nunselfish partner to 48. No fems, fats, stakes. Box 185R.

DRKTOWN HEIGHTS, S. Sagittarius, 42, 6'. 55. White: 7½". Knowledgeable. Gentle yet will respect limits of quiet, obedient slave 30. Can travel, will assist older Masters. Bis, drugs. Box 132D.

NORTH CAROLINA

ANASSAS, SM. Capricorn. 47, 5'8", 165, e. 6'4". Novice: Wants L / L guy for 8-kD. my, sweaty workclothes preferred. Likes trade. Age not a problem, but no fems, es, blacks. Box 135P.

Cancer. 43. 5'6". 140. White. Novice Dominant but considerate leather- over and bike owner seeks sincere, honest, creet partner to 40. No fems, fats, phonies, coper. Box 1855.

RALEIGH AREA. SM. Cancer. 44, 6'19".

SS White. Exporienced. Domination without chysical pain. Digs wearing partner's clothes and boots, Box 156.

BICHMOND, S. Leo. 52, 5'9", 172. White. riding britches. Cycle owner preferred. 50x 400.

BHIO

AKRON, SM, Sagittarius, 39, 6'2", 165, White, E. Knowledgeable, N.E. Ohio, Richmond, Atlanta areas, Seeks versetility and onthusiasm.

AKRON, MS, Gemini, 43, 6'1". 195, White. 53. Knowledgeable. Into heavy B&D, light 53.M. Would switch roles with right partner. No extreme pain, heavy drinkers or di sers, hippies, Box 187. CINCINNATI, MS. 24, 6', 165, White. heavy drinkers or drug

Novice. Enjoys pleasuring masculine S to 45. Frefers locals for possible permanent relation-Mip . No redheads, one-night stands. Box 021

CLEVELAND, SM. Sagittarius, 30, 5'11", 152. ta. 6". Novice. Former slave seeks respect- partner to 45 for W / S, light B&D, nude smes. Should be neat and discreet. No fats, SR Roy 216. BODS. Box 316.

CLEVELAND. S. Libra. 29. 5'11". 140. White. 9". Knowledgeable. Highly sexed, well-will , educated Master will guarantee satisfying essions and respect limits of clean, healthy, good-looking partner to 45. Should have sophisticated equipment. No fems, fats, loose sees. Box 1522.

CLEVELAND. MS. Aries. 46. 5'10", 155. Mits. 6½". Novice. French active, Greek pas- — Wants to please large, well-built partner to 50. No fats, heavy S&M, B.O. Box 017V.

CLEVELAND, M. Libra / Scorpio. 45. 5'9".

170. White. 6". Novice. Wants to serve big. basky Master 30 to 50. Some experience, but ailling to learn more. Box 318F.

COLUMBUS. MS. Libra. 26. 5'11%". 165. white. 8". Completely inexperienced. Wishes to learn from intelligent, masculine partner to White, 8 35 who will respect limits. No violence, mutila- tion, fems. Box 132T.

COLUMBUS, S. Cancer, 31, 5'11", 189. White. Novice, Will please and respect limits of swarthy, muscular partner. Must be clean. Hairy preferred. No fems. Box 197.

DELYMBUS SM. Aquarius, 46, 6'8". 143.

Thite. 7". Novice bordering on knowledge- ble. Good-looking, sensuous, turns on easily the physically and mentally attractive patner. No scat, slobs, fems, liars, heavy pain. Box 234

OOL UMBUS, SM. Taurus, 25, 5'9", 183, White, 5%" Novice. Satisfaction guaranteed to sincere, maight appearing butch types. No fems, fats, mobs, chicken, Box 365, "ASSILLON M. Libra 35, 6'1%", 215, White.

Completely inexperienced, Willing to serve deager to please clean, well-muscled Master 45. No filth, hard drugs. Box 1659.

SHAKER HEIGHTS, S. Libra, 28, 5'11", 140, White, 9", Knowledgeable, Highly sexed, well-White . 9' built, educated Master will guarantee satis- fying sessions and respect limits of clean, healthy, good-looking partner to 45. Should have sophisticated equipment. No fems, fats, loose asses, Box 1522.

SPRINGFIELD, SM, Scorpio, 45, 5'10", 155.

White, 6%". 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 318S.

OKLAHOMA

E. S. Capricorn, 49, 5'10", 180, Knowledgeable, Totally empathizes MUSKOGEE. White. 6". 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, arrogant, dominant, demanding , wants to own fully slave who will serve, obey and satisfy every need 100%. No fems, fats, blacks, hippies. Box 347.

PORTLAND. S. Sagittarius. 39. 5'5". 140. 9". Novice. Fantasies fulfilled, good times resured by persistent, level-headed Master. Massages available, souna included. Partners MUST be clean, should be stocky, husky, muscular share an interest in exotic cats? Box 068G.

PENNSYLVANIA

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

NEW KENSINGTON S Libra 40 5'7" 170. White, 7". Knowledgeable, Nineteen years' and many varieties of experiences will please totally servile partner under 6'. Must be willing to accept demands. No fems, fags. Box 066D.

NEWTOWN, SM. Aries, 46, 5'9%", 155, White, Knowledgeable, Broadminded, excited in either role with heiry, mesculine partner to 60. No fats, lack of respect. Box 295.

MAIN LINE PHILADELPHIA. MS. Leo. 47. 5'75'." 145. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Seeks sincere, straight-appearing Master 27 to 50. No fats or blacks. Moustaches a real turn-on. fats or b Box 296G.

PHILADELPHIA, S. Virgo / Scorpio, 42, 5'7" 160. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Italian stal- lion, muscular and hairy, experienced to un- derstand limits in all areas. Master seeks masculine , obedient slave to serve his leather, chains 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 bullshit. 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. partner to 50. Box 052*.

PHILADELPHIA. M. Aries. 26. 5'10". 180.

White. 6". Novice. Into B&D. Would give up freedom for right Master to 35. Willing and eager to learn from sincere, honest, level-head- eager to sear from sincer, unous per search and be del Lf b partner. Must be clean. No heavy S&M, bears, drugs, cigarettes, fems. Box 31, 180. PHILADELPHIA. S. Capricorn. 26. 6'3". 180. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Good-looki

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 basket and buns. Will not mark, bloody or shave, Box 294V25. PHILADELPHIA. S. Taurus. 40. 5'10". 165.

Imaginative, Knowledgeable. White. Write. 7 … Inovitalgeathe. Insignative, mature, hot-looking dude seeks dark, masculine moustached or bearded novice to 50. Should have good body and teeth, must be clean. No fems, fats, redheads, slobs. Satisfaction guar

PHILADELPHIA, SM. Pisces, 49, 5'11", 175, White. Will train Slave to worship Master's leather and naked body. No dopers. Box 088T. PITTSBURGH. MS. Virgo. 49, 5'11". 135. White, 6". Knowledgeable, Interested in learning all facets and enjoyments of both roles. Seeks cooperative, orally oriented partner over 25. Into FF, group sex. No fems, drunks. Box

PITTSBURGH. M. Virgo. 60. 6'. 165. White. 7'/2". Old hand. Thirty years' experience in first class servitude. Not into heavy S&M but can be servitude. provide young slaves for Masters' stronger desires. Box 205G.

READING, SM. Cancer. 46, 6', 160, White, 6" Novice, Enjoys bondage, Respects limits, Domi nant, but will switch for right partner. Must be cut. Box 051B.

WILKES-BARRE, S. Cancer, 40. White, 12". Old hand, Extensive military ex- perience, specialist in military&penal discipline 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, fats Box 055.

SOUTH CAROLINA

CHARLESTON, M. Leo. 35, 6', 155, White. 6½". Knowledgeable. Prefers motorcycle rider who wears skintight leathers, high boots and codpiece pants, one who wears chaps and for sex and like leather hoods. Enjoys Western scene. No fems, fats, heavy drugs. Box 222.

TENNESSEE

CHATTANOOGA, SM. Pisces, 45, 5'10%''. 200. White, 7''. Old hand, Versatile, Into enemas, creative bondage and toys with genuine honest partner to 55, Box 134.

Aquarius, 31, 5'11". ce. Well-taught Master CHATTANOOGA S. Ac 155. White. 6". Novice. 155. White. B vivilla was or able to travel. No fats, excessive body helr. Box 01725. CHATTANOOGA. M. Leo. 30. 59". 165. White. 6". Novice. Leather / boor feitshist will be leather slave for discipline and love. Age, race un fems, fats. Box 180Z5.

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

LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN, S. Aquarius, 54, 6'. LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN, S. Aquarius, 54, 6'. LSS. White, 6''. Old hand, Ex-motorcycle cop-military man has extensive collection to please small, neat, clean, white slave to 50 with boot an

MEMPHIS, MS. Aquarius, 37, 6'2". White, 64". Novice, Travels extensively. 180 winte, 62: Note: Insect and the 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, Box 218.

TEXAS

AUSTIN. M. Aries. 30. 6'1". 155. White. AUSTIN, M. Arries, 30, 61, 195, white, 6½" 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.

7%". Knowledgeable. Hairy muscular, big- booted biker desires experienced man with good hands. Trees accepted, Box 0178. DALLAS. S. Aries. 42, 5'8", 130, White, 7%".

DALLAS, S. Aries, 42, 5'8", 130, White, 7½", Old hand, Handsome stud respects limits, No. Must be masculine appearing, acting,

Tats. Must be masculine appearing, acting. Box 049.

DALLAS. S. Pisces. 33. 6'. 170. White. 9\text{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 hot number. Box 023K. DALLAS. SM. Pisces, 5'9%", 160, White, 7" Knowledgeable. Leather / uniform enhanced Breeches, boots, bikers, especially real cycle officers (discretion assured). No fats, fems, phonies. Box 18625.

FORT WORTH, SM. Aquarius, 43, 6'2", 195. White, 7". Knowledgeable, Dominant but will switch for right person, Must be masculine, mature,into Levis, leather, bondage, bikes. Box 059D. road

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

FORT WORTH. M. Leo 50. 6'1". 150. White. Completely inexperienced. Wishes to be of use to and provide enjoyment for partner who will help him to realize his fantasies. No fat or indiscreet persons. Box 252D. HOUSTON, M. Virgo, 31, 5'8", 145. White, 6%". Knowledgeable, Totally uninhibited to serve completely masculine, experienced Master to 35. Own quarters, game room a plus. Gen- erous body hair a turn-on. No dirt, fats, heavy drug users. Box 221.

HOUSTON, SM. Sagittarius, 35, 5'7". White, 6½". Knowledgeable, Tattooec 6½". Knowledgeable, Tattooed, Re- in both roles.Uninhibited, creative, White. dedicated in both roles Uninhibited, creative, dedicated and committed to partners into tattoos, plercing, 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 permanence. No fat or shy people. Box 371.

SAN ANTONIO, M. Sagittarius, 37, 5'9", 160, White, 5\%", Novice, Uninhibited, very unin-White , 5½". Novice, Uninhibited, very unin- hibited 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-slim M wants to serve S stud into police undergrows, boots, britches, domination. Over 27 preferred. No drunks, blacks. Box 125K.2. ALEX.ANDRIA. SM. Aries. 30. 5'11". 175. Whits. 7 / s". Knowledgeable. Marine enjoyable exper

Blond, large endowment, hairless body turn-on. No one selfish or inflexible. Box 151.

NORFOLK, SM. Aries 40, 5'8". 160. White. 6" Knowledgeable, Good-looking and experienced with thick endowment. Seeks affactionate, unselfish, considerate pertner. Box 1817

1812.

RICHMOND, S. Leo. 45. 6'1". 175. White, Brown hair, blue eyes. 8" cut. Harley rider, excycle cop into high boats, breaches, cycle cop uniforms, LIL, truckers, horses, WIS, JIO, light S&M. Boat lover. Business necess

WASHINGTON

TACOMA. SM. Capricorn. 37, 6'2%", 190, White. 7". Novice wants to learn both roles White. 7". from clean, Owns knowledgeable partner. and prefers bike owner. No fems, fats.

DOX 185G2. TACOMA, SM. Libra, 51, 5'10'', 240. White, 7''' Completely inexperienced. Virgin ass, Sincere, genuine, honest. Friendship more important than sex. No limits, no turn-offs. Box 181-X.

WISCONSIN

GLEN HAVEN, M. Leo. 51, 5'9", 160, White, 6", Knowledgeable, Serious, well-educated, ex-

LAKE GENEVA. S. Aquarius. 40. 5'10". 170. White. 6". Novice. Considerate, imaginative, firm, dominant. Seeks intelligent partner for possible permanent relationship. No fems. fats. Box 136H.

MILWAUKEE. MS. Capricorn. 42. 6'4's". 210. White, 6". Knowledgeable. Fifteen years as a slave has taught him to enjoy both sides with intelligent partner 25-60. No fats. Box 201 / 19E.

294V85 to will and desires of understanding ourtner to 45 who can appreciate the feelings of isolation of a gay Leatherman who's also married. Black, married a plus. Box 052F5.

WATERTOWN, S. Libra. 27, 6', 175, White,

Novice. Will satisfy needs of mutually honest, understanding partner. Into W / S, B&D, humiliation, public exhibition. No heavy drugs, selfish types. Box 130W.

AUSTRALIA

AUSTRALIA

EAST SYDNEY, N.S.W. M. Sagitterius. 33. 57": 134. White, 58": Knowledgeble. Will do best to plesse Master, Willing to try new ideas and scenes with pleasant, positive S to 35. No fast, disreposition of limits. W suic. Seess knowledgeote partner, Age, endow- ment, etc., not important. Box 157W. MELBOURNE, VICTORIA. A. Taurus. 36. 58". 154. White. 7". Knowledgeable, Turned on by breeches, boots, leathers. Wants cor- respondence with

REI GIIIM

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 sequences and whose time aims the interest are refined pleasure. Seeks intelligent, good- looking, imaginative partner to 45 who will switch roles under right conditions. Travels frequently. No dirtiness, stupidity, Box 31

CANADA

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

30. EDMONTON, ALBERTA, S. Cancer. 30, 5'6", 130, White, 8'4". Knowledgeable, Level-headed, imaginative, will respect limits of dude heavy into ass work. No role-switching, Box

131. PORT ALBERNI, BRITISH COLUMBIA. M. Pisces. 42, 5'7", 142. White, 6". Knowledge- able. Experienced and obedient, willing to ser- vice and please Leather Master. Into B&D, W&S. Black a real turn-on. No fems, fats, r Box 048L

VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA. WEST SM. Warlock host offers vacation accommoda- tions in totally dedicated S&M home to masculine male stallions, any race, and their Slaves. Box 011.

