PRISON DIUES jack fritscher

CONFESSIONS OF A PRISON-TOUR JUNKIF

IN THE MAIN GYM AT SAN QUEN-TIN the cement is wax-smooth. The work of thousands of bare male feet. In the showers at Auschwitz, the cement is scored with the long fingernail scratches of humans clawing their way futilely out of small places. Here, at the Big Bastille on the Bay, the pad of sweaty feet, heel and ball, pivoting, running, jumping to score a basket, falling, kicked-and-rolled by a dozen jockers turning out some little punk in the course of good clean fun while the guard shines it on (turns his face away), has smoothed the roughness.

GYMS SMELL LIKE MEN.

The San Quentin gym smells like conjock sweat. Dirty football uniforms and pads hang just out of my reach under row upon row of Hustler and Playboy color centerfolds boldly unfolded: Stapled beavers, one of which some pissed- off anonymous smoker burned right through the twat with the hot end of a Lucky Strike. At the far end of the huge gym stand the heavy barbells and weight benches on wooden platforms raised two inches above the smooth cement. To the right, three red steps lead up to an empty boxing ring canvassed in a shiney dark blue right out of Rocky. The ceiling girders are eighty feet high above us. An ache runs through me. A longing. A dozen cons tend to us. This is their space. This is a place of caged men. For real. The gym bleachers are initialed and soaked with porous sweat. The panic of being an outsider overtakes me. Covertly I pop 10 mg of cool blue valium to quiet the rising panic and to still the longing ache, to sit obedient in this gym lock-up, listening to the glib patter, sniffing out more than the uniforms, sniffing out the violence and murders that give these men life.

At San Quentin, claustrophobic terror hardens my dick.

Prison tours are my hobby.

I go to jail every chance I get. To visit. Fanatic subcultures fascinate me. I get off on the cons harboring secret con- tempt for the giggling public come for the Saturday night "fun" of the dinner tour, getting their goddamn doubleknits frisked at the Big Q entrance so they can walk cell to cell with a stick poking at the inmates. Always my mind-camera is running, recording the extremes that life offers.

"These men," the officer of the day d us, "have volunteered to be your told us, "have volunteered to be your guides. No instructions have been given as to what they can or cannot say. You cannot tip them or give them anything. You give them anything and they'll be in trouble; and if they get in trouble, then you'll get in trouble. We just ask you not to light up when you're in the woodworking shop. Otherwise, enjoy your walk. Ask the men whatever you like. They're pretty thickskinned and not too sensitive . If they don't want to answer, they don't have to. Okay. As I say, enjoy your walk.'

Our guide for a group of ten wears scrubbed pressed blue levis. scrubbed pressed blue levis. Visitors are forbidden to wear levis. "No jeans or illicit drugs," the guide sheet warned when the tour was arranged. Also: "Hostages will not be recognized." Terrific! When you walk into anoth levis, man. Laundry is cause for war in the Joint. According to law, every dude wears the same shit stenciled with his own number: shoes, shirts, and shorts. But Inside is like Outside on the Street.

Photos by Sparrow

Distinctions this doubleknit tour will never see make all the difference Inside. Dudes in starched, pressed shirts and razor-sharp creased levis or black Chelsea boots, or, hooboy, a stud in goldrimmed shades, are all mothers working some scam: dealer, connection, locksmith, forger, hit man, armbreaker, enforcer, snitch, whatever. What's sure is that the dude's a specialist with something going.

He's uppercrust prison-shit.

Our guide's scam: he's some kind of in-House arbitrator. He's the King Rat in the movies who plays both ends against the middle and ends up with a plexiglas shiv stuck in his ribs. What gave him away was his green turtleneck shirt: subtle, but revealing of his thick arms and thicker chest. He talked endlessly about the importance of personal hygiene. I imagined him sweaty and stripped down for his one weekly shower. He was from the Deep South where they leave meat blind and uncut. Cheese, He has, I bet, a cheese problem. Under his foreskin. That's why he traded cigarets for extra showers. Sometimes, he admitted, he sneaked an extra wash-off with a firehose to clean-up during the week.

He was 27 and hot and his hair was blow-dried with a handheld dryer. He spieled about the warden who made the men choose whether they wanted to shower or attend college-credit classes. One or the other. Not both. Men have to learn, the warden said, how to make decisions. No wonder the newspapers carry stories that start: "The warden of San Quentin Prison was belted in the jaw by a convict yesterday while trying to cool things down after a stabbing melee. Warden George Sumner - a rugged, 6- foot-2-inch former football player who weighs more than 200 pounds - instantly took what a prison spokesman called

'reflex defensive action,' and belted the con right back. Despite a sore jaw, Sumner shrugged off the incident. 'It's just part of my job,' he said, 'and I've been hit before.

STRIP SEARCH

Our guide had been hit before too. He was a man who had been strip-searched, manhandled from his shackled bare feet, up the outside of his big thighs, rubber-fingered up the butt, foreskin rolled back for short-arm inspection, hands frisking up to his hips, his waist, his muscled 'pits, his heavy chest and shoulders, his big bull neck - all of him shook down all the way in the Lock, a high echoing snot-green chamber between the walls, filled with smoke, milling cons, and shouting guards.

"Line up, come on, goddamnit."