TORONTO * ONTARIO, SM, Libra, 27, 6'1" 180. White, 6". Novice, Imaginative, willing, digs lengthy sex scenes with husky, halry partner to 45 into role-switching, Box 017T.

TORONTO, ONTARIO, S. Taurus, 47, 6', 175. White, 6". Old hand, Into straps and paddles.

Masculine, well-built, levelheaded. Seeks young, short, lightweight, smooth-skinned partner. Blonds preferred. No fats, uncleans. Box 066B.

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

TORONTO, ONTARIO, M. Taurus, 40, 5'11' 150. White, 6". Novice, Former priest trained to be obedient and to serve. Finds great satisfaction in satisfying well-hung Master willing to teach. Must be discreet, non-possessive, to 45. Box 069.

TORONTO, ONTARIO. S. Leo. 50. 5'7". 142. White. 7". Old hand. Wants docile slaves who dig being spanked and strapped by leather guy. olig being spanised and strapped by yearding solid Stender or muscular guys 21-35 only. Box 080. TORONTO, ONTARIO. M. Libra. 31. 5'8". 145. White 6'4". Novice Intelligent, flexible, obedient, strong libido. Wishes to le

MONTREAL, QUEBEC M. Virgo. 28, 5'7". 150. White. 7". Old hand. Docile boot-slave and expert boot-licker will lick your boots clean. French kiss, suck, mouth massage and polish them to a high gloss. Boots are made to poins ment to a ning gloss, boots are make up- be licked and sucked constantly by boot- slaves on the big, sweaty, smelly feet of cycle cops, firemen, 55 boot-Masters, bikers, spurred rodeo cowboys, fishermen, road and con boots and those of your friends and working companions. Try me and see the results. Box 053

MONTREAL, QUEBEC. SM. Sagittarius. 27. 5'6": 130. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Handsome, masculine, athletic, versatile model. Can travel. Wants to meet partners with their heads together. No fats, skinnies. Box 251.

MONTREAL, QUEBEC. M. Capricorn. 45. 5'9'." 165. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Will give complete service to and be humiliated by masculine stud under 40. WS, spit, public abuse. No fems, fats, drunks, heavy drugs. Roy 181M. abuse. No rems, rats, drunks, neavy dugs. Box 181M. MONTREAL, QUEBEC. MS. Sagittarius, 26. 5'10". 185. White. Novice. Seeks Leather-master who will slap, spank, pierce and humiliate. Blond preferred, to 35. No hustlers. Bo

MONTREAL, QUEBEC. M. Virgo. 44, 5'7". 140. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Will satisfy his

190, White, 7. Knowledgesble, Will satisty his Moster's sexual whims and fantasies. Breeches and boots a turn on. No domestic slavery, drunks, lans, Box 313X. MONTREAL, QUEBEC, S. Aries, 30, 511". 160, White 9". Old hand W pain, games, B&D. No fems, fats. Box 318T. SEPT-ILES, QUEBEC. MS. Pisces. 43. 5'8". 145. White. Knowledgeable. Boot slave wants partner to 40 who loves leather and wearing heavy masculine boots. No sneaker or Adidas vnes. Box 265

ENGLAND

ISLE OF MAN. M. Sagittarius. 52. 6'. 214. White 5½''. Novice, Turned on by bondage, boxing gloves, hoods, rubber, W / S. Seeks firm, trusting, non-butch Master. Eager to try new toys, positions, grease, poppers, chain bondag age. Box 152T. age, Box 1621.

LONDON, S. Aquarius, 47, 5'9', 175.

White, 7". Old hand, Must be able to meet parener with similar enjoyment of the S&M experience. Occasionally travels to New York, Maryland, D.C., California, Noset, Box

GERMANY

KELSTERBACH. SM. Capricorn. 29. 6'3". 183. White. 7%". Knowledgeable. Active, seeks horny-looking, well-built partner to 45. Tattoos a plus. No hardcore S&M. Box 293.

HOLLAND

THE HAGUE. SM. Pisces. 32. 5'11". 148. White. 8%". Knowledgeable. Into biker scene, S&M, W / S. FF, leather gear and boots. Visits U.S.A. at least once a year. Looking for masculine partner with same interests. Box 295M.

SWEDEN

JOHANNESHOV. MS. Gemini. 26. 6'1". 171. White. 75". Knowledgeable. Seeks good-looking, well-educated leather fetishist, preferably biker, to 35. Must like travelling. Box 028.

SOLNA M. Cancer. 30. 5'8½". 132. White. 6½". Novice. Seeks knowledgeable, masculine partner to 45. Can switch but prefers M role. Box 228M.

SWITZERLAND

GENEVA. M. Taurus. 35, 5'6", 136, White. Uncut with two rings in foreskin. Obedient, submissive, heavily into bondage. Seeks honest, strict, extremely knowledgeable partner to 45. No body odor, fats, dirt. Box 18525. LAUSANNE, SM. Aquarius, 33, 5'9", 160, White, Old hand, Good-looking and adapt able, wants honest contact who is really interested in leather and S&M Box 188Z.

IF YOU ARE REPLYING TO A BOX NUMBER, SEND A RETURN ADDRESSED STAMPED ENVELOPE WITH THE NUMBER OF THE BOX IN PENCIL AND THROW IN A QUARTER FOR US TO PROCESS IT. IT'S AS SIMPLE AS THAT!

THE SAME RATE OF 25c A WORD PREVAILS FOR COMMERCIAL ADS, PLUS THE ADVERTISERS DON'T GET SHUTTLED OFF INTO A SECTION BY THEM-SELVES .

OUR UNCLASSIFIED IS SIMPLE, DI- RECT AND PERSON-TOPERSON, NOW GET BUSY

All inquiries concerning THE LEATHER FRATERNITY, or letters for forwarding to FRATERNITY members, should be addressed to: THE LEATHER FRATERNITY, P.O. BOX 8444, La Crescenta, C. 91214. Members of the FRATERNITY may contact other members whose listings appear above by putting their response into a STAMPED, SEALED envelope . In PENCIL, write the member's box number on the front and send it to the FRATERNITY. Your letters will be forwarded the same day.

You won't find our Fraternity on any Campus…

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

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

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

There are numerous advantages to membership in the LEATHER FRATERNITY Elsewhere in this issue you'll notice listings of Fraternity members. As a member yourself, you'll have the privilege of contacting those members who appeal to you. You, too, will have such an ad listing … absolutely free. During the term of your membership you will receive DRUMMER at no charge … and that's worth twenty bucks right there! There are no other dues or assessments.

The cost? Surprisingly low … just $35 a year. Interested? Then simply fill out, clip and mail the coupon below. Wouldn't you really rather be a Fraternity brother than a sorority sister?

UNCLASSIFIED

E ANGELES SUMO WRESTLER TYPE would like construction-logger a decoine / training sessions. Box CA-305.

MENLO PART. SM, Cancer, 5'7", 140, white, Example Master ropes slim guys. Sensuous Limits respected. Orientals welcome. Bar 927 CA 94025

GOOD-LOOKING BOTTOM MAN, for heavy S&M scenes with ex- mod tops. Into bondage, heavy tit, cock work, hot wax, catheters, menthol, to toreed domination punk-types, and military interrogation. Detailed ad photo to Box 4776, San Francisco,

PACIFIC NORTHWESTI! M, Aquarius, us. lan, 5'7" and 8" with a 9D, wide der, sim ass covered with blond curly except smooth unscarred back) waiting 500Ts, trucking, leather and domination — blood or shaving. Will travel. Box

BEARDED LEATHERMAN SEEKS SAME IN most scenes. 28, 5'8", 145 lbs., hirsute. appreciated, 4587 Jeanne Mance; Mon-

WOUNG SLIM SLAVE UNDER 26 SOUGHT handsome, level-headed Master, 40, for sea humiliation, obedience training. No or hody hair. Correspondence well-tie-in possible. Send photo. E.M. CA 94006 attoos. If you have several tattoos and to other tattooed men, send photo show- your tattoos. Am 32, 5'7", 130 lbs. Any race OK. Live in New York, but can anywhere. JRB, 157 E. 3rd St., NYC 0009

DOMINANT, AGGRESSIVE MAST ANTED to control attractive 35, 5'8", 1 a slave into submission, bondage, W / S and Box 335, Murray Hill Station, NYC, 0 MASTER 155 NY

4H Handsome, hot, humpy, horny, W / M, 34 5'10", 140, dark moustache, like to hear from same. Into well-endowed dudes, most sames, want to try others. Chopper. Box 20177, Detroit, Michigan 48220.

JO - TITS - Visual trips - touch J / O - Tits. Varcissistic men send photo and info to Box 7185, Northend Station, Detroit, MI 48208.

GOLDEN SHOWERS: New Correspondence club for guys who dig W / S. Send name, age a $1 to: Tom Boire, 1874 Union St., San Francisco, CA 94123 for application.

EXPERIENCED S&M MASTER accepting applications. Must be trim, under 40 as I am. Prefer experienced, but sincere novices considered. Limits respected, but may be expanded . Send honest, detailed letter: Box 7302, Fort Wayne, Indiana 46807.

CHICAGO-MIDWEST. Wanted: dominant stud requiring service morning, noon and night. Box CA-310.

GEMINI, 8'3", 183, 35, 6". White, Tight, firm ass; good body, Tried both roles, prefer bothom. Top-man must be well-built or body-builder. Color not important. Tall, dominant, respect my limits, not over 45, HLS, Jc., 147-

10 41 Ave., Flushing, NY 11355.

SOMETINING CPR EVERYONE. Hot Color-Photo Fetith Sets! "SPANKING": rad hot does Adam gets it from Soct! — I A Bareland S121; 18 Black Belt ($121); IC Wooden Ruler $1321, "SOMDAGE": Action d

VIBRATORS: 7". Give favorite bottom a heavy thrill, $3 each. Give as gifts, 3 for $8, 6 for $15. PARADISE, P.O. Box 28470, Washington, DC 20005.

college / lockeronini / $19 / - / and [×3+]

… AND HOT OFF THE PRESSI Sixty-HOT . four pages of Roy Dean nudes . NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED . 16 in full color. Ouality softbound book, 8%" x 11", just $9.95 plus 60c sales tax for California residents from The Emporium, 5466 Santa Monica Blvd., Los Angeles, C

STOP 'EM, SPREAD 'EM . ENEMA BUTT PLUGS! Medium, $13.95; Large, $15.95. Add 10% shipping and 6% tax for Calif, residents. Shoot water through a butt-plugged ass! Age and signature, please. The Collar, 256 S. Robertson Blvd 90211

BRITISH COLUMBIA, S&M POWERHOUSE, Vacancies for S&M, disciplinarian devotees. Call (604) 921-7721.

S / M, B / D, W / S, FETISHES. Find one who shares your interests. Read SMADS, Send $1.50 for sample copy. State over 21. Box 712, N / C, NY 10011 (100 Bank, 5A).

MT. VERNON. SM. Virgo. 35. 6'3". 165. White: Novice, Sensitive. Will rim — give / take fuck, give / not take piss, seeks big stud with hairy chest, hairy ass, size not important. No fems, fats, give / not take FF. Seek continual lationship. Beards preferred. Box CA-116.

DISABLED GAYS meet Tuesday evenings, Doppleganger, 7636 Tampa, Reseda.

HOT, EXPERIENCED, INSATIABLE bottom with masculine good looks wants masculine, well-endowed top with endurance. LA area, Into anything / everything but scut. Please, no bottoms "playing" top. Box CA-309.

BAREASS FREAKY RAUNCH: Into sloppy sucking, beer-piss, messy food, spanking, tit- play, scatological scenes. Mature leatherman, masculine, stocky build, tattoad, Aquarian. Jock-exchange, correspondence welcome. Box 751, New York City 10022.

MASTER WANTS SLAVE UNDER 25. Submit phot, info. Marty, Box CA-321.

BODYBUILDERS - Pump your muscles in my weight room, Chicago (312) 935-5283,

KEY WEST PARTNERS eager to put out welcome mat / sling for FF, TT brothers, Hurricane Alley, Box 552, Key West, FL 33040, (305) 296-8816.

PHOTO CUM SERVICE. My thick stud cum on your pics. Returned wet in plastic. $5 handling, each shot. Box CA-316.

DIRTY DRAWERS soiled, fouled, stinking for your pleasure! Mon's lockey shorts or ladies' bikinis dirtied to delight you! Please specify your choice of sex, soil, $5.00 includes handling. Box CA.319. Can also supply animal excrement-filled pants.

NEW YORK M. Cancer, 34, 6', 160 lbs., white, your John in Cancer, 34, 5, 100 as, white, good-looking, will service dominant but gentle police and genuine rugged study. No drugs, phonies, freaks. Discretion assured and expected. Box CA-317.

LEATHER-B&D-S&M-for the leatherman Cus- tom-crafted items available only by mail order. Cock sheaths, ball stretchers, harnesses, etc. Over 60 items available. Send $2 to Calston Industries, 7985 Santa Monica Blvd., West Hollywood, California 90046.

IS HE ALL TIED UP… OR WOULD YOU LIKE HIM TO BE? Shackles, thumb restraints, save collars, plus an entire line of growy clothing for the macho man. Send a buck for our catalogue, please state 21 or over. The Emporium, 546

FANTASY TRIPPING? Describe your fantasy in 25 words or less, receive a 250-word personalized story, custom written to your fantasy by a world-famous S&M author. Just $5.00 covers creativity, and handling. Please state age, send SASE to Box CA-320.

THE STORY OF Q!!! Sold into slavery as a boy, his manhood was spent as a slave!!! This incredible book is a brand new, rewritten, re-incredible book is a brand new, rewritten, re- edited, magniticently illustrated limited edition, 8½"x11" on heavy book stock. Slick cover with all original illustrations by Olef. Written by the incomparable ROBERT FAVIE.

160. EXPERIENCED BOTTOM MAN, 6'2", black hair, needs to be stripped, strapped, stretched and spread by slim, hairy, top man over 30 years old who is an imaginative, domi- nant disciplinarien for bizarre body and head sessions. Bottom man travels extensively throughout Florida, Georgia, Southern Virginia. Box CA 318. extensively

TIT SPIKES. If you or your slave is into tits, then you must add a set of nickel-plated Tit Spikes to your toy cheet. For heavy action, but no cuts or marks. Send $3.50 plus $1 shipping and handling to T.S.F., 1800 Market

JOB OFFER: White, live-in sert wanted by SANE, ultra-straight, white professional (38, 617; 190 lbs.). Must be presentable to the real world and welcome CONSTRUCTIVE authority. No havy scenesi Profer serious college studen Send letter detailing expectations with photo (returned) to Box 36847, Los Angeles, CA 90038.

TIT RINGS & JEWELRY FOR EROTIC piercing . Made by and for people in the scene. Send $2 for illustrated brochure to: GAUNTLET ENT., Box 3950, Dept. 12, Beverly Hills, CA 90212 (850 N. San Vicente, LA 90069).

BODYBUILDER, CONTEST-TYPE BUILD, 29, 5'9", 198 lbs. seeks other big muscle studs wh are into S&M. Exchange photos. Box CA-152.

NY: 42, 61, 155, seeks slaves 30-45 and Army uniformed Masters over 45 with rural homes in Peakskill or Poughkeepsie area or nearby southwest Connecticut. No drugs, drunks, marrieds. Box CA 110.

CHICAGO, WESTERN SUBURBS, M, 37, 5'8", 148, white, Born slave with eager mouth to kneel, adore and serve booted Master who will dominate and humiliate. No selfish, uncar- ing, unfeeling. I have much to give, Box CA- 300.

EROTIC, CLASSICAL MALE NUDE STA- TUES, Hand-cast, kiln-fired, Free info: FEATS OF CLAY, 1555 Magazine St., Dept. D, New Orleans, LA 70130.

HUSKY HUNK, 45, 6'3", 225, HEALTHY, virile, versatile, experienced, has Honda 750. Into Levis, sex and clean life. Looking for other mature hunks. Object, sex and fun, Possible one-on-one or buddy. No S&M. dope, teenagers. CA-160

R WAY-OUT SCENES 4 YOU? Can't find Mr. X for your thing? He doesn't exist if he isn't in our mag! Three years' experience finding Mr. X for B&D, S&M, W / S, scal, leather, rubber, phone freaks, J / D Stories, lik: Free ds.f or 07073

BOOT MAN. Digs them high and tough with total Black Leathers. Fetishist seeks true fetishists, masculine men driven by Boots and Leathers. No drugs or S&M. E. Pa. Box CA-125.

MASCULINE SEX-SLAVE, French active (rimming expert), Greek passive, nipples, craves servicing horny, rugged Masters, couples, groups. Prefer hunky, hairy, musculars. (212) 684-3582

BLACK MASTER NEEDED by W / M, 39, blond, bearded, Heavy B&D, C&B, oil, mirrors. No FF, scat. Relationship possible. Memphis. Box CA-307.

NARCISSIST BODYFREAK wants heavy tongue service from stoned slaves or other Masters. Into miror trips, heavy. WB, kinks. Must be hardbodied like me, 22.45. Am goodlooking, 36, 5'9'4", 155. Write with photol Box CA-303.

HAIRY CHEST VARIETIES illustrated in hirsute appreciation study. S1 plus stamp: C. Kraut, Box 570, Harrisburg, PA 17108 [23 S, 2nd St.] Use box number.

HOLLYWOOD, MS. Gemini, 30, 6'1", 155, White. Limited experience. Seeks imaginative, trustworthy, masculine Master to 40 to expand limits. Into submission, not humiliation, Bondage, toys, tit-work, enemas. Possible shaving, plercing, W / S, No fats, ferns, scat, FF, heavy pain, Box CA-161.

TAYLOR OF S.F. CUSTOM LEATHER AND TOYS. FOR CATALOG, SEND $2, REFUND- ABLE ON FIRST ORDER, TO T.S.F., 1800 MARKET, No.D126, SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94102.

SM, CANCER, 37, 5'10", 154, white, 6'4". A good-looking novice sager to meet very muscular guys to 35. Into exhibition and body shaving (either way). Accepts limitations. No fats. Slender, well-muscled guys preferred. Box Box CA-304.

GREENWOOD, M. Cancer, 22, 6', 150, white, 7", good ass, Into straps, paddles, T / T, loves to be screwed by well-hung stud. Visits Chicago frequently. No scat, W / S, blood. Box CA-306.

SLAVES WANTED. Send $1 for info on new-st international S&M club to: Our World interprises, 508 Greenwood, Evanston, IL Our World 60201

BOULDER: S. Taurus, 35, 5'10", 150, white, 6%". Seeks slim M for service, bondage, jocks, leather, levis. Limits respected. Box CA-301.

M, 27, 5'11", 168, white, 7", seeks trim super hung black or white top man to fuck me. WIS, rimming, moke, aroma OK. Teach me more. Regular action for right stud over 40. The bigger your tool, the better. I dig it in cars, Box CA-308.

MASTERS WANTED. Send $1 for info on new- est internation S&M club to: Our World En- terprises, 508 Greenwood, Evanston, IL 60201.

N. CALIF. Strong, husky, white M, 47, 5'9", 175, bearded, uncut; seeks strong white S with far-out ideas and they inhabitors into heavy drafts, smokes, enjoy; inflicting punishment without mary, Boogh fuck, Fe, Wils, Whiss

NYC CUTE, INTELLIGENT, EXPERIENCED, M, 26, 5'9", 135 lbs. seeks friendly S 25-40 to administer catheter and other C / B, etc. Torture, Also like long scenes with masks, W / S, 8&D. Box CA-131.

CHICAGO, M. Taurus, 36, 6'2", 190 lbs. White, 8". Knowledgeable slave. Hot, good-looking, dedicated, honest, blond bodybuilder looking, declisated, follows, follow body, which seeks permanent relationship only of slave training with hot, muscular, attractive, leather! Javi Master, mid-20s to mid-30s, ready to settle down. Will relocate. No limits

LATE ARRIVALS

WASH, DC SCAT / PISS: You are 6' plus, hung 8" plus, leather. I am 5'9", 75", 42c, 32w & want to eat hards & drink. Put my dinner up the chute & make me eat. T.B., Box 11004, Wash. DC 20008.

MASCULINE GOOD LOOKS 1 / 0 TITS into long J / O scenes with heavy tit work. If your tits turn you on and you are well hung write P.O. Box 7185 North End Station, Detroit, Mich. 48202.

DETROIT 3 / D 48 - 5'8" - 162 lbs. W / M Mass. Experienced. Lots of toys. Prefer you U / 40. No fats, fems. Into: heavy bondage, grass, poppers, jocks, loin cloths, leather tights, levis, rubber, enemss. FF, dildose, sky dive. N

PECS O'TOOLE — REPORT TO THE D.I. 278 — 11th St. at Folsom, S.F., CA 94103. On the double!! The cell is waiting! clusively for guys. Make friends nearby or far away. $2.00. Alan Tuck Associates, POB 1532-D, Union, NJ 07083.

JOCKS FOR SALE, Hot, hairy, leather stud JOCKS FUN SALE. Not, nairy leatiner stud- has some choice, ripe jockstraps for your col- lection. All are well broken-in, and have been thru many heavy scenes. All are in good con- dition. Perfect for mouth gags. Sent in h 11007, S.F., CA 94101.

SAGINAW, MICH, CANCER. M. 48. 6', 158 lbs. White. 8". Sexy, wealthy. Needs discipline and bondage. Can relocate, Box CA-400.

-400.

FR Views The Flicks

TOWARD AN UNDERSTANDING OF

(DRUMMER'S FAREWELL TO PASOLINI'S LAST PICTURE SHOW)

LET'S CUT THROUGH ALL THE QUEENLY BULLSHIT ABOUT SALO. the last and most controversial vision of Pier Paolo Pasolini. If you're alive and gay, you waited two years for the U.S. release of this film. Now that you've seen Salo, how do you handle its scenes in your own head and explain them to unkinky gays? Especially since Salo's explicit scenes, at first viewing, seem so directly tied to the S & M lifestyle. You can't laugh Salo off like Pink Flamingo's outrageous Divine eating shit. Salo is no joke.

Make a distinction: movies and films. You go to a movie to escape life's tensions. You go to a film to intensify life. You go to a movie for entertainment. You go to a film for intensified input. Some guys short-circuit when they pay admission for a movie only to find out what's on screen is more than they bargained for: a film.

Before you approach the boxoffice, read reviews and listen to word-of-mouth to determine if the feature showing is a movie or a film. Then figure out if you're in a movie-mood for entertainment, or in a film-mood for intensity. Since most reviewers are confused assholes trying to judge movies by film criteria, and films by GP-movie standards, you basically pay your money, take your chances, and wind up as your own best movie / film critic.

With an entertainment-movie, you get pretty much the sound of music you bar- gained for. With the intensity of a film, you can bet you'll be yanked into some artful spaces you never expected to go. When you leave a movie, you exit much the same as when you entered. When you leave a film, you exit changed by an experience that really opened your eyes and your mind.

SALO IS A FILM

Poor Pasolini: more misunderstood dead than alive. He filmed clues to his murderers' identity. His murders are our attempted murderers. His clue is Salo itself : a film about the Bryants and Briggs and Pryors (whose grandmother's name is Bryant). Pasolini's Salo is a cautionary film, a warning flag. He is frankly blunt about his message. For him there is no pentimento in Salo. No regret. No change of heart or mind. Certain murder, he cuations, lies in wait.

Salo is a dark film shot in a narrow space.

SALO IS ABOUT AMERICAN GAYS TODAY

There are two kinds of S & M: ritual and real. Ritual S & M men go to see Salo hoping that Pasolini has made a gay porno-fantasy movie as innocously entertaining and ritualistic as Born to Raise Hell. Instead , Pasolini, although a fan of ritual-macho S & M, in Salo presents a film of real S & M. (And often disappointingly straight at that!) Ritual S & M is Black Leather Therapy acted out for mental health with mutual consent. Real S & M is the evil stuff of a Hitler born again in a Bryant, Briggs, or Davis. Real S & M is Fascism. Chances are that American Gays in the coming 'Eighties are in for a fantastically fascistic bad time. Goodbye, glitter, and hello, Anne Frank.

CABARET TO JULIA

Films find Fascism fashionable. Cabaret insightfully showed the easy seduction by Fascism when the handsome blond Nordic boy sang "Tomorrow Belongs to Me." This sequence detailed Fascism's band-wagon seduction as face after face joined his rousing song. Director Fosse's own filmic power seduced the American audience right into the spirit of the sunny beergarden song, so that in moviehouses everywhere audiences were shocked to find themselves so suddenly, so easily sucked into the thrill of what began as a gloriously innocent song and built to an impassioned Fascist anthem.

Julia more gently shows dramatist Lillian Hellmann (Jane Fonda) rescuing liberal Europeans from pre-World War II Fascism which eventually murders Julia herself (Vanessa Redgrave). Less delicately than Cabaret and Julia, the films of young Spanish director Fernando Arrabal (Viva la Muerte 1974 and Guernica 1976) portray the grotesquely real S & M of Franco's Fascism under which Arrabal and the current generation of young Spaniards grew up: gay men shot up the ass with pistols because they were gay, his own father buried to the neck in sand so his head can be used by four horsemen as a polo ball, a woman shitting on a male prisoner's face. These are strong images meant to stir up strong audience reaction by a filmmaker. A moviemaker, on the toher hand, like Ken Russell rolls Ann-Margret around in chocolate in Tommy, and this movie-brand of pretend-shit the faint-hearted think is "just a wonderful camp.'

SOME GUYS WON'T FACE TRUTH

So what his Fascism to do with Gay Americans in 1978? Someone has said, "We will have Fascism in America, but we will call it Americanism." Bigots from Bryant to Briggs are Americanists. Americanists do what Fascists did. Hitler burned books and censored radio. Germans were not allowed to see what they wanted to see nor say what they wanted to say. Americanist / Fascists always want other people, their victims, in tied-up situations.

literally tying up Salo's victims, by literally gouging the eye (to symbolize you may not see what you wish), by cutting out the tongue (to symbolize you are not free to speak your opinion), by scalping the head to symbolize you may not use your head according to your own thoughts), by forcing one couple to make love on command (to symbolize you may not fuck except as ordered), by shooting an interracial pair of lovers (to symbolize you must not only procreate with your own kind, but you must also have passion for nothing but the Movement). And always, Fascism aakes you eat its shit.

Americanist "morality" will not allow may people to see with the prespective of may vision, nor stand up to speak out with opinion for rights. Anita wants your eyes, your tongue, and like Cuckoo's Nest Nurse Ratched, she wants your balls. Dade County, remember, has "tied-up" gay housing. Add insult to injury: TV gouges your eyes, your ears, and your wallet with Anita's plastic face shilling the Orange Shit true Americanists automatically swallow. THE WIZARD OF OZ MEETS

MUSSOLINI

Salo offers strong images to strengthen the viewer. Pasolini was so aware of the horrors of his third section "Circle of

Blood" that he softened the images by dis-tnacing the audience from the bloody action with a telephoto lense that gauzed out the edges. Sometimes assault is the only way to raise consciousness.

Throughout Salo, which is not salacious, Pasolini artfully staged his cautionary political warning at a gut-level. Salo's images are contrived to get your attention; Salo's message is to hold your interest, Salo is a political film in the anti-fascist tradition of Pontecorvo's Battle of Algeirs and Costa-Gavras' Z and State of Seige.

And despite his serious message, Pasolini has the sense of humor to add the comic relief of those silly women dragged up like Glinda the Good Witch, coming down the Hello-Dolly staircases telling their naughty, campy tales. But, he flags, behind their fashion lurks Fascism.

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO MGM MUSICALS?

Lots of gay men don't like real things. They hide in fantasy and ritual. They prefer life in a gay ghetto. They need nobody to cover their eyes and ears. On their own, they ostrich-like refuse to look or listen farther than their cocks can shoot. They miss Pasolini's value of using gay vision in a twisted straight world.

Pier Paolo's images are strong. His message is clear: FASCISM IS COMING OUT OF ITS CLOSET TOO. His film won't let us ignore it. He shakes us to bodily we want to turn away our faces from the screen. We may not emotionally like what we see; but, understanding his visionary point of view, we can intelligently distinguish and explain how what he films is not about our Ritual S & M, but about a real political-moral reality that, like something dreadful, this way comes. GET THE PICTURE?

In defense of her own bizarre short stories' strong images, Flannery O'Connor wrote about people who have eyes and see not and ears and hear not: "To the almost deaf you have to shout; and to the almost blind, you have to write in very large letters.

Pasolini's death-cry, Salo shouts very large.

- Jack Fritscher

PHOTO COURTESY OF SURF. THEATRES GROUP, SAN FRANCISCO

Close Encounters

This is the film for those of you who love imaginative excitement and adventure , but may have felt short-changed intellectually by the spectacular Star Wars. Not that Close Encounters of the Third Kind picks up where the earlier-released sci-fi epic left off, but that this new Columbia release deals with abstractions that its predecessor left untouched. It isn't so much a matter of "better than" as it is one of "different from," conducive of being viewed on a fascinating variety of levels.