Thirty minutes before, we had stood like good-citizen cattle in the Lock between two gigantic steel-bar doors. One goes inside the wall; the other, out. In the rafters, covered with the unreachable grease of grey cottage cheese dust, sparrows twittered, flying in and out when- ever one door or the other opened. The doors were fixed so only one opened at a time

What was it like for him to be "Processed in?" Stripping off his clothes, standing naked in a sweaty line of multi-racial cons, surrendering his effects while three beefy guards armed with shotguns paced the gunwalk inches above his shaved head, getting sprayed with anti-louse disinfectant, standing first on one foot, then the other, listening to a bored bass voice shout out, thick with years of whiskey and cigar smoke: "Swearing, cursing, fighting, disrespect to officers, arguments, sodomy, masturbation, homo- sexuality, drugs, unnatural acts, and political agitation will not be tolerated." Jesus! He was beautiful, no matter what scam had gotten him from new-fish con with scalped head to full-blown, blow-dried tour-guide. Shit! Pinned to his black turtleneck sweater was an ID card: BILL. Bill directed us to look one way. I looked the other. He remarked about a building dated 1842 on the right. I looked left, up through the broken glass and bars of a mean six-tier block.

On the third tier up, a young blond biker, long hair combed wet and straight back, stood stripped to the waist, heavy tattoos on heavier arms, muscled, white cotton pants, beltless and barefoot, staring down at the action on the mainfloor below him, action I could not see, but he could, looking down between his tat- tooed forearms resting easy on the iron railing.

No one else noticed him. No one else on the tour, that is, except my buddy, O'Riley, who everybody I know calls "Old Reliable." He never misses a trick. Especially a con trick. Old Reliable always sees everything. He always has. That's how he got reliable. That's how he got old at 33. We exchanged knowing looks and turned back to Bill, away from the third tier.

"I'd pay him a hundred bucks to sit on my face," Old Reliable whispered. said.

Bill was pulling our tour-group along. "This is the spot," he said, "where the yellow fire hydrant is now, of the old whipping post. The heaviest sentence to come down was a man getting 190 lashes administered over a two-day period. The original infirmary is right nearby. I'm glad the state has done away with corporal punishment.'

My knees grew weak. Old Reliable dragged me from the hydrant. The energy remained of that whipped man's agony. The broiling sun. The silence in the brick-walled plaza. Silence except for the sound of the whip whistling through the sun and cutting across his back. Silence except for his bit-lip hiss breaking finally beyond scream into fullracked roar slumping to halfcon- scious moan. Silence except for the panting of the guard in full uniform, heaving with sweat, laying the leather strap again and again, according to the warden's strictly counted cadence, across the naked man's back. Silence now with the moon rising cool over the Bay. Silence like an unsettling dream remembered too clearly on waking.

DREAM-MOVIE SEQUENCE: Two horsemen break the flat horizon. Their heads rise in the distance against the blue. They rock easy in their ancient saddles. Their horses surge against the reins. The men are warriors, dark and bearded. Their helmets catch the sun. The men and horses are armed with fur and leather. They rise proudly against the full line of the horizon.

The camera catches behind them a trail of dust as they move in longlens slowmotion. A rope stretches taut behind the second horseman. Gradually, the camera makes out the rope's burden: first the bound wrists, then the stretched arms dislocated from the bleeding shoulders of the man who is naked and dying but not dead.

Silent above the sad procession a great bird hangs motionless, following the horsemen trawling the side of human flesh. The bird catches an updraft and circles timeless above the horsemen. They ride evenly onward, across a ridge above a still lake. Wavey in the noonsun shimmer, they double in the placid lake reflection. The descending hooves of the upright horses meet precisely the rising hooves of the inverted water horses. Below them and above them the carrion bird circles noiselessly. In the mouth of the bound man, thin wires roll his tongue into a cylinder swelling purple from his mouth. His cock is wired the same.

The horsemen, proud and straight, drag the man off into the blinding noon brightness.

Where is George Raft when you really need him? "Come on," Old Reliable said. "You're lagging behind."

"I'm not lagging."

"You're standing on your tongue." Old Reliable dragged me away from the whipping post.

Often I perceive the aura of a place long after the event has receded.

PRISON IERK-OFF

Once at the historical prison at Yuma, I pulled my jeep into the rocky parking lot late enough in the hot August afternoon to miss the crowded tours. David, who was my lover then, threw some coins into the turnstyle. We nodded to the bored Ranger in charge and wandered alone through the lengthening shadows of the roofless cellblocks. Bronze plaques described the Zane Gray macho conditions . At the far end of the compound, twenty minutes before the 5 PM closing, I pulled open a heavy iron door and headed down a dark ten-foot adobe corridor to another iron door latticed in a welded gesture of ventilation by some thickarmed smithy a century before.

"You better not go in there," David

"Chickenshit," I said. "Go out and stand guard."

He cut back quick to the fading Arizona sunset. I pushed through the second iron door into a twelve-by-twelve windowless adobe room in whose center had stood a nine-by-nine foot cage averaging a dozen desperadoes in the tight kiln space of group solitary confinement. Sartre said, "Hell is other people." And in that breathless darkness, alone behind two iron doors, the accumulated rage and energy of all the men ever confined within that airless room in that cold cage, bumping and grinding one grizzled body against the other, made in that privacy my privates hard, and once hard, came the involuntary unbuttoning of my fly, the lick of my hand, and the stroked salute to all the men locked in

Old Reliable was embarrassed the others might notice. But hardly anybody

Continued on page 70

hurt. He said after that it just kinda – he got a warm sensation in his butt man-it started feeling good. He said the only thing he didn't like man was you know, the pain at first - but he said even that got good to him after awhile. And ah - you know he said he was ready to try it again in a couple of days man as soon as he got, he got rid of some of that soreness .