Encounters of the "third kind," for those of you who haven't left your dungeons for the past six months, are those involving contact with alien beings (the "first kind is a UFO sighting, and the "second kind" physical evidence of visitors from outer space). While there has been a tiresome plenitude of flicks over the years dealing with a pedestrian variety of contacts with extra-terrestial beings, none has attempted to deal in quite this way with the psychotheo-

In coming to grips with these implications , however, Close Encounters of the Third Kind in no way sacrifices either fascination or just plain entertainment. Niggling complaints on the part of some peevish critics that there is something of a mid-film sag are totally unjustified: that period of character insights and plot development is absolutely mandatory in terms of the 35-minute climactic section that concludes the film; a section, incidentally , featuring the most astounding marriage of sight and sound the motion picture industry has ever produced.

The opening sequences are deceptively conventional - a series of seemingly unrelated incidents meant simply to indicate that something most unusual is going on in the skies over midwestern America. We are then hypnotically drawn into the life of an Indiana repairman (Richard Dreyfuss) who, sent to investi- gate a widespread power failure, experiences the first "encounter." Bit by bit, we become involved with his unique obsession and its effect on others, not- ably wife Teri Garr and their three repulsive children. All react in completely human and understandable ways.

A major casting coup is the use of famed director Francois (400 Blows) Truffaut as a French phenomenologist, heading a large group of international scientists, who attempts to find the rationale behind the UFOs, as well as ways to communicate with them. Truf-faut , appropriately, speaks only his native language throughout - a nice touch of realism that enhances the overall effect.

All the performances are uniformly excellent , with Dreyfuss, it should come as no surprise, particularly outstanding in both his anguish and his ecstasy.

Writer-director Spielberg Steven should now be the hottest talent in town. and deservedly so - the two years of his time and $30,000,000 of Columbia's investment have been well spent. Douglas Trumball, remembered for 2001 and Silent Running, is credited as senior special-effects man for realizing the unprecedented visualizations, with Joe Alves as production designer. The finest score in recent movie history is the work of John Williams. Producers Julia Phillips and Michael Phillips obviously would settle for nothing but the best.

They, and the audience, get it.

Ed Franklin

Equus

The attempt to transplant Peter Shaf-fer's shattering play, Equus, from stage to screen was fraught with hazard. A good deal of its searing impact derived from the overt theatricality of the physical production: expressionistic unit set, lengthy monologues delivered directly to the audience, nonrepresentation lighting and sound effects - all elements seemingly antithetical to the singular realism inherent to film.

It is with relief one reports that Sidney Lumet (working from Shaffer's own screenplay) has made the translation into movie terms very nearly a successful one. Wisely using two principals from the New York cast, Richard Burton and Peter Firth, in the pivotal roles of the repressed psychiatrist, Dysart, and the emo- tionally-tortured stableboy, Strang, the director has fabricated a version of the original that retains much of its hypnotic force.

As the story of an outrageous crime — the inexplicable blinding of six horses by their devoted attendant - Equus can be interpreted as a psychological thriller, a crime play, or an intellectual horror story. The primary focus can be properly oriented to that of a simple suspense yarn: why did the boy do as he did? Burton's role as the psychiatrist is to discover the answer to that bewildering question, in the course of which investigation flash-backs illuminate the accused in relationship with his family, a young girl (in an extensive nude scene with him), and his own particular godlike demons, the horses themselves.

But it is the relationship between him and the child psychologist into whose unsteady hands he is remanded that occupy the bulk of the exercise. With virtually no changes in the (sometimes blue) dialog and absolutely no alteration or compromise with the original premise and content, this Lester Persky-Elliott Kastner production, released by United Artists, still asks that most pertinent of questions: does anyone have the right to force someone else into a preconceived concept of "normality"?

Burton and Firth, well-nigh flawless, are supported with excellent performances by Colin Blakely and Joan Plow-right as the mystified father and mother, Harry Andrews as the outraged owner of the stables, and, most especially, Eileen Atkins as the compassionate magistrate who induces Dysart to take on Strang as a patient. Jenny Agutter, late of Logan's Run, ably provides the other nude body.

While one might fault Lumet for excessive over-reliance on melodramatic lighting and music in some instances (notably during Burton's longer speeches), the fact remains that Equus posits a dilemma that deserves broadest possible dissemination, and, as a film, will hopefully motivate audiences across the country to examine their own notions of right and wrong. I recommend you be among them.

- Ed Franklin

Damnation Alley

Perhaps (but not bloodly likely) if there had never been a Star Wars, one might be more indulgent toward Damnation Alley (at one point in time more accurately entitled Survival Run). But the unavoidable fact is that Star Wars does exist, is also a Twentieth Century-Fox presentation, and was produced with infinitely more intelligence and care than this Johnny-come-lately Jan-Michael Vincent vehicle.

In the first place, the basic premise has been done to death: that old chestnut focusing on the survivors of a nuclear holocaust (the mere spelling out of those words brings on a feeling of galloping ennui), in which you take a young leading man (Jan-Michael), supply a some- what older antagonist (George Peppard), throw in an exotic female (Dominique Sanda) - foreign accents are mandatory here — along with a minority or two (Paul Winfield), and mix with an adolescent innocent on the brink of manhood (Jackie Earle Haley).

Damnation Alley is the thuddingly dumb film even a retarded three-year- old would have predicted from such a tiresome catalog of ingredients. Not so the convoluted production team of Hal Landers, Bobby Roberts, Jerome M. Zeitman, and Paul Maslansky. An indi- cation of their combined wisdom is that they delayed release of this turkey for more than a year after it was completed and had been mercifully committed to a dusty shelf on the Fox vault. Delayed it, that is, until after the impact of that

What few talents the principal actors might possibly have possessed are cun- ningly blunted by director Jack Smight, working from an awkward screenplay by Alan Sharp and Lukas Heller based on a non-novel by Roger Zelanzny. Only the extremely expert special effects, thanks to the efforts of William Cruse, Milt Rice, and Ken Middleham, provide evidence that some kind of human intelligence may have been involved in the whole dreary mess.

All the landmobiles, supertornadoes, giant cockroaches, and hillbillies in the universe cannot save Damnation Alley. In a curious kind of reverse gestalt, it is considerably less than the sum of its parts. We who have now just about reluctantly given up on Jan-Michael Vincent can only hope, perhaps a bit wistfully, that one of his forthcoming pics — Big Wednesday or Olympiad — will do something to resurrect his rapidly- diminishing horde of fans.

- Ed Franklin

THE PLEASURE CHEST

NEW YORK

PHILADELPHIA

CHICAGO ATLANTA

LOS ANGELES

Continued from page 17

GAY SPORTS: TUFFY

Peeled down the same way, Tuffy's Sportswear on Castro in San Francisco caters to outfitting the jock from the jockstrap on out, layer by layer, out to whatever sports uniform is needed. Tuffy himself is behind the competition be- tween San Francisco and Los Angeles for the First Annual California Cup in gay all-star football, basketball, and volley- ball. Through Tuffy's USA Club, white-water rafting trips are currently co- ordinated by Larry Kratzer, a veteran tour guide of whitewater trips through northwestern Colorado and northeastern Utah.

Tennis, racquetball, and squash are coached by Jim Stacy, athletic director for gay racquet sports. Stacy has instituted a challenge system for advanced, intermediate, and beginning players. Stacy is one of northern California's top squash players. The caliber of coaching and play for tennis, racquetball, squash, and badmitton is geared to provide the good gay athlete with quality competition while insuring adequate instruction for the beginning player.

Bodybuilding, sponsored by Tuffy's USA, likewise looks to the interests of the beginner. Since most gay men belong to either a traditional weight gym or a Nautilus Fitness Center, this bodybuild-ing association addresses itself to the needs of gay pumpers wherever they work out. Utilizing the buddy system, advanced bodybuilders share their training tricks with men on the threshold of a properly bulked and defined physique. An openly gay physique contest is planned for the near future.

Tuffy's interesting shop is located at 597 Castro in San Francisco. The USA Club phone is (415) 621-2128.

BAY AREA BOXING CLUB

Greg Varney is a man who knows what he wants and how to organize what he gets. Native to the Bay Area, Greg has wrestled and boxed in a variety of cities, but chose San Francisco as the founding city for his Boxing and Fighting Club. The disarming Varney, who has the face of a Botticelli boxer, has plenty to say about sports and the gay men who play them.

"I started boxing when I was eight years old," Greg says, "and I won a Golden Gloves title when I was seventeen. I've always loved boxing for itself. Those lockerroom romances are porn-film fantasies . Not that boxers aren't gay. Just that most male athletes at the mere mention of homosexuality really tighten up. I mean when I watch a bout I don't go to see the bodies per se. I go to watch the technique. Secondarily, the bodies from light to heavyweight interest me.

"What turned me on sexually to boxing was once when I was thirteen I boxed naked with another kid for about thirty seconds. I tried not to think about that during my amateur career; but when I was twenty-four, I came out. Ever since

Cash and carry: for any fantasy or reality, call Joe (415) 673-8471

then, my main purpose has been to open up boxing to gay men who never were aware that this sport could be available to them. For instance, my roommate, Mike Mooney, started boxing in May, 1976. When I started teaching him to box, I found he was really good and highly motivated. So I took him to my local gym and we started his amateur career. So far, he's had two amateur bouts and is scheduled for his third. Something Mike always dreamed about thing, but integral to the country, has happened — so far successfully.

"Meeting men such as Mike who like boxing and fighting doesn't happen easily on the streets or in the bars. So I put ads in various gay publications and got a real flood of letters and calls. Right away I knew I had to weed out the phonies, and there were plenty — about 75 percent. A phoney, I judged, was a guy more interested in jerking off looking at himself or me in our Everlast gear than at himself of me in our Everlast geal united he was in actual training or sparring. Sex is for-sure involved, but secondarily. With this premise, I started the Bay Area Boxing and Fight Club in 1976.

"Mike and I looked fo both to live and to box. We finally found

Continued on page 83 DRUMMER 71

GAY SOURCE: A CATALOG FOR MEN Dennis Sanders Berkeley Publishing Corporation New York, 1977

Conventional gay cruising areas like bars, parks, and public restrooms are currently declining in popularity as gay awareness opens alternate avenues of meeting. These days, everything from sports to church socials provide gay activities through which we can meet, cruise, and encounter legally and with dignity. An awareness of this trend appears to be the basic motivation of Gay Source: A Catalog for Men, compiled, written, and edited by Dennis Sanders, who states in his Preface: "There is a broad, somewhat informal, but nevertheless highly functional network of businesses , communications, and services which have arisen in response to the needs of our great gay community."

Gay Source is a 290-page compila- tion of what is happening where within a sweeping variety of gay-oriented activi- ties around the country. Topics covered range from the serious to the whimsical: arts to health to drugs to body awareness to fashions to legalities to religion to vacation paradises. Sanders prefaces each topic with an informative, and often entertaining, article detailing what the area is all about, followed by listings, descriptions, and up-to-date correspondence information for organizations, books, periodicals, and resources.

Sanders is upfront with giving Gay Yellow Pages its due credit while explaining how the Gay Source Catalog has angled its useful perspective without duplicating Gayellow's work. His Preface explains his Catalog: it is for men; bars and retail businesses like poetry and fiction are excluded, while gay musical composers and theater are included. Where other directories provide information Sanders has chosen not to include, he lists them and recommends cross-reference . He has chosen a selection of fresh topics which "… will give a cross section of information, viewpoints, and areas of interest.'

Twenty-eight writers, each credible in his own field, have been chosen to author the thirty-five succinct prefacing articles, many of which are reprints from a variety of national publications. Each article describes the history and the current state of each particular topic. Some articles offer insightful direction for the future. Others emphasize where more work is needed.

Sanders has chosen not to dwell on the oppression that gays face in the non-gay world, but rather to point out the amicable relationships that exist in many areas between the gay and non-gay worlds. The Gay Source Catalog emphasizes our human sameness rather than our sexual differences.

Sanders' energy shows in his detailed listings of the organizations, books, periodicals, and resources he has chosen for his catalog. In these lists, he presents thoroughly all appropriate information concerning the listing and then very objectively evaluates it from several different perspectives. He states why the one book chosen is the best available, supporting his evaluation with objective evidence. He never negates absolutely any listing. Whatever is included is obviously relevant and worthwhile.

As with any book of lists, none can ever be completely up-to-date. Gay Source works well even with this handicap ; very few out-dated listings caught my eye. Sanders states that he was often disappointed by the lack of response from many businesses and organizations who neither provided or updated information . Within the listings, he offers alternative directories and publications to bridge this gap in up-to-date information .

Often The Gay Source Catalog contains interesting surprises: a history of gay pirate buccaneer homosexuality is detailed; a state-by-state summary of sodomy, indecent exposure, lewdness, solicitation, and disorderly conduct laws; a positive approach toward government assistance for gays. Many articles offer a "how-to-do" approach: how to publish your own book, how to pump-up in ten minutes without a gym, how to go about making the decision of "coming out" professionally, how to handle an arrest situation, how to choose a therapist, etc. Sanders' book takes a most positive descriptive approach of how things are, rather than a negative proscriptive at- a sound investment for any gay man, no matter where he is geographically located . For those not having the freedom of gay interaction offered in larger U.S. cities, Gay Source is a practical and even necessary reference book for finding alternative means to meet and communicate with other gay men. For those of us surrounded by the freedom of The Big Time, Gay Source is still very good news.

— Bob Zygarlicki

PLANTS 703 9 SE-BROK and BEAUTIFUL La May International 8273 Santa Monica Blvd. Los Angeles

DRUMMER 72

HE CMC CAR

PHOTOS BY SPARROW (CMC)

New York, New York hardly knows when San Francisco hosts the CMC Carnival. The annual autumn bash at the Seaman's Hall began modestly a decade ago as a charity bazaar and has immodestly grown bizarre enough to be A Major Event of the West Coast Season. Multiple charter busses ferry LAlanders to the party and San Franciscans prefer the November CMC at Seaman's to October's Halloween in the streets.

IS IT RICH? IS IT RARE?

Some guys think the CMC Carnival is overcrowded: two floors of booths, beer, and 10,000 bodies. CMC addicts, on the other hand, get off on the press of flesh, the long lines to the outdoor Port-a-Sans, the straight security cops staring into midspace as if they see stand-up orgies for thousands every Sunday afternoon.

SOME ON THE GROUND

The first floor of booths peddles food, drink, leather, tee shirts, and games of chance. Wandering among the predominately leather crowd are the year's muy macho contenders for Mr. CMC whose nomination may be determined by his looks, but whose winning is decided by the cash he raises for charity. They gladhand with genuine friendliness, climb good naturedly up on stage to rousing cheers at their lengthy charms, pumped chests and cleft chins. The crowd by 4 PM is shoulder to shoulder, peeling off layers of leather, unable to move more than five feet in ten minutes.

SOME IN MID-AIR

Some guys meet, marry, consummate and divorce all in one glorious CMC Sunday afternoon. For men more adventurous , the lower-level disco orgy teaches the Funk and Wagnalls truth that carnival means "a celebration of meat." Performing on your knees on top of a cement floor piled three-feet-deep with beer cans, make walking on water an easy trick. Dancers dance and a sucker is always a sucker. The only hitch in the crush is getting back up from your knees to your feet. If ever a man fantasized about his face surrounded by a dozen loaded groins, and a lot of chest-to-chest action, then there is no mall to maul him nearly so good as the CMC carnival.

SEND IN THE CLOWNS.

So New York, book Manhattan onto a charter flight for next November. CMC Carnival is a date not to be missed. Mark it firmly on your DRUMMER CALEN-DAR of Autumn Events.

Proper Berserkers are mighty of stature, hairy of face and body, generously thewed and sinewed. Their interest is not war but battle. In time of peace, they sharpen their wits and mend their scanty battle harness. They are

From The Bootrack.

PART TWO

"Now maybe the story should stop here, but the fact is that it didn't. I was still sitting there holding his foot be- tween my legs and with both of his shoes on the chair next to me. I made sure nobody could see what I was doing (al- though Bob couldn't be sure) and held his shoes up where we could both see them. "Aren't those great shoes" I said, "just about one of the best pairs of cordovans I've ever had," and I make him agree with everything I say about how sexy they are and all. Then I held one of his shoes in front of me, down low but where he could still see what I was going to do, and I take my cup of tea and start to pour, just a few drops, into his shoe. Now, I really wanted to fill that whole beautiful shoe with that hot tea (guess I actually wanted to cum in his shoe, huh?) but I didn't have the nerve.

'I let him talk me out of it that time, by making him agree to let me take his sock off instead. So, finally, I got his sock off and dropped it under the table and let him try and get it back while trying not to let anybody see his bare foot. But I kept his shoes until we were finished. And I got his shoes and combat boots a lot of times after that, but I did have to promise never to put him thru anything quite that bad again."

"the fourth and final relationship I had with this guy is kind of hard to explain . As I've been able to dope it out, he knows he has homosexual feelings, and he's willing to admit it, but he gets to feeling guilty about his wife and kid. So he calls me up and I get him out here and punish him. Which is a real pleasure, because he's one beautiful stud.

"When he called this time I found out he was working alone at his office, so I had him take his shoes and socks off and leave them there before he drove out. (He did it too, because once before when I told him to, he wore them to drive with and left them in his car when he got here. I found them and made him piss in his shoes - with the socks stuffed in them.

He got the point.) "He gets to the door, in his coat and tie, but barefoot. My buddy and I let him stand outside for a while and threaten to make him take the rest of his clothes off. (I've made him do that too, but at night.) Finally we let him in and we sit around having coffee and talking. Then we make Tom strip down to his shorts, a piece at a time, and then I give him some socks and lace-up work boots and make him put them on.

"We get him between us on the sofa and each take one of his feet and start working on it. He has to keep talking like nothing was happening. Whenever he hollers or asks us to stop we add to the punishment he's going to have to take.

"When I finally figure I'll come if I sit there any longer with this guy's work boot in my crotch, twisting his foot around, we tell him it's time to take his punishment. We tie his hands in front of him and drag him out to the cottage. (The yard is pretty well hidden from sight, but he still gets sort of shook up about it, with nothing on but his work boots and socks, and his shorts with some damp spots where the treatment has been getting to him.) "The first thing he has to do is get down on his knees and kiss our shoes and untie the laces with his teeth. While he's working on my buddy's shoes I beat his ass to make him work faster. Then we tell him he has to lick the soles of our shoes, which I already know is further than Tom can go. When he refuses we tie him up to the beam and tear his shorts off. Then we whip him, easy at first, but he still won't lick our shoes and I can't help laying it on him with a stick across his ass. I really don't like to hurt him, but the son of a bitch can take so damn much punishment and still tell you to shove it when he's feeling stubborn, that sometimes I get carried away.

"When he still won't give in, I tell him I'll take some pictures instead, which he also won't go for. So we start in torturing Tom, and after a lot of squeezing his tits we go to work on his balls. He finally has to give in and agrees to let me take some shots. We make Tom get up on this big block of wood, and string him up tight. Then, while I take the pictures, my buddy tortures him some more to make him take his feet off the block. When he does, he's stretched up on his toes and like I said, just about ready to go out.

"By this time he's practically crying and begging us to let him down. I think I'm going to, and instead I grab my shoe and stick it in his face - he licks that the nerve to really push Tom until he broke. I felt guilty about it, but he has

"So, Arne, there it is, for what it's worth to you, or members of the B.A.S. or Drummer magazine. I don't have any apologies, that is me and my life-style."

Also, from the East Coast comes the following expose of a man's most cherished desires. Again, he is a very masculine person, yet a slave to boots and shoes.

"recently a friend loaned me a copy of Drummer magazine which contained your interview on boots and shoes. Boots are my chief interest, from ankle high workmans boots to engineer, combat Army boots, western type cowboy boots, motorcycle, police, construc- tion type, etc. Also, well polished busi- ness men's shoes, wing-tips, etc. As long as they are of all leather construction.

I have had some experience in tongueing , kissing and licking men's boots and shoes over the past twenty years or so, but only on a one-sided basis. That is, some men have allowed me to indulge my fantasy along with a j / o, after I had satisfied them sexually with a good b / j. Most of these men are married and their principal interest is getting relieved of their load. Then in return they will sit back and extend their big booted feet for me to lick, smell and kiss until I get my own satisfaction with a j / o.

The first time I had enough nerve to ask permission to do this, the man, (construction worker) reacted with some surprise, but being slightly tipsy at the time, he agreed and watched with some interest as I licked his size 11 ankle-high work boots clean. They were brown heavy leather with rawhide laces, thick worn down rubber soles and heels,

Continued on page 82 DRUMMER 79

Boots Continued from page 79 scuffed, scratched, and dusty. As I licked them from top to bottom, soles, heels and all, I breathed in the heady smell of the sweat-soaked leather and the white sweat socks which encased his feet. As I approached my climax I took as much of the big, rounded boot toe into my mouth as I could and sucked on it until I had cum - one of my best climax ever. Best of all, the man did not ridicule me for it, but just laughed in a friendly way and asked: "Did you get it good?"

I had this experience with the same man many times over the years, with numerous pairs of his workboots. Re- cently we have lost contact, but I think my first desire will always be big, dirty, ankle high, lace-up construction boots.

After my first experience with this man I had more confidence in approaching other men with this proposition. I have had contact since that first time with a welder, a shipyard worker, another construction worker - (who sometimes would appear on his nights off wearing high, brown western boots and tell me - "Thought I'd give you a little treat tonight." ) A few times with well-dressed business men, who expressed some re- pulsion after I had licked their fifty dollar wing-tips and made me wipe them off with my handkerchief afterward. (One allowed me to lick only the soles and heels.) Still another one asked if I would like to take his shoes off and lick out the interiors, which I did. He seemed fascinated by it all and watched me do it with much interest, asking several times how I liked the taste and smell of his shoes. I saw this man only once and we lost track of each other.

Also have had a few experiences in the s / m field which included boot licking , although these men seemed more interested in using their belts and boots for inflicting punishment than anything else. However, these meetings were not without enjoyment on my part. In all, I enjoy mostly licking a man's boots without him reciprocating, but especially if he watches me do it and is demanding and expletive as to how he wants it done . .

And so read the many letters that come to me. Guys who get down on theater floors to lick the shoes and boots of servicemen (some who have fallen asleep and have no idea what's happening to their footwear, guys who shoot a load on footwear and have to lick their own cum off the shoes and boots, guys who even steal others boots and shoes, so demand- ing is their sexual desires for this fetish, working as a tranquelizer as well.

This does not mean all this goes on now in modern times, for in the follow- ing series of 'Boot Rack' episodes, we will go back into history and see what went on. And please don't hesitate to write me of your own opinions, for Drummer magazine is overloaded and understaffed now, and wishes me to handle my own column of letters, articles and stories. For Drummer is one of the most open-minded of the homophile magazines and they understand the pressures of our sexual dreams and desires.

Arnell Larsen P.O. Box 70 La Canada, CA 91011

Pissing Continued from page 24 rogator's arm was moving vigorously beneath the desk. At first, Day had paid no attention, assuming that his tormentor was scratching or rubbing his leg. But now he could see that his tormentor was massaging his genitals, masturbating! Day realized now that he was in the hands of a pervert, a genuine sadist, one who achieved sexual satisfaction from inflicting pain on others.

"It was the incentive Day needed. He summoned the strength to focus a disdainful smirk on the hateful degenerate, one that let him know that he had been seen, that his victim knew … He won- dered, prayerfully, how long it would take the pervert to achieve sexual satisfaction , to tire of the torture and release him from it. He had been hanging for from two to three hours.'

Such realities both cause the Navy to prepare its men for sexual abuse and cause civilian belief in the secret details coming to light: the spitting, pissing, shitting, masturbating, all juicily excused as preparation for patriotism.

THAT'S STRAIGHT PISS FOR YOU

For relief, comic and cockwise, Burt Reynolds wins the Wet Oscar for Best On-Screen Piss in Semi-Tough when he inserts his dick into a rubber hose, straps it down his leg, and pisses into a metal flask strapped inside his boot. The loud soundtrack outdoes rain on a hot tin roof. Pasolini, in his version of Some- thing for Everyone called Teorema, films the humpy teenaged son pissing off the family balcony. In Kenneth Anger's Scorpio Rising, a classic gay version of The Wild One, the lead biker stands on an altar in a church and pisses into the chalice of his helmet, and finally pisses down on all the worshippers gathered around him.

In prison plays and film like Miguel Pinero's Short Eyes or Kenneth Brown's The Brig, the piss scene is obligatory. Experienced cons usually take to shoving a new dude's head into the cellblock toilet in an initiation as time-honored as the Hell's Angels' initiation of pissing on a new member's colors. And his leather jacket. And his jeans. From then on an Angel pulls off the road strictly for a good shit. Piss just goes off like a rocket in his pocket.

SOME LIKE IT HOT

Ancient warriors bathed in piss. Victorian athletes rubbed themselves down with piss before a good cricket match. Health addicts for years have claimed piss perfect for brushing the teeth. India's Prime Minister Norarji Desai announced recently: "For the past five or six years, I have drunk a glass of my own urine - about six to eight ounces - every morning . It is very good for you, and it is even free. Even in the Bible it says drink from your own cistern. What's your own cis- tern? It is your urine. Urine is the water of life."

Some men, always working toward versatility, often take a liking for piss: from beer-clear to early morning thick. The range of preference is an acquired taste; the reasons for taking another man's piss range from the sacred to the profane.

Some guys start off early in life, pissing, as little boys, into the family john with their brother, having races to see who will finish first. Others start later, at college bars, pissing into the same trough. Refinements set in: going off to bars across from police stations to give the porcelain a good lick when the cops come in after duty for a quick beer quickly pissed out; pissing up a guy's ass before, during, and / or after a good hard fuck; preparing the basic water sports emblem, a piss-soaked jock, tucked into the back pocket.

Variations on any theme, even Han- del's "Water Music," are as endless as the inventive mind of man. Run an ad in The Leather Fraternity for Mason Jars of dirty bathwater and takers will beat a path to your P.O. Box. You just can't out-fetish and out-fantasize and out-actualize all of the people all of the time. But that is The Joy of Piss, like the joy of almost everything else: finding out that you as a man of the Third Kind are not alone, and in piss, more than almost anything else, together men sink to swim.

Sports Continued from page 71 large enough to set up our regulation-size boxing ring. Our facilities now include different weight boxing gloves, headgear, and other protective boxing gear, heavy bags, speed bags, and a gen- eral workout area near the boxing ring itself.

"We offer private bouts, instruction and workouts, and a lot of times, we function as an outlet for guys who just like to roughhouse on the canvas with other guys. More formally, our instruction and sparring is aimed at the growing number of men who come regularly for workouts to learn boxing techniques. We also like wrestling, but tend to exclude it so as not to duplicate the trip of the various wrestling clubs.

"We also have a majority of members heavy into the leather-sweat-contest aspect of boxing. Some of the bouts have some special rules determined by the participants. Some guys like to box in full leather. Others spar nude. Some like bodypunching fights, with no hitting of the head. Some dig wearing headgear and mouthpieces to box with full body contact above the waist. The 'contest' boxers like to fight to submission for a prize. That kind of prize, claimed in the ring on the canvas, I leave to your imagination.

"Any man interested primarily in boxing and other contact fighting sports with other gay men can contact the Bay Area Boxing and Fight Club by writing 681 Ellis Street, No. 111, San Francisco, 94102. The club and gym phone is (415) 861-1006. Novices, intermediates, pros: we respect them all at their level."

OLIVE-OIL WRESTLING a young Turkish wrestler is an even better reality.

Each August in Gallipoli, 500 male wrestlers pair off, slap their leather thighs, clasp each other to rub the olive oil into their naked torsos and into their leather breeches. The breeches, fit like American football pants from waist to mid-calf. They are made from forty-five pieces of a young Turkish wrestler is an even better reality.

Each August in Gallipoli, 500 male wrestlers pair off, slap their leather thighs, clasp each other to rub the olive oil into their naked torsos and into their leather breeches. The breeches, fit like American football pants from waist to mid-calf They are made from forty-five pieces of leather and 200 yards of cotton, cost $30, and last two years. They are soaked in water, sweat, and oil to soften the leather. Each wrestler, stripped to the waist, usually sporting a heavy dark moustache and a crewcut, lavishly coats his leather breeches and his torso, arms, head, and feet with olive oil. He knots tight his breeches' waist cord, and the ritual dating back to ancient Greek vases begins.

Over the centuries, Turkish olive-oil wrestling has become more than a sport. It is a macho ritual woven from the stuff of young men's wet dreams. Immensely popular as a tourist attraction today, Turkish wrestling peaked 100 years ago when Sultan Abdul Aziz, a massive athlete and himself a wrestler, under his imperial blessing, added the refinement of coating the marble floors of his palaces, as well as the bodies of his wrestlers, with oil - a baroque, murderous, hard-on touch.

Olive-oil wrestling has few rules. Anything goes in the free-for-all of 500 men, oiled, sweating in the sun, identified only by silver studs spelling out their names on the back waist of their leathers. There is much man-to-man macho chivalry and little shame in losing a match that goes on for hours and sometimes days. The only real shame is when a handsome young wrestler loses his leather breeches and is left standing oiled and naked in the sunswept field of brawling men. To him it's shame. To a tourist it's a prime Turkish Delight.