Like, ah, I could relate a whole lot of incidents like that that have happened in jail man - we've taken dudes, young dudes that look kind of pretty. Nice soft ass - not a feather on 'em - and ah just made a skirt for 'em and told them to get up on the table man and start, start doing a dance for us - like tuck her dick between 'er legs - we sit around and jack off and pretend that's a broad man - take him off to our cell and just get to fuckin' 'im man. Put some long hair on him - get a long haired wig - make it out of something put it on him <math>-</math> that's a woman, Jack - you know - for the

There's been times when I've been fortunate enough to make a little money being the kind of person that I am. Ah - I'm not just talking about robberies and burglaries — ah — I ran into a guy in Cincinnati one time that ah - he was a black dude, and like he gave me $75.00 man to ah - the dude dressed up like an old slave, right? - and this was a pretty wealthy nigger man - he dressed up like a slave man and gave me $75.00 to whip on him and he called me master and begged for mercy and shit — and I'd say "nigger, get back to work, pick that cotton boy' and I'd slap him upside the head, fire on him with that whip - just get to cracking all around him man - I had sweat running off my forehead and shit - and ah I just had that look in my eyes man - that fuckin', that mean look in my eyes - that mad dog look - I guess I've always had when I get to feelin' like that. And I don't like niggers anyhow and so like to me this was, to get paid to beat up a nigger - wheww - Lord have mercy I fucked that boy up and ah - it's just different things like that that have happened to me man - I've had a lot of experience a lot of different things. I've enjoyed most of them.

©1978 Old Reliable Tape Company All Rights Reserved.

PRISON BLUES

Continued from page 11 notices anything. That's why most of the time anyone can do anything. As long as you don't rattle the cage they're protecting themselves in. As long as you don't scare their horses.

Part of me wanted out of the Big Q fast. Another part wanted to stay forever.

Absolute ground control of my head is to realize fantasies, to know how far to take them, to clutch the brink of danger close, and then to thrust it safely away: approaching a pair of cops in a squad car to ask their opinion of the Consenting Adult Law; then asking them to please stop arresting me, I've come.

Our con led us on with his gallows rap.

He walked flawlessly backwards in the way patented by tourguides from Mount Vernon to Disneyland. "On the left is the original cellblock. If a prisoner gave the guards a bad time, they chained him to the wall or strapped him into a leather restraining jacket. For hours, days, weeks." He laughed. "I'm glad California has done away with heavy-duty punishment . In those old days, before teargas, when too much trouble came down, the guards spread lye on the block floor and turned a hose on it. The fumes handled the problem.

BELT A BROAD

A woman in an I. Magnin coat, suitable for a prison-chic evening in Marin, raised her hand like some for crissakes perennial Mills College undergrad cunt. "What are you in for," she asked. Our little group stopped dead in its tracks. (And Old Reliable had been fear- ful I'd embarrass everybody.) Bill smiled. "I got sick of everyday doing 9 to 5, 9 to 5. So now I'm doing 20 to life." "Try to outcon a con," Old Reliable whispered.

Reliable ought to know: he's fucked with enough ex-cons to have the climax-after -the-climax be a gun to his head while his flat was shook down for cash. He kept thinking, if that gun goes off, it will hurt. But he found enough money to satisfy the tattooed nineteen-year- old who, Reliable said, could have had the bread just for the asking he was so good in bed with his thick thighs. Other times, a guy emptied his closet of all his clothes, another took a camera which a third guy said he could ransom back for forty dollars. Reliable's no fool, but it was worth a try. Turned out to be another learning experience. Never saw the third one again either. The con-game was his trip. He set it up. He liked primary encounters. He could read people faster than Evelyn Wood could read the Gettys- burg Address. "This guy's in for murder," he said.

Bill tooled our tour neatly around a corner. "Up in that loft, which next year will get torn down, was the gallows. A double gallows." He counted out his pause, using the time to continue the forcefield of eye contact with the I. Magnin coat. "Fall-partners. That's what they called guys hanged two at a time. They shackled their hands behind their backs, walked them up the stairs, tied their ankles together, put the nooses tight around their necks, pulled black hoods down over their faces, dropped the double-trap, and kissed their asses good-

The doubleknit group chuckled appreciatively : this good-natured con was sure what they had hoped for.

"Executions strike me as, well, rather messy," the I. Magnin coat said. "Messy?" Bill laid on her his best Mr.

Goodbar stare. Definitely in for murder," Old Reliable whispered. "He's gonna hit her with both barrels."

"Death, ma'm," Bill said, "is always ssy." He stepped toward her. "When a messy.' hanged man hits the end of his rope, he dumps, yeah, dumps in his drawers and pisses, excuse the human biology, down his leg.

He had her full attention.

He had mine.

He had everybody's.

She was coming in her coat. "I've read," she said, "that hanged men die with erections." This cunt would not stop. She stepped toward him. He picked up on her lust and led the dance she had begun. The group was more enthralled than embarrassed by their upfront rutting. Tension hung heavy in the evening air.

Old Reliable rode to the rescue: "Dying with a hardon beats dying with your boots on."

Laughter broke the spell of the heated pas de deux of the con with the coat.

THE WORLD WE LIVE IN

Reliable was good at that: adapting, making people adapt. His halfway house was his practice. He had long been cynical, but was far from jaded. Jaded is when you do it, but don't enjoy it, whatever it is. He was cynical. He was frank. You adapt or you get out. You adapt or you die. He adapted continually. He handled alternate realities well. All the time, I thought.