GAY WRESTLING

Equally delightful is American gay wrestling. The Wrestling Club network now spans from California to Chicago to New York, with the New York Wrestling Club somehow the most colorful because of its founding president and chief promotor , the dark-mustachioed John of / the / state [×3+] feint the disarmed interviewer into a half-nelson. No exaggeration. Handley is such a wrestling afficionado that an interviewer gets his best answers being dropkicked across Handley's NYWC wrestling mats. Meeting John is a bruise forever, and a joy, once you realize that for Liza life is a cabaret, and for John life is a basic body slam to the canvas.

Handley describes his wrestling style as mean. His favorite holds are the body scissors, head scissors, and hammerlock. His Dewar's Profile quote: "I wrestle because I like beating the shit out of guys."

No wonder the world is beating a path to this man's door.

CRUISIN' FOR A BRUISIN'

The New York Wrestling Club was created to afford civilized men a chance

to get down and grapple. Its newsletter, membership roster, and social events toster the network of matches between athletes, gay and even straight, for whom wrestling is a prime interest. "Whatever else happens between the two men," Handley says, "is their business."

Handley twists my arm. "In urban life, men need to rebuild primal physical en- counters. Man to man," he says. "Wrestling is one path. The most personal of all sports." He pushes his knee into my sports." He pushes his knee into my groin. "We expect wrestlers to be sensitive human beings who will make an effort to perceive in a match all the levels of encounter a one-on-one grapple involves . Some guys wrestle okay in private, but are afraid to wrestle in a gym or bar. He twists my arm tighter, for real. "Failure in a success-oriented society is hard to take."

"And it hurts," I say, dropping my notepad and pushing the butt of my palm into his chin. "We all like to win matches, but not everyone can be a winner." He speaks through clenched teeth, holding my arm immobile. "Some guys think of wrestling only as a contest."

"No shit," I say. Do I look to him like George Plimpton?

"It's more than a contest." "It's murder," I say. I'm not ready for this encounter.

"I like spontaneity," he says. "Do you?”

"The Japanese liked spontaneity," I

"Gay wrestling is a process of mutual discovery, interaction, exploration of the self as well as the other man who is of mutual interest."

'You're breaking my arm," I say. "The other man is a person. Not just an object to toss around in a ring."

"Uncle," I say. "I'm a person." "Again." (This guy's got style.) "Uncle." I repeat it. "How the fuck can I write notes with you breaking my tucking arm?"

"You got to admit wrestling's fun." "I love it," I say. "I'll remember every minute of this, and punched him in the stomach. The free-for-all was on.

Handley ain't no cupcake. He's a wrestler's cup of tea. Bouts with him can be arranged along with information about the NYWC by writing: Handley, 59 West 10th Street, New York 10011. The Chi-cago Wrestling Club, directed by Jim Tomnitz, can plug you into midwestern grappling if you write to Box 4491, Chicago 60680. Larry Lane is the contact for California wrestlers. Write: The Gym, 5919 Franklin Avenue, Hollywood 90028.

John Handley wisely urges all wrestlers that the reality of the sport advises accident and disability insurance as much as a protective jock. He ain't just whistling "Dixie."

HAND-JOB ATHLETES

For armchair and hand-job athletes who get off on the male body in the triumph of victory and the agony of defeat, the following three firms - endorsed perhaps against their will - give excellent service on fine quality super-8 films which you can show through your projector at normal speed or at slower speeds as low as three frames per second, in order to see each ripple of muscle, each drip of sweat, and each celebration of manflesh.

AMG (ATHLETIC MODEL GUILD)

1836 W. 11th Street Los Angeles 9006

AMG understands gay interests. Its catalog is, in fact, a very hot magazine. As usual, state you are over 21 and en- close $1.25. AMG magazines have long been collectibles. Nearly everyone in the midwest came out looking at good old Physique Pictorial. The wrestling films featured vary on a scale of 1 to 10 according to your tastes in hustlers, ex-cons and make-believe cops going at each other. Good fantasy stuff.

FILM ASSOCIATES P.O. Box 545

Venice, California 90291 If you like bodybuilders, you'll never find better posing, oiling, and contest physique footage in the world. Reels feature the incredible Mike Mentzer, Scott Wilson, Roger Callard, Joe Means, and hundreds of other top bodies in super-8. Film Associates' product is expensive , but their quality of visual fidelity and satisfyingly quick service, in addition to body builders you will never any other way get close to, make judicious purchase a continuing nightly joy. Especially recommended for athletes looking for a jolt of motivation. Film Associates features little, if any, nudity. They are forthrightly straight, but certainly worthy of use as a gay resource by men who appreciate the male body as the ultimate sculpture. Send $1 for the latest brochure .

SPORTSFILM INTERNATIONAL

415 Belleview Avenue Normal, Illinois 61761

If you think pro-wrestlers are fat comics of the mat, Sports Film Inter- national will quickly disabuse you with its array of super-8 color professional wrestling matches featuring men for every hot taste in real rough-and-tumble choreography . Football being a seasonal sport, many hunky players like Dick Blood and New England Patriots' Russ Francis (who could fold out of Playgirl for days) ex- hibit their talents on the pro-wrestling circuit. Lovingly photographed by Sports Film International, the slamming is for real. The quality of color film is exceptional . The mail-order service, trust- worthy. It is also straight and clothed in wrestling trunks and lace-up boots. Send $1 for the current catalog. The product is a turn-on for men into man-to-man confrontation.

TOUGH IS AS TOUGH DOES

Sports is a way to practice competition , a way to learn physical / political/ moral self-defense, even if only expressed through busloads of men heading Tuesday nights to South San Francisco to rollerskate. More than pirouetting, the Folsom Street men turn the rink into a poppered roughhouse of rollerball. The politicizing of gay men has caused an increase in aggression as expressed on the fields, the courts, the rinks, and the baths. Since Anita, more gay men are into combative sports and sex than ever before . This phenomenon seems a definite sign that gays are in training to counter the attacks so unreasonably launched against us. Trained physically, we build the endurance to resist morally and politically those who would have us not live a lifestyle different from theirs.

Sports gives gays literally another arena in which to speak out and communicate to a nation that prides itself on understanding sports.

In New york recently, an organization of gay athletes announced a $100,000 national advertising campaign against Florida citrus products the day after the Florida Citrus Commission's decision to renew Anita Bryant's contract . Craig Liebermann, a spokesperson for the INTERNATIONAL UNION OF GAY ATHLETES, said the bulk of the money for the campaign was donated by professional athletes whom he would not identify.

So far, Anita and company, has only been hit with a fruit pie and a gaycott. Her jock husband better warn her what fury can be conjured at halftime in a lockerroom. Her next hit could be a well-placed

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THE DRUMMER SHOPPER THE

ATHLETIC MODEL GUILD offers you the largest male photography collection anywhere. Copies of PHYSIQUE PICTORIAL and our 8mm films are always available. Send $2 to AMG, 1834 W. 11th St., Los Angeles, CA 90006 for a copy of the magazine and a lot more information,

Remember when it was just clean towels and a steam room?

There was a time when a heated swimming pool in a health club was unheard of! A sunken whirlpool bath, massaging showers, a color TV lounge (this one's got a five foot screen!), handsomely appointed private rooms…all were considered luxuries. At the Club Miami, all of this is considered part of what we consider "the basics." Oh, by the way, we've also got three sun decks, a master gym, a bunk house, health food bar, game area, both a steam room and a sauna, cabanas and The Pleasure Chest Boutique. Now, that's a health club! club miami

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RAW MEAT

JAY, illustrator / car- Α. 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!

$9.00 for the set. Price includes First Class postage and handling. Send check or money order to:

Powerhouse Productions BOX 11007 DEPT. D San Francisco, Ca. 94101 (allow 2-3 weeks for delivery.)

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

THE NIGHT EVERYBODY WAS A STAR AND MANHATTAN ATE SAN FRANCISCO

Midistration

BY JACK FRITSCHER

NIGHT FLIGHT was a golden night in the Golden Age of San Francisco — and a shock to the old over-easy attitude of Sodom-by-the-Bay. Manhattan energy streaked into town, rented the entire three floors of the Gay Community Center , and designed out of its pits a night when everybody was a star.

NIGHT BEFORE '78's EVE

The Boarding Pass ticket to Night Flight read 10 PM to 7 AM. By 2 AM, time-frame turned into time-warp. Barnum and Bailey with all the Ringlings of the Niebelungen could eat their hearts out. The Center is a Bette-Davis dump, but not after Night Flight worked the joint over like a Diller redone at Arden's. The entire interior of the Center was wrapped with white billowing sections of the Cristo fence that had run through Marin County and then into the sea; now it hung wall to wall, from the first-floor coat check to the third-floor movie dens. Three thousand men floated together inside a white parachute around circular silver ice-pools chuckful of beer, Calistoga, and The Real Thing.

CÁSINO ROYALE

The upper-floor Casino operated a healthy-staked, multi-prized ring around the walls. In the center of the casino stood a boxing-ring size platform. All night long, professional acts of juggling, magic, and strip-wrestling featured The Amazing Kristavo; On-Off, The Wonder Tobot; and a healthy Rick & Ron. Casino prizes came from 50 sponsors: health clubs, restaurants, books glory holes, galleries, baths, Jaded De- generate Man T-Shirts, photographers, artists, and manicurists for men who need smooth nails.

Behind the casino on the right, "The Tommy Memorial Pinball Room" ran two lines of twenty machines with levi baskets pressed tight against the front of the flashing, flipping, score-chunking pinballs. Behind the casino on the left, all night long, a single red light hung over a large brick room where the non-professional acts of juggling, magic, and strip-wrestling writhed the night away.

DISCOMANIACS

Hovering over the dance floor, the light-and -sound saucer-booth flashed in time to the high-energy music. A thousand dancers filled the floor. Aroma of popper rose over their heads where a tightrope rose over their neads where a ugituope walker balanced his way from crowded balcony to crowded balcony. Bodies heated. Shirts peeled off. Light show designs changed electronically. Special Duty Police stood straight and po

Grown men reported UFO sightings of a tower of sparklers and billowing smoke rolling through the sweaty crowd. From inside the tower, hands threw pop-sicles out into the tangle of naked arms. Men moved, flowed, from amusement to amusement, wandering inside the won- derful white parachute.

Night Flight was a full Busby Ber- serkly production number. Night Flight was not just four walls and a crowd. Night Flight was premeditated design. Every detail was calculated to entertain the most jaded audience in the world. And its magic worked, because Night Flight was for one night only. Nothing about it was ordinary. Nothing about it did you see last week or could you get around to next week. Night Flight was the Now of that one night: a celebration of living life-in-the-fast-lane of The Forbidden City of Oz.

IMAGES

As a ton of California grapes cascaded down the balcony walls, a second 20- foot high scaffold rolled to the middle of the dance floor. The crowd parted in an acid-red sea of sweat. Atop the scaffold , a man rode to the center of the crowd. He commanded six projectors like the multiple eyes of some closely encountered great iron beast. He shot surreal images from its six eyes to six screens hung around the hall. Men, dancing in front of the screens in white screenlike capes, became part of the abstraction .

In other rooms, floral displays toppled with bodies into the icepools.

TOWARD 1980: A SNEAK PREVIEW For laidback San Francisco, where failure of imagination often looks suspiciously like an energy outrage, Night Flight was a Manhattanization much to be desired. Michael Maletta's production proved a New Wave is hitting San Francisco , because in among the dancing, sucking, fucking, fisting, and variously heavy free-for-all s & m numbers, a lot of San Francisco heads got blown away and lost their cherries at Night Flight. How ya gonna keep 'em down in imagination after they've experienced a night like Night Flight?

Laidback and waiting like Madame Recamier has finally passed as San Francisco's favorite posture. "Laidback" won't cut it anymore. The bitch-and-bull mating of New York energy with San Francisco attitude is already producing results. Four days after Night Flight, two "rogue" San Francisco cops decided to raid any baths a private to raid a gay bath: a private place for consenting adults. Within hours, they were the laughing stock of the straight media and were censured by their chief. Public statements strong as Night Flight? very existence strengthen the solidarity of the gay political front. The gay net- work is like Peter Finch's New York Network: "When you're mad as hell, you won't take interruptions of your lifestyle anymore.

Night Flight proceeds went to The Pride Foundation which fights for gay rights in the courts, in the military, in the bedroom, and in the playroom.

VIRGINS

After Night Flight, there are no virgins anymore. That one Night Flight night, they all jumped into the volcano. Willingly . And the good times rolled. Might Flight: produced by Michael Maletta; conceptual design, Robert Currie; music, Vincent Corleo; lighting, Roy Shapiro; visuals, David Meyer; spacecraft, Alan Greenspan; lighting and sound equipment, William Roderick Associates and Sound Genesis; poster design, Joseph Vincent; poster illustration, Ed Parente; slide, ploy. slide show, Steve Barnett and Paul Hatlestad.

DRUMMER 88

7994 Santa Monica West Hollywood

MEN'S BARSCENE MEN'S B

WESTERN / LEATHER [×10+]

SOUNDS and lights pulsate. Bodies gyrate. Poppered, shirtless, sweaty men work It out Hard! Construction-gear atmosphere. This is the I-BEAM: the City's first MACHO DISCO for dancing to the beat every night on the street called Haight in San Francisco.

JOCK HOP

A deceptively low-key entrance on Haight Street, former mainstem of the Flower Children, opens on two hot bouncers who insulate the I-BEAM gang from any street-hassle invasions. Past these hunks, you walk up the large stairway to the second floor: the giant lobby / cruise / R&R area, swarms with men. Groups sit to talk. Solo-stags pose to cruise. Shirtless dancers drip with sweat after their marathon workout on the floor.

Too hot to handle, you check your jacket with the well-checked dude who takes your leather and your measure. You cruise off through the mingle, snorting up the sweaty taste of a jock hop in Marlboro Country. You hit the more intimate lobby's full-liquor bar with its Gatorade / Perrier alternatives. Corners, doorjambs, and mazeways expose athletic male bodies running wet with sweat. Everywhere: reflections. A giant mirror hangs by the johns.

AIN'T ONLY THE MUSIC IN ME

The beat of the music is everywhere: the action, the pumpfucking pumped-up pecs, blue jeans bluing bluer with sweat, colored ceiling lights, floor light-panels ramming color up into every crotch. Men: to the right; to the left. Topless tops and jocked bottoms. Men.

Move up a few steps running your hand up the thick brass rail. Enter macho paradise: the main bar fronting the hardwood dance floor. Comfortably long, the bar is a semi-tough mixer no college ever knew: dudes drinking, towelling off, leaning, waiting. Hot bartenders getting down to business under a construction of hundreds of long copper phallic tubes hung the length of the bar: a stalactite cave for thoroughly macho primitives, a beautiful sculpture undulating through the illumination of red laser light.

Hit the dance floor action. Any night after 11, the I-BEAM is hot. Men crowd the floor, pumping every muscle to Michael's coordinated music and lights.

WE CAN WORK IT OUT

The dance floor is huge as Noah's Ark: space to hold two of every type man you can fantasize. Watch, dance, bump, or rub. Who or what or where you stroke hardly matters more than men

Every Oz has its focus. The I-Beam comes together under three gigantic I- beams hanging free above the dance floor. Shades of jack-hammers, riveting guns, welder's masks, greasy levis, construction helmets! Lean back into your fantasy space and see the essence of booted macho men, skywalkers up on the I-beam. Look down and see the popper-n- salty reality of those para-construction types jammed on the floor, night-tripping in our own world. Bumpers, beaters, bruisers, flexers, sweat-ers, jockers, poppers . Tee shirts off. Tight tanks on, clinging to hard chests.

This crowd is the NEW HAIGHT STREET via FOLSOM STREET.

A laser beam shoots off into the roiling crowd. Screams, shouts, gut-noises , getting off from the center of the room to the corners. Get lost. Lose it to the best and newest sound system in the City. Energy everywhere. Men wherever you go: the oversized game room with exhibitionist bicep-sharks hustling over two pool tables or pumping crotch into the four pinball machines. TILT. Even here, the music from the disco bar pipes in: same energy muted.

The I-BEAM is a hot package well- produced. This season it's all laid out for

(Haight / Cole). Open 9 PM to 2 AM daily; 4 PM to 2 AM Sunday. The I- BEAM is a hot meeting spa for the macho male ready to turn his nostalgically remembered sock hops into the jock hop of his dreams.

The I-BEAM suffers no failure of imagination.

The Emporium,

Boots Continued from page 79 scuffed, scratched, and dusty. As I licked them from top to bottom, soles, heels and all, I breathed in the heady smell of the sweat-soaked leather and the white sweat socks which encased his feet. As I approached my climax I took as much of the big, rounded boot toe into my mouth as I could and sucked on it until I had cum - one of my best climax ever. Best of all, the man did not ridicule me for it, but just laughed in a friendly way and asked: "Did you get it good?"

I had this experience with the same man many times over the years, with numerous pairs of his workboots. Re- cently we have lost contact, but I think my first desire will always be big, dirty, ankle high, lace-up construction boots.

After my first experience with this man I had more confidence in approaching other men with this proposition. I have had contact since that first time with a welder, a shipyard worker, another construction worker - (who sometimes would appear on his nights off wearing high, brown western boots and tell me - "Thought I'd give you a little treat tonight." ) A few times with well-dressed business men, who expressed some re- pulsion after I had licked their fifty dollar wing-tips and made me wipe them off with my handkerchief afterward. (One allowed me to lick only the soles and heels.) Still another one asked if I would like to take his shoes off and lick out the interiors, which I did. He seemed fascinated by it all and watched me do it with much interest, asking several times how I liked the taste and smell of his shoes. I saw this man only once and we lost track of each other.

Also have had a few experiences in the s / m field which included boot licking , although these men seemed more interested in using their belts and boots for inflicting punishment than anything else. However, these meetings were not without enjoyment on my part. In all, I enjoy mostly licking a man's boots without him reciprocating, but especially if he watches me do it and is demanding and expletive as to how he wants it done . .

And so read the many letters that come to me. Guys who get down on theater floors to lick the shoes and boots of servicemen (some who have fallen asleep and have no idea what's happening to their footwear, guys who shoot a load on footwear and have to lick their own cum off the shoes and boots, guys who even steal others boots and shoes, so demand- ing is their sexual desires for this fetish, working as a tranquelizer as well.

This does not mean all this goes on now in modern times, for in the follow- ing series of 'Boot Rack' episodes, we will go back into history and see what went on. And please don't hesitate to write me of your own opinions, for Drummer magazine is overloaded and understaffed now, and wishes me to handle my own column of letters, articles and stories. For Drummer is one of the most open-minded of the homophile magazines and they understand the pressures of our sexual dreams and desires.

Arnell Larsen P.O. Box 70 La Canada, CA 91011

Pissing Continued from page 24 rogator's arm was moving vigorously beneath the desk. At first, Day had paid no attention, assuming that his tormentor was scratching or rubbing his leg. But now he could see that his tormentor was massaging his genitals, masturbating! Day realized now that he was in the hands of a pervert, a genuine sadist, one who achieved sexual satisfaction from inflicting pain on others.

"It was the incentive Day needed. He summoned the strength to focus a disdainful smirk on the hateful degenerate, one that let him know that he had been seen, that his victim knew … He won- dered, prayerfully, how long it would take the pervert to achieve sexual satisfaction , to tire of the torture and release him from it. He had been hanging for from two to three hours.'

Such realities both cause the Navy to prepare its men for sexual abuse and cause civilian belief in the secret details coming to light: the spitting, pissing, shitting, masturbating, all juicily excused as preparation for patriotism.

THAT'S STRAIGHT PISS FOR YOU

For relief, comic and cockwise, Burt Reynolds wins the Wet Oscar for Best On-Screen Piss in Semi-Tough when he inserts his dick into a rubber hose, straps it down his leg, and pisses into a metal flask strapped inside his boot. The loud soundtrack outdoes rain on a hot tin roof. Pasolini, in his version of Some- thing for Everyone called Teorema, films the humpy teenaged son pissing off the family balcony. In Kenneth Anger's Scorpio Rising, a classic gay version of The Wild One, the lead biker stands on an altar in a church and pisses into the chalice of his helmet, and finally pisses down on all the worshippers gathered around him.

In prison plays and film like Miguel Pinero's Short Eyes or Kenneth Brown's The Brig, the piss scene is obligatory. Experienced cons usually take to shoving a new dude's head into the cellblock toilet in an initiation as time-honored as the Hell's Angels' initiation of pissing on a new member's colors. And his leather jacket. And his jeans. From then on an Angel pulls off the road strictly for a good shit. Piss just goes off like a rocket in his pocket.

SOME LIKE IT HOT

Ancient warriors bathed in piss. Victorian athletes rubbed themselves down with piss before a good cricket match. Health addicts for years have claimed piss perfect for brushing the teeth. India's Prime Minister Norarji Desai announced recently: "For the past five or six years, I have drunk a glass of my own urine - about six to eight ounces - every morning . It is very good for you, and it is even free. Even in the Bible it says drink from your own cistern. What's your own cis- tern? It is your urine. Urine is the water of life."

Some men, always working toward versatility, often take a liking for piss: from beer-clear to early morning thick. The range of preference is an acquired taste; the reasons for taking another man's piss range from the sacred to the profane.

Some guys start off early in life, pissing, as little boys, into the family john with their brother, having races to see who will finish first. Others start later, at college bars, pissing into the same trough. Refinements set in: going off to bars across from police stations to give the porcelain a good lick when the cops come in after duty for a quick beer quickly pissed out; pissing up a guy's ass before, during, and / or after a good hard fuck; preparing the basic water sports emblem, a piss-soaked jock, tucked into the back pocket.

Variations on any theme, even Han- del's "Water Music," are as endless as the inventive mind of man. Run an ad in The Leather Fraternity for Mason Jars of dirty bathwater and takers will beat a path to your P.O. Box. You just can't out-fetish and out-fantasize and out-actualize all of the people all of the time. But that is The Joy of Piss, like the joy of almost everything else: finding out that you as a man of the Third Kind are not alone, and in piss, more than almost anything else, together men sink to swim.

Sports Continued from page 71 large enough to set up our regulation-size boxing ring. Our facilities now include different weight boxing gloves, headgear, and other protective boxing gear, heavy bags, speed bags, and a gen- eral workout area near the boxing ring itself.

"We offer private bouts, instruction and workouts, and a lot of times, we function as an outlet for guys who just like to roughhouse on the canvas with other guys. More formally, our instruction and sparring is aimed at the growing number of men who come regularly for workouts to learn boxing techniques. We also like wrestling, but tend to exclude it so as not to duplicate the trip of the various wrestling clubs.

"We also have a majority of members heavy into the leather-sweat-contest aspect of boxing. Some of the bouts have some special rules determined by the participants. Some guys like to box in full leather. Others spar nude. Some like bodypunching fights, with no hitting of the head. Some dig wearing headgear and mouthpieces to box with full body contact above the waist. The 'contest' boxers like to fight to submission for a prize. That kind of prize, claimed in the ring on the canvas, I leave to your imagination.

"Any man interested primarily in boxing and other contact fighting sports with other gay men can contact the Bay Area Boxing and Fight Club by writing 681 Ellis Street, No. 111, San Francisco, 94102. The club and gym phone is (415) 861-1006. Novices, intermediates, pros: we respect them all at their level."

OLIVE-OIL WRESTLING a young Turkish wrestler is an even better reality.

Each August in Gallipoli, 500 male wrestlers pair off, slap their leather thighs, clasp each other to rub the olive oil into their naked torsos and into their leather breeches. The breeches, fit like American football pants from waist to mid-calf. They are made from forty-five pieces of a young Turkish wrestler is an even better reality.

Each August in Gallipoli, 500 male wrestlers pair off, slap their leather thighs, clasp each other to rub the olive oil into their naked torsos and into their leather breeches. The breeches, fit like American football pants from waist to mid-calf They are made from forty-five pieces of leather and 200 yards of cotton, cost $30, and last two years. They are soaked in water, sweat, and oil to soften the leather. Each wrestler, stripped to the waist, usually sporting a heavy dark moustache and a crewcut, lavishly coats his leather breeches and his torso, arms, head, and feet with olive oil. He knots tight his breeches' waist cord, and the ritual dating back to ancient Greek vases begins.

Over the centuries, Turkish olive-oil wrestling has become more than a sport. It is a macho ritual woven from the stuff of young men's wet dreams. Immensely popular as a tourist attraction today, Turkish wrestling peaked 100 years ago when Sultan Abdul Aziz, a massive athlete and himself a wrestler, under his imperial blessing, added the refinement of coating the marble floors of his palaces, as well as the bodies of his wrestlers, with oil - a baroque, murderous, hard-on touch.

Olive-oil wrestling has few rules. Anything goes in the free-for-all of 500 men, oiled, sweating in the sun, identified only by silver studs spelling out their names on the back waist of their leathers. There is much man-to-man macho chivalry and little shame in losing a match that goes on for hours and sometimes days. The only real shame is when a handsome young wrestler loses his leather breeches and is left standing oiled and naked in the sunswept field of brawling men. To him it's shame. To a tourist it's a prime Turkish Delight.

GAY WRESTLING

Equally delightful is American gay wrestling. The Wrestling Club network now spans from California to Chicago to New York, with the New York Wrestling Club somehow the most colorful because of its founding president and chief promotor , the dark-mustachioed John of / the / state [×3+] feint the disarmed interviewer into a half-nelson. No exaggeration. Handley is such a wrestling afficionado that an interviewer gets his best answers being dropkicked across Handley's NYWC wrestling mats. Meeting John is a bruise forever, and a joy, once you realize that for Liza life is a cabaret, and for John life is a basic body slam to the canvas.

Handley describes his wrestling style as mean. His favorite holds are the body scissors, head scissors, and hammerlock. His Dewar's Profile quote: "I wrestle because I like beating the shit out of guys."

No wonder the world is beating a path to this man's door.

CRUISIN' FOR A BRUISIN'

The New York Wrestling Club was created to afford civilized men a chance

to get down and grapple. Its newsletter, membership roster, and social events toster the network of matches between athletes, gay and even straight, for whom wrestling is a prime interest. "Whatever else happens between the two men," Handley says, "is their business."

Handley twists my arm. "In urban life, men need to rebuild primal physical en- counters. Man to man," he says. "Wrestling is one path. The most personal of all sports." He pushes his knee into my sports." He pushes his knee into my groin. "We expect wrestlers to be sensitive human beings who will make an effort to perceive in a match all the levels of encounter a one-on-one grapple involves . Some guys wrestle okay in private, but are afraid to wrestle in a gym or bar. He twists my arm tighter, for real. "Failure in a success-oriented society is hard to take."

"And it hurts," I say, dropping my notepad and pushing the butt of my palm into his chin. "We all like to win matches, but not everyone can be a winner." He speaks through clenched teeth, holding my arm immobile. "Some guys think of wrestling only as a contest."

"No shit," I say. Do I look to him like George Plimpton?

"It's more than a contest." "It's murder," I say. I'm not ready for this encounter.

"I like spontaneity," he says. "Do you?”

"The Japanese liked spontaneity," I

"Gay wrestling is a process of mutual discovery, interaction, exploration of the self as well as the other man who is of mutual interest."

'You're breaking my arm," I say. "The other man is a person. Not just an object to toss around in a ring."

"Uncle," I say. "I'm a person." "Again." (This guy's got style.) "Uncle." I repeat it. "How the fuck can I write notes with you breaking my tucking arm?"

"You got to admit wrestling's fun." "I love it," I say. "I'll remember every minute of this, and punched him in the stomach. The free-for-all was on.

Handley ain't no cupcake. He's a wrestler's cup of tea. Bouts with him can be arranged along with information about the NYWC by writing: Handley, 59 West 10th Street, New York 10011. The Chi-cago Wrestling Club, directed by Jim Tomnitz, can plug you into midwestern grappling if you write to Box 4491, Chicago 60680. Larry Lane is the contact for California wrestlers. Write: The Gym, 5919 Franklin Avenue, Hollywood 90028.

John Handley wisely urges all wrestlers that the reality of the sport advises accident and disability insurance as much as a protective jock. He ain't just whistling "Dixie."

HAND-JOB ATHLETES

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AMG understands gay interests. Its catalog is, in fact, a very hot magazine. As usual, state you are over 21 and en- close $1.25. AMG magazines have long been collectibles. Nearly everyone in the midwest came out looking at good old Physique Pictorial. The wrestling films featured vary on a scale of 1 to 10 according to your tastes in hustlers, ex-cons and make-believe cops going at each other. Good fantasy stuff.

FILM ASSOCIATES P.O. Box 545

Venice, California 90291 If you like bodybuilders, you'll never find better posing, oiling, and contest physique footage in the world. Reels feature the incredible Mike Mentzer, Scott Wilson, Roger Callard, Joe Means, and hundreds of other top bodies in super-8. Film Associates' product is expensive , but their quality of visual fidelity and satisfyingly quick service, in addition to body builders you will never any other way get close to, make judicious purchase a continuing nightly joy. Especially recommended for athletes looking for a jolt of motivation. Film Associates features little, if any, nudity. They are forthrightly straight, but certainly worthy of use as a gay resource by men who appreciate the male body as the ultimate sculpture. Send $1 for the latest brochure .