Except one night, late, a bit drunk and a lot ripped, he told me, confessed actually, embarrassed the way a woman is embarrassed after a rape. No fault of hers nor in this case his, but the em- barrassment acute all the same.

Old Reliable is reliable, but not old. He is, in fact, at 33, boyishly attractive. That was part of what makes him an easy touch for so many ex-cons. Anyway, one of his San Quentin graduates warned him that to a con, a gay man is automatically considered an easy mark. That was no news to Old Reliable, who's been taken to the cleaners more often than a clean-queen's jockey shorts.

Three years before this drunken night, for instance, he was vacationing in Beirut, pushing the edge of danger that so thrills him. The Hilton was under fire. The city was an armed camp. In two months the American ambassador would be murdered . But this night, Reliable was traveling through the Moslem section in the early evening to ball a friend who was a gold merchant. The driver of his car cursed their luck as the car immediately ahead rearended the auto closest to the intersection. The trunk of the car in front of Reliable popped open. "Omigod," he said. Bulging from inside the sprung trunk of the small car was a fully clothed bullet-riddled body. Within seconds a mob careened around all three cars. Veiled women ululated a high-pitched wail. The driver of the middle car was dragged into the street shouting above the 'It is only the body of a Christian.' din.

Two dozen or more Moslem men inspected, milled about, pushed, con-ferred more loudly, and then surrounded him completely, stalled in the traffic in their section. They smashed the glass of the locked doors. His driver was silenced by a gunbutt to the mouth. He fell unconscious , bleeding across the steering wheel.

The men pulled Old Reliable from the car and dragged him past the body of the

dead Christian, doused with gasoline and burning in a heap on the street. The crowd had no patience with a foreigner who might be a Christian, or worse, a Jew. They punched at him without question . They lifted him bodily and carried him into a shop whose corrugated store-front a dark moustached man pulled down from its roll in the ceiling and locked to a ring in the floor.

In the semi-darkness, Old Reliable could see very little. Hands held him, pushed and punched him. A thickveined fist tore the sleeve off his jacket. A frenzy of ripping and shredding followed. Buttons popped as his shirt tore away. His zipperfly split apart at the bottom as his slacks were dropped like shackles around his ankles. For a moment, the men held him, fair skinned in the olive darkness, stripped to his white undershorts.

No one moved. The silence was absolute.

Then a short thick man punched him hard in the stomach and his shorts were ripped away. For two hours they beat him with their fists and, holding him firmly with many hands in the stifling room, took an electric cattle prod to his eyelids, gums, penis, testicles, and anus. He expected to be raped. He wasn't.

He thought they wanted information. They didn't and besides he knew none.

He thought there was some purpose to his torture, but they wanted no more than to vent some release through his pain.

At last, allowed to fall to the floor, he lay flat on his back. Three streams, he remembered three streams, exactly three, of piss rained down from the darkness on his face and genitals. Then they lifted him, pulled up his torn slacks, rolled up the corrugated steel door, and shoved him into the street alone. The door rolled down closed behind him. He tried to pull what was left of his clothes together around him to avoid attention, to pretend nothing had happened so that no more would happen, but no one seemed to notice.

In the distance, the shelling of the hotels continued. Gunfire crackled through the night. They had hurt him anonymously, for no reason, for nothing he did. They had just hurt him for some kicks and he felt dirty enough to be sick in the street, next to the burnt-out body, dirty and sick and embarrassed enough to mention nothing of the incident until this one night of confidences. And even at that, he seemed to hold something back.

People who are tortured, for whatever reason, seem always to gain a reserve, a mistrust, a modesty, born of an aston- ished, wellgrounded fear of their own kind

Bill, our Quentin guide had that restraint . Only his modesty handled the predatory assault of the lady with her hands buried deep in the side pockets of her coat. More men go to prison because of women than any other reasons. He had been decorated in 'Nam and looking at her San Francisco face, he knew a mine field when he saw one.

Some men in prison gain solitude in solitary. Some cut off their penises and hand them out in atonement in a tin cup to a guard passing by. Prisons are all different and all the same. The Quentin population isn't punk kids maturing their street images inside the big house.

These are fullgrown men doing a dark

MAXIMUM "SECURITY"

Prison is the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in. Prison in America is the maximum security. Prison is where men who can't make it in the mean streets go to have their needs met. The prison "security syndrome" is Life-on-the-Installment-Plan three years in the Joint; three months on parole; then back to start all over again. Some gays, when arrested, instead of freaking out, find a strange sense of peace, security , and relief from the constant cruising tension of the gay lifestyle. Prison is the place where guards fire a couple shots to break up a fight where one inmate suffers a deep laceration above his right eye and another stab wounds in the face, back, and buttocks. Prison is the reality where society permits sadists to backflush toilets on men locked down in solitary confinement, where pharmaceutical com-panies make deals to perform medical experiments on inmates who submit to almost anything for the extra bread. If you don't have money in prison, you bargain one way or another with your body. Prisons are where men are sentenced , no matter if they were Tops or Bottoms when they were on the streets, to a life of obedient masochism. The American prison system takes, more often than not, the truly aggressive macho male, who cannot be corraled by the usual middle-class obedience-training, and separates his overheated flesh by means of cold bars from the rest of "polite" society. Prison is the Ultimate Sadism: society's topping of a Top. Prison is a rite of passage. On American streets, you're not a man until you've done some time.

TATTOOS

Like the mark on Cain, prison marks its men. The forbidden art of prison tattooing gives blatant signal Inside and Outside that here is a man who has paid his ritual dues. Tattoos range from the most primitive pin-and-India-ink markings to truly sophisticated, but contraband , three-needle professional artistry. They are always one color: blue. A star on the face tells that the con has done at least five years. A cross on the hand with radiating marks indicates the number of reform-school stretches. A rose means either you like cunt or are one. A swastika shows membership in a prison gang like the Aryan Brotherhood. A web on the elbow signifies time done in a particular prison; in this case, Soledad.

QUENTIN: ONE OF THE BEST

Prisons are the last medieval institutions in American life; and they are important to the State's economy. The irony is that prison is a walled ghetto where administrators, guards, civilian employees, and cons are all locked together in an environment of fourth-rate failure. San Quentin features a law *library and a furniture factory as well as a number of vocational rehab programs. Ironically, in most prisons, lifers get the best jobs. Why train somebody who will eventually get out?

Conditions at "SQU" are nowhere as bad as conditions in the absolute secrecy of USMC-run brigs where little is reported about the adhesive-tape head bondage, the beatings, and the sexual abuse. The worst US prison, as recently as the 1960's, was in Alabama where cons were whipped with heavy leather paddles across bleeding buttocks for minor infractions , for refusing to be "turned out" as punks for a line-man trustee; where thorazine was forcefully injected into the veins of a con cornered by the guards who'd take bets on which way he'd fall.

Paul Newman's Cool Hand Luke was not filmed out of thin air, nor is the 1978 film The Brutalization of Franz Blum. In Alabama, prisoners have been strapped to tables in the sick bay and then the "Tucker Telephone," attached with electrodes to their cocks, tits, tongues, and toes, was cranked up to proper screaming voltage. Reynolds may film prison come- dies like The Longest Yard, but only recently has even California abolished spot-welding a con into his cell, for up to a year at a time, so he stays put, isolated, with no key to bypass the weld, no way in hell to get him out fast when he is sick, suicidal, or burning in his cage. In this Age of Anita, the death penalty is everywhere on its hanging, shooting, gassing, injecting, electrifying way back. Gary Gilmore, hooded and strapped into his death-wish wooden chair, proves we live perilously close to the days of I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang.

STIR CRAZY

San Quentin features a dozen indoor and outdoor gyms for pumping iron, and pumping out anger, on incline benches of sweatsoaked canvas. All around, the grey-pink walls are topped with 3-foot diameter coils of wire, barbed every four inches with two-inch razor slashes of steel. San Quentin grew like Topsy. Very turvy. The prison's origins are lost in myth. "Once," Bill said, "convicts were locked in a prison ship anchored in the Bay. One night a storm tore the ship loose from its mooring and washed it up on Point San Quentin. First, tents were put up, and then the compounds, com- pounded with other compounds, until this frigging place became the virtually uncontrollable maze it is today.

The Marin County moon rose full over Quentin as our group was conducted through the puzzle of corridors, catwalks, gates, and gardens marked OFF LIMITS because the bushes and trees planted as a bleeding-heart rehab idea so long ago had grown big enough to overshadow quick sex and quicker stabbings.

"Some guys used to like to go into that garden and sit by the fishpond and meditate," Bill said. "Not now. No more. meditate," Bill said. "Not now. No more. No way." He pointed to the way the moon threw deep shadows across the maze of buildings constructed with no particular 'design over the years. "New retention facilities," he said, his words again proper as befit an honor guide, are laid out for easy inspection by guards. Quentin has too many nooks, crannies, unused corridors, old stairwells, places no guard can cover long enough to keep a con safer than sorry.

A doubleknit man raised his hand. Like he was in some fucking schoolroom. "I read," he said, "about the problem of homosexuality.

"Homosexuality," Bill cut him dead, "ain't no problem.

And that ended that conversation. "But are you in physical danger?" a woman asked.

"Not if you keep to yourself. Sometimes a guy will owe a dealer, and when he can't pay, the dealer has him offed. Sometimes when he can't pay, he offs the dealer. You keep clean, you get good time, you get privileges. Like ahead of us here in the Honor Block, you're gonna peek into Citizens' Row.'

Two guards, one of them with, I swear, 18-inch-circumference forearms, clicked us off on their counters. Our hands had been stamped for ultraviolet identifica-Just so us prison-tour-junkies tion. couldn't change places with some con: him leaving for the cold streets Outside, us staying in the warm security Inside. "San Quentin is," Bill said, "for 363 of its 2,197 inmates, a fairly comfortable home away from home."

Our group single-filed along the row of honor cells where each man, with 16 months good time, can live alone in a 4x9 foot space 9 feet high. The walk was embarrassing, like some Toms peeping in where we shouldn't, but even embaras-sed fast glances showed that when a man has nothing but time in a very small space, his personality ingenuously expresses his total attitude.

One by one we cruised the empty cells like exhibits in Macy's windows, each coffinlike space an idealized fantasy: one with swastikas and covers from outrageous Easy Riders magazine; others set up for jewelry hobbies; some with black velvet nude tit paintings under blacklight; one, a definite monk's cell; another arranged like a writer's loft, the rackbed hung two feet from the ceiling, the plywood shelf under it centered with a typewriter and paper neatly arranged. Stereo headphones and small color TVs sat in every cell. The honor cells can be locked from the inside by the con himself

"I thought this was supposed to be a jail," a man said. "This is peace and quiet."

"This is," Bill said, "even in the honor block, a place where you do what you're told to do."

"Everyday I have to do," the good izen threw back, "what my corpora-citizen threw back, tion tells me to do."

"No shit." "I pay the taxes that let you live here." "For the rest of my natural unnatural life."

"But, really," the I. Magnin coat rolled back into the action, "what about homosexuality?"

"Frankly, lady, in prison, homosexuality has nothing to do with what you call on the Outside being gay. Our upfront gay cons stick pretty much together . Just like any group of consenting adults."

"But TV is always reporting homo- sexual rape," the taxpaying citizen said.

"Homosexuals don't attack other les," Bill said. "Straight dudes rape males," Bill said. "Straight dudes rape other dudes, straight or gay. A homosexual attack, as you call it, like the rape of a lady, has nothing to do with sex. It has to do with aggression. The cock is the weapon. It's just pure, simple, brutal, bleeding-ass aggression.'

CHOW DOWN

While I waited in line behind Old Reliable, with my tin plate, fork, spoon, and no knife, an eye came to a peephole in a heavy metal door. Then the eye changed to a tongue that wiped its wet way around the perimeter of the cold green hole.

Old Reliable checked the action too. Then the tongue pulled back behind moustached lips that whispered, "Hey,

The various con-guides split strategically to tables where the foxiest touring ladies sat picking at the chicken and mashed potatoes. That was the last we really saw of Bill. He disappeared into the subtle lust hetero-ing his way over the dessert and coffee.

Above us, prisoners' murals depicted California history. The wooden ceiling, 80-feet high, was stuck with forks. The outlawed outlaw game had been to bend three tynes back and place the fork on the mess-table edge. Then with all the bulked strength of a hard-fisted blow, hit the fork handle, shooting it ceilingward. If it stuck, the con's rep was made. If the fork fell short, turned in mid-flight, and started its murderous descent faster and faster, point down, into the messhall crowd, somebody shouted HEADS UP and every con ducked fast under the protecting table tops.

Some fun.

BUSTER AND BILLIE

Currently, Old Reliable has come down like a fork from his ecstasy of the dinner-tour-show at the Big Bastille on the Bay. All because one of his corresponding cons has recently been paroled after ten years for armed robbery. Buster is a primary heterosexual, but he puts out either way. Reliable, remember, like all gay men, is considered an easy mark, and Buster on parole needs all the support good Old Reliable can give.

Besides the straight cons, a lot of gay men languish in prison. DRUMMER received an interesting and seemingly au- thentic letter reprinted here.

Dear Publisher:

I would like for you to but and ad in your gay news paper for me, I am in Columbus State Prison, doing 4-25 years, and don't have any money or family to write to. My name is Bud E. Gooden Jr., I am 30 years old, and have been gay all my life. My number is No.144- 292. I have brown hair and blue eyes, I am 175 lbs, 5 feet, 11 inches. Sir, it sure does hurt when the Officer past my cell, with no mail for me. I like to dance, and go camping, hiking, fishing, horseback riding, and most of all have sex with a man and make real good love with them. When I don't get any mail, then I will read a book or write me a poem, so please print this ad for me if you will, Sir, and I want to Thank You so very much for taking the time to read this, and hope you will help me out, Sir. Sir, if you do help me, or even if you don't, please let me know something if you will. I am sending my full name and number for you, Sir.

Sincerely yours, Mr. Bud E. Gooden Jr. No. 144-292 P.O. Box 511 W. Spring St. Columbus, Ohio 43216

Gay people in prison suffer a whole different trip. Two prisons for the price of one. It's one thing to get fucked, to give consent to be fucked. It's traumatic, even if you ordinarily like it up the ass, to be raped in a cellblock gangfuck.

Meanwhile, Old Reliable's Buster has met his inevitable big-titted peroxide Billie. They're a very small-time Clyde and Bonnie working Reliable like a fish on the line. Billie even confessed the other afternoon that she only looks 20, She's a lot younger. One yap out of her and Buster violates parole with a statutory rape charge. She's got him where she wants him. But maybe he needs to go back, leaving the mean bricks of Market Street for the max security of the Big House. Billie, with her sweet adolescent urge to confess, told Old Reliable, be- tween Cokes and chainsmoked Marl-boros , while Buster was out at Mc- Donald's, that Buster was thinking about burgling Reliable's apartment.

Reliable took Billie's revelation in stride.

"You write to somebody in prison for six years, send him money and new Frye boots, and he comes out, sits on your face like he's told, twists your tits, makes you lick his 18 blue tattoos, fucks you silly, then takes off with a kidcunt who wants to rob you. I could," Reliable said,

"become more cynical." "Disgusting," I said. "That, my friend," Old Reliable said,

"is what the world is about. Finding new ways to be disgusting." "Why do people want to be disgust- ing?"

"Because it proves they're BAD." "You set yourself up everytime you

"I'll let you in on a little secret of why I like what I like and do what other guys only beat off to thinking about doing. I'm like every other sexual specialist. I'm 80 percent impotent unless I get it my way, unless I'm with these ex-con biker boys. Prison turns out some of the best trade in the country."

"You're going to use up your kharma," I said.

"So I'm an easy mark for ex-cons. Still I have to judge each one on his own merits. I know my sexual preference sets me up for everything from an easy touch for a few bucks to a full-dress armed robbery with a side-order of a stomping and maybe a murder. Mine."

"You have sex with them. You pay them. You yourself have nothing." "I have only a relative nothing," Reliable said. "If I have 15 bucks and Buster and Billie have 37c, then they have nothing. For 15 bucks I could get killed." He looked contemplatively looked contemplatively around his early-Salvation-Army apart- ment recalling the armies that have marched over him. "Actually, for about

50 bucks, you can get anybody offed." "You always talk that badass gangtalk from the bad company you hire.

"Ah, gangs. Disgusting, ain't 1? Those wonderful prison-gang initiations. First you have to get tattooed. Then, like in the Aryan Brotherhood, they send you out to 'stick a nigger.' Everybody's dis- gusting. You know, of course, I know how to do away with violence in prisons."

So go tell Jerry Brown."

"Ha. Segregate them. I've been to bed with men from every pen in the country, coast to coast, and bed is the only true confessional. I have maybe one good point to me: I listen to what they tell me.

Just segregate the goddam prisons." "You, your kharma, and Buster and Billie. When you don't answer your phone, I figure I better come down and

"Why do you keep touring prisons like some fucking prison-tour junkie?

At the musical show, the night of that San Quentin tour, the country-western band had twanged out a number called "Ladies Love Ŏutlaws like Little Boys Love Puppy Dogs.

Old Reliable O'Riley and I may not be puppies, but we know authentic macho when we sniff it.

A LEATHER BAR WITH A MASCULINE ATTITUDE

399 9th Street (at Harrison) San Francisco, CA 94103 (415) 863-3290

11TH STREET AT FOLSOM, SAN FRANCISCO

ROBERT OPEL PRESENTS

ORIGINALS

April 7 - 19

1287 Howard Street, San Francisco 626-1000 Wed, thru Sun. - Noon - 10 PM magazines films paperbacks toys OKS G&A Books 251 West 42nd Street New York City (North side between 7th & 8th Avenues) 250 Book Center 250 West 42nd Street New York City (South side between 7th & 8th Avenues) One of the few New York porn stores you by seen entering

SCOTT SMITH: Heavy Rap With A Solitary Ex-Con

SCOTT: "Ah - I've got a 43 inch chest, 16½ inch arms, 31 inch waist. I'm a hard lover - a hard fighter - and a hard mother fucker to get along with. To give you a little background on myself — how I became to be like this — when I was in second grade I was seein a psychologist who labeled me a sociopath, which means that I was in revolt against society. I didn't give a fuck about nothin'. I didn't give a fuck about the principals, the teachers, the neighbors, the parents, the family — I didn't give a fuck about nobody except me — and didn't give much of a fuck about myself. For one thing I could say I always took care of Jason — that was number one. I remember times when ah — it was a couple of years before second grade ever came around — ah — I got in a lot of fights — I started a lot of fires — I loved to start a mother-fucker's house on fire - throw rocks at the milkman — at the baker man — ah — beat up the neighbors. I had a babysitter one time when I was really young, and we used to go to her house after school and ah - I did crazy things like stole a pocket knife from her when she wasn't looking - took it to school - and I remember one day, I took the knife to school, and ah - they got them big red rubber balls that we used to play with - I just got about three or four of them out in the field - started hacking on them — just start cutting them mother-fuckers up. And — I was a pretty angry kid. A couple of days later on the way home from school I was walking home and I got tired of walking — and I seen a school mate riding by on a bicycle and I started thinking - sure would be fine to have that bike to ride home on seein' as it's rainin' and everything — so I pulled him to the curb and told him to get off the mother-fucker and apparently he thought that — you know — I was just funnin' him — so he didn't get off — so I grabbed him around the neck — threw him down on the ground — I started stab- bing his bicycle tires — cut that mother- fucker all to hell. Picked his bike up and threw it on top of him - walked home. I didn't give a fuck about riding his bike — I just wanted — I just wanted to ah — get crazy a little bit.

My whole childhood went like that and been goin' like that ever since. I'm only 23 now but ah — I've been through more shit than five or ten mother fuckers my age put together — I reckon. I've got enough scars to show for — ah — I've got about 37 different tattoos — and only three of those were done in the same — in the same town. Most of them done in the penitentiary but ah — Back when I was a kid I remember my mommy used to tell me to be home from school a half hour after school gets out and I was saying about fuck her in her ass - I come home when I want to come home. And that's the way I've always been. No mother fucker tells me what to do – fuck him in his neck. Ah – I used to go to the store after school across the street - those supermarkets there — they had a liquor store — they had a lot of magazines — and I used to go over there and look at them girlie magazines and — ah — My little old two inch dick — it'd get hard and ah, I'd go home and jack off thinking about them girls - thinking about - sure can't wait until I get old and ah - be able to fuck all them girls. I remember one time I was in the living room playing with my stuff — my grandfather was there — and I didn't think nothin' of it — I just pulled my pants down and started playing with it you know — felt good, fuck it — so I felt — somethin' feels good, do it. If someone won't let you do it anyway - and ah - so I was sittin' there playing with my stuff and ah - grandfather came up to me and went up side of my head with his fist and ah — I didn't like that. I told him to quit fucking with me when I was playing with myself.

Well, anyway, I was always ah — since the time I could remember ah — when I was a little kid I had a lot of erotic thoughts — and most of them took the form of aggression. I used to ah — my older sister was three years older than me — I used to get her in the bathtub — man like we used to have to take baths together - there was three kids, me, my little brother and my older sister. My

sister would take a bath first. She'd get in the water first. I remember ah - going in the bathtub - she'd be in there splashing around, carrying on — and I'd be lookin' at her you know — and my dick would be gettin' hard — and one time I just pissed all over her — I just — it felt good just to get nice'n funky and nasty like that — you know — if I was doing something evil I always got off on that

I still do.

Another time I was coming home from school and I was probably in the second grade - first grade - I don't remember - but I was crazy. And ah - I was walkin' down the sidewalk and this dude - I guess he was two or three years older than me man - outweighed me by thirty, forty pounds which is a lot when you're a kid — and he walkin' down the sidewalk and his mother's holding his hand — I'm thinkin' — look at this sissy mother fucker - he must have been in the fourth grade - walkin' down the sidewalk with his mama holdin' his hand - I thought this punk mother-fucker - I just wanted to knock all the bark off his ass for being such a fuckin' punk. Like I ran up to the dude man and I called him a sissy, mama's boy and everything and ah - he started crying to his mama - I went to the mother- fucker, hit him in the jaw, pulled his pants down and knocked him over and started running. I remember I got around the corner - man I laughed so fuckin' hard that I had tears going down my eyes man - it was so fuckin' funny.

Like - when I was a kid, I did a lot of weird shit like that man. I loved to fight, loved to look at the girls and tell them I wanted to fuck them. One time ah - a little neighbor boy - you know we was partners out on the block right? - we used to catch lizards together, snakes, and things like that. We got in his house one time and was watchin' a movie on the TV - and ah - got to talking about - well show me yours and I'll show you mine. I says all right - I'll whip mine out - and I shook it at him and ah - he took his out and shook his at me. And he goes ah - I'll suck yours if you suck mine. I said all right, with no intention of sucking his. And ah - he goes, you go first, I said no you go first. I grabbed him by the back of the head, pulled him down, told him get to suckin' love — and he got that little old dick in his mouth and just started tonguing it and rolling his head around like he'd been doin' it for years and I think I was too young to come then - but ah - sure got my little old dick hard. That was just one time - used to get the neighbor girls off in the bedroom and lock the door from the outside - tell my brother to lock the door from the outside - tell them to pull down their pants or I wouldn't let then out - make them show me their little pussy - and I'd pull my dick out, show it at 'em, wave it at 'em and ah - that's about as far as I got back then - still hadn't broke ice.

I started gettin' older, more violent, more crazy — I started gettin' bigger and my body started gettin' bigger — my cock started gettin' bigger, thicker and longer it got harder. I started developing some muscles. And, I took a lot of pride in the fact that I had never been beat in a fight at school or any other place for that matter.

I used to play on the little league team and ah - they used to call me the head hunter because I pitched - and like if someone got up to bat that I didn't like I'd just throw the ball at 'em - I didn't give a fuck. Someone come up that maybe hit a home run last time when I pitched against 'em - I'd throw it at their head - and hit 'em most of the time, nine times out of ten. So, they kicked me out of the little league. And I beat the manager's son up with a baseball bat the day it happened. So like - I started gettin' older - like I said a lot crazier — a lot more aggressive — I got off on it and my dick got hard — I just ah - I'd see somethin' I want and I'd take it - if somethin' didn't work right I'd break it - I didn't have the patience or the time or the desire to sit down and look at it and see what made it tick - just broke the mother-fucker. And that's how I was with people. People don't act the way I want 'em to I'd try and break them - in one way or another - ah - if I couldn't do it physically I'd do it men- tally and ah — I started gettin' like into junior high school and things — and I remember my first experience with ah - anything other than a woman was when I was in junior high school and I was hitchhiking across town - on the way to see a girlfriend as a matter of fact - and I was out on the street, I got my thumb out, I got a long sleeve shirt on, had it unbuttoned because it was a hot day had sandles on and <math>ah - a</math> guy pulls over, get in the car, he says where you goin' say up the road a couple of miles, right past the bowling alley — so we started driving and he's talkin' about he's goin' to work — the people he works for they're on strike and he's going out to picket. And he starts talking about some of his friends that are - that are gay - didn't know what the fuck he was talking about until he said something about sucking a dick, and then I knew what he was talking about. And I started thinking it sure would be good to stick my dick all off in his mouth you know. An my dick started gettin' hard. I had Levis on - it was - I think I'd just washed them they were kinda tight. Didn't wear no underwear - still don't. The more he's talkin' the harder my dick's gettin' - I hadn't had a mouth around it in awhile. And ah - so finally man, my dick's gettin' big and hard and nasty lookin' and he looks down at my crotch and I guess he could tell I was hard 'cause there was a pretty good size bulge in it by then <math>-</math> and <math>ah-I</math> wanted him to know that it was all right if he sucked my dick, as a matter of fact I wasn't goin' to get out of the car until he did. I started rubbing my dick through my pants — I told him to pull over, find a place to pull over, ah "I want to get my dick sucked." So like he drove around for a couple of miles trying to find a place where there wasn't too many people around - where he could give me some head. So we pull over, he parks and he starts rubbing his hand all over my pants man - just squeezing my fuckin' cock through my pants and ah - boy that mother-fucker was hard - I don't think

I'd even jacked off in about a week - and it just had dick juice just dripping out the end of it man - soakin' through my levis I was so fuckin' horny. And he kept playing with it through the pants and finally I unbuttoned the mother-fucker, and whipped it out on him, grabbed him by the head and said "suck that mother-wheww — wrapped that old hot mouth around it — and I grabbed him by the back of the head and just started fuckin' into his mouth - fuckin' it in his mouth - just - wheww - all the way down his mother-fuckin' throat man - 'cause I was only about fuck - twelve years old but my dick was a good six and a-half, seven inches long then - still had some growin' to do - and it was pretty big around - so anyhow I'm fuckin' ths punk all off in his mouth and I'm thinkin' to myself - look at this sick mother-fucker - and I just - I