SPORTSFILM INTERNATIONAL

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If you think pro-wrestlers are fat comics of the mat, Sports Film Inter- national will quickly disabuse you with its array of super-8 color professional wrestling matches featuring men for every hot taste in real rough-and-tumble choreography . Football being a seasonal sport, many hunky players like Dick Blood and New England Patriots' Russ Francis (who could fold out of Playgirl for days) ex- hibit their talents on the pro-wrestling circuit. Lovingly photographed by Sports Film International, the slamming is for real. The quality of color film is exceptional . The mail-order service, trust- worthy. It is also straight and clothed in wrestling trunks and lace-up boots. Send $1 for the current catalog. The product is a turn-on for men into man-to-man confrontation.

TOUGH IS AS TOUGH DOES

Sports is a way to practice competition , a way to learn physical / political/ moral self-defense, even if only expressed through busloads of men heading Tuesday nights to South San Francisco to rollerskate. More than pirouetting, the Folsom Street men turn the rink into a poppered roughhouse of rollerball. The politicizing of gay men has caused an increase in aggression as expressed on the fields, the courts, the rinks, and the baths. Since Anita, more gay men are into combative sports and sex than ever before . This phenomenon seems a definite sign that gays are in training to counter the attacks so unreasonably launched against us. Trained physically, we build the endurance to resist morally and politically those who would have us not live a lifestyle different from theirs.

Sports gives gays literally another arena in which to speak out and communicate to a nation that prides itself on understanding sports.

In New york recently, an organization of gay athletes announced a $100,000 national advertising campaign against Florida citrus products the day after the Florida Citrus Commission's decision to renew Anita Bryant's contract . Craig Liebermann, a spokesperson for the INTERNATIONAL UNION OF GAY ATHLETES, said the bulk of the money for the campaign was donated by professional athletes whom he would not identify.

So far, Anita and company, has only been hit with a fruit pie and a gaycott. Her jock husband better warn her what fury can be conjured at halftime in a lockerroom. Her next hit could be a well-placed

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Remember when it was just clean towels and a steam room?

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RAW MEAT

JAY, illustrator / car- Α. 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!

$9.00 for the set. Price includes First Class postage and handling. Send check or money order to:

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

THE NIGHT EVERYBODY WAS A STAR AND MANHATTAN ATE SAN FRANCISCO

Midistration

BY JACK FRITSCHER

NIGHT FLIGHT was a golden night in the Golden Age of San Francisco — and a shock to the old over-easy attitude of Sodom-by-the-Bay. Manhattan energy streaked into town, rented the entire three floors of the Gay Community Center , and designed out of its pits a night when everybody was a star.

NIGHT BEFORE '78's EVE

The Boarding Pass ticket to Night Flight read 10 PM to 7 AM. By 2 AM, time-frame turned into time-warp. Barnum and Bailey with all the Ringlings of the Niebelungen could eat their hearts out. The Center is a Bette-Davis dump, but not after Night Flight worked the joint over like a Diller redone at Arden's. The entire interior of the Center was wrapped with white billowing sections of the Cristo fence that had run through Marin County and then into the sea; now it hung wall to wall, from the first-floor coat check to the third-floor movie dens. Three thousand men floated together inside a white parachute around circular silver ice-pools chuckful of beer, Calistoga, and The Real Thing.

CÁSINO ROYALE

The upper-floor Casino operated a healthy-staked, multi-prized ring around the walls. In the center of the casino stood a boxing-ring size platform. All night long, professional acts of juggling, magic, and strip-wrestling featured The Amazing Kristavo; On-Off, The Wonder Tobot; and a healthy Rick & Ron. Casino prizes came from 50 sponsors: health clubs, restaurants, books glory holes, galleries, baths, Jaded De- generate Man T-Shirts, photographers, artists, and manicurists for men who need smooth nails.

Behind the casino on the right, "The Tommy Memorial Pinball Room" ran two lines of twenty machines with levi baskets pressed tight against the front of the flashing, flipping, score-chunking pinballs. Behind the casino on the left, all night long, a single red light hung over a large brick room where the non-professional acts of juggling, magic, and strip-wrestling writhed the night away.

DISCOMANIACS

Hovering over the dance floor, the light-and -sound saucer-booth flashed in time to the high-energy music. A thousand dancers filled the floor. Aroma of popper rose over their heads where a tightrope rose over their neads where a ugituope walker balanced his way from crowded balcony to crowded balcony. Bodies heated. Shirts peeled off. Light show designs changed electronically. Special Duty Police stood straight and po

Grown men reported UFO sightings of a tower of sparklers and billowing smoke rolling through the sweaty crowd. From inside the tower, hands threw pop-sicles out into the tangle of naked arms. Men moved, flowed, from amusement to amusement, wandering inside the won- derful white parachute.

Night Flight was a full Busby Ber- serkly production number. Night Flight was not just four walls and a crowd. Night Flight was premeditated design. Every detail was calculated to entertain the most jaded audience in the world. And its magic worked, because Night Flight was for one night only. Nothing about it was ordinary. Nothing about it did you see last week or could you get around to next week. Night Flight was the Now of that one night: a celebration of living life-in-the-fast-lane of The Forbidden City of Oz.

IMAGES

As a ton of California grapes cascaded down the balcony walls, a second 20- foot high scaffold rolled to the middle of the dance floor. The crowd parted in an acid-red sea of sweat. Atop the scaffold , a man rode to the center of the crowd. He commanded six projectors like the multiple eyes of some closely encountered great iron beast. He shot surreal images from its six eyes to six screens hung around the hall. Men, dancing in front of the screens in white screenlike capes, became part of the abstraction .

In other rooms, floral displays toppled with bodies into the icepools.

TOWARD 1980: A SNEAK PREVIEW For laidback San Francisco, where failure of imagination often looks suspiciously like an energy outrage, Night Flight was a Manhattanization much to be desired. Michael Maletta's production proved a New Wave is hitting San Francisco , because in among the dancing, sucking, fucking, fisting, and variously heavy free-for-all s & m numbers, a lot of San Francisco heads got blown away and lost their cherries at Night Flight. How ya gonna keep 'em down in imagination after they've experienced a night like Night Flight?

Laidback and waiting like Madame Recamier has finally passed as San Francisco's favorite posture. "Laidback" won't cut it anymore. The bitch-and-bull mating of New York energy with San Francisco attitude is already producing results. Four days after Night Flight, two "rogue" San Francisco cops decided to raid any baths a private to raid a gay bath: a private place for consenting adults. Within hours, they were the laughing stock of the straight media and were censured by their chief. Public statements strong as Night Flight? very existence strengthen the solidarity of the gay political front. The gay net- work is like Peter Finch's New York Network: "When you're mad as hell, you won't take interruptions of your lifestyle anymore.

Night Flight proceeds went to The Pride Foundation which fights for gay rights in the courts, in the military, in the bedroom, and in the playroom.

VIRGINS

After Night Flight, there are no virgins anymore. That one Night Flight night, they all jumped into the volcano. Willingly . And the good times rolled. Might Flight: produced by Michael Maletta; conceptual design, Robert Currie; music, Vincent Corleo; lighting, Roy Shapiro; visuals, David Meyer; spacecraft, Alan Greenspan; lighting and sound equipment, William Roderick Associates and Sound Genesis; poster design, Joseph Vincent; poster illustration, Ed Parente; slide, ploy. slide show, Steve Barnett and Paul Hatlestad.

DRUMMER 88

7994 Santa Monica West Hollywood

MEN'S BARSCENE MEN'S B

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SOUNDS and lights pulsate. Bodies gyrate. Poppered, shirtless, sweaty men work It out Hard! Construction-gear atmosphere. This is the I-BEAM: the City's first MACHO DISCO for dancing to the beat every night on the street called Haight in San Francisco.

JOCK HOP

A deceptively low-key entrance on Haight Street, former mainstem of the Flower Children, opens on two hot bouncers who insulate the I-BEAM gang from any street-hassle invasions. Past these hunks, you walk up the large stairway to the second floor: the giant lobby / cruise / R&R area, swarms with men. Groups sit to talk. Solo-stags pose to cruise. Shirtless dancers drip with sweat after their marathon workout on the floor.

Too hot to handle, you check your jacket with the well-checked dude who takes your leather and your measure. You cruise off through the mingle, snorting up the sweaty taste of a jock hop in Marlboro Country. You hit the more intimate lobby's full-liquor bar with its Gatorade / Perrier alternatives. Corners, doorjambs, and mazeways expose athletic male bodies running wet with sweat. Everywhere: reflections. A giant mirror hangs by the johns.

AIN'T ONLY THE MUSIC IN ME

The beat of the music is everywhere: the action, the pumpfucking pumped-up pecs, blue jeans bluing bluer with sweat, colored ceiling lights, floor light-panels ramming color up into every crotch. Men: to the right; to the left. Topless tops and jocked bottoms. Men.

Move up a few steps running your hand up the thick brass rail. Enter macho paradise: the main bar fronting the hardwood dance floor. Comfortably long, the bar is a semi-tough mixer no college ever knew: dudes drinking, towelling off, leaning, waiting. Hot bartenders getting down to business under a construction of hundreds of long copper phallic tubes hung the length of the bar: a stalactite cave for thoroughly macho primitives, a beautiful sculpture undulating through the illumination of red laser light.

Hit the dance floor action. Any night after 11, the I-BEAM is hot. Men crowd the floor, pumping every muscle to Michael's coordinated music and lights.

WE CAN WORK IT OUT

The dance floor is huge as Noah's Ark: space to hold two of every type man you can fantasize. Watch, dance, bump, or rub. Who or what or where you stroke hardly matters more than men

Every Oz has its focus. The I-Beam comes together under three gigantic I- beams hanging free above the dance floor. Shades of jack-hammers, riveting guns, welder's masks, greasy levis, construction helmets! Lean back into your fantasy space and see the essence of booted macho men, skywalkers up on the I-beam. Look down and see the popper-n- salty reality of those para-construction types jammed on the floor, night-tripping in our own world. Bumpers, beaters, bruisers, flexers, sweat-ers, jockers, poppers . Tee shirts off. Tight tanks on, clinging to hard chests.

This crowd is the NEW HAIGHT STREET via FOLSOM STREET.

A laser beam shoots off into the roiling crowd. Screams, shouts, gut-noises , getting off from the center of the room to the corners. Get lost. Lose it to the best and newest sound system in the City. Energy everywhere. Men wherever you go: the oversized game room with exhibitionist bicep-sharks hustling over two pool tables or pumping crotch into the four pinball machines. TILT. Even here, the music from the disco bar pipes in: same energy muted.

The I-BEAM is a hot package well- produced. This season it's all laid out for

(Haight / Cole). Open 9 PM to 2 AM daily; 4 PM to 2 AM Sunday. The I- BEAM is a hot meeting spa for the macho male ready to turn his nostalgically remembered sock hops into the jock hop of his dreams.

The I-BEAM suffers no failure of imagination.

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The ALTERNATE has a lot going for it. Being the first of its kind, for one thing, being the ONLY of its kind, for another, it\nis about time that America's largest minor-\nity had its own newsmagazine, telling without this

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We believe that hat is exectly what we have put together, writers on the Gay scene throughout the nation (and the world) are contributing to The ALTERNATE. The new plays, movies, television, books are what is being done to counteract them. We believe The ALTERNATE is to become America's most important Gay publication . We hope you will, too. Subscribe now. Don't miss an issue.

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The Great Slave Auction is now history and for the tour persons who were ultimately charged with felonies (first slavery, then 'pandering'), after one more appearance before Judge Velarde in March, the long hassle will be over.

Details of the auction benefit have been chronicled here in other issues and are covered fairly thoroughly in the second issue of the Alternate. For a happening that appeared in vir- tually every newspaper in the country, and many overseas, the final wind-down was relatively quiet. There was a splash when the District Attorney's office called in the press and TV cameras for the sentencing, obviously to put pressure on the judge. It worked. Judge Velarde disregarded the probation reports and sentenced three of the defendants to short terms in jail. The fourth, who probably shouldn't have been tried at all, and who was allowed to plead to disturbing the peace, was given a fine. The next appearance, when there was no press coverage, the judge allowed the defendants a volunteer work program of doing "good works" at approved charities, which is what everyone thought they were doing the night of the benefit.

Why did the defendants cop-out to a misdemeaner that they weren't guilty of? Attorneys Gordon, Russell, Rubin and May, who had been retained by the Southern California Gay Community, felt that risking one to two months in court (with an anticipated one hundred twenty-five witnesses and mountains of 'evidence,' mostly unrelated to the charge) in an atmosphere created by the doings of Anita Bryant and Senator John Briggs was risky. While the D.A. hadn't much of a case, with most of his 'evidence' thrown out as having been illegally obtained by the L.A.P.D., nevertheless there was an ever-present risk that one or more of the defendants might be set up as an example. After all, Police Chief Davis had spent well over a hundred thousand dollars and had egg on his face when "the big bust turned out to be a falsie." He had to have something to show for it. The result of the fight would be thousands more dollars in legal expenses, appeals and years of litigation.

Most important of all, the cause was cold. The final court appearances were attended only by the defendants and their attorneys. The Gay Rights chapter of the ACLU chose not to support the Mark IV case. The defense fund was about exhausted and more fundraisers would have to be held to raise the large amounts needed for extended court sessions and appeals, if necessary. The L.A.P.D. and the District Attorney's office, on the other hand, have all the time and money in the world.

The L.A.P.D.'s method of operation is to charge into any group that they disapprove of, making indiscriminate arrests, knowing the cases will not stand up in court. However, the defendants will probably have been put out of business by legal fees and having been tied up in court for months or years.

The score stands as follows: Retiring Chief Ed Davis lost credibility and a million dollars off his considerable budget, along with twenty-odd vice officers, if only for a year. (No-body, including the A.C.L.U. protested his budget this past year.) Most of the Gay community rallied around a segment that the L.A.P.D. was sure would be disowne many of the original arrestees drifted away after they were not prosecuted, guite a few did not. Their support remained constant. In face, of the entire community, only the Advocate used the bust to divide and deride.

Perhaps most important of all, on a personal basis, the four remaining defendants showed concern throughout the ordeal for the group. There were separate offers made by the District Attorney's office but none taken. The decision to accept the final offer on the day that over a hundred prospective jurors waited in the hall, was made jointly by the four defendants with genuine concern for one another.

The final press coverage was completely one-sided. Press re- leases were sent out by Ed Davis' handmaiden, District At- torney John Vandekamp's office. The defendants were instructed by their attorneys to say nothing. And until now, nothing has been said.

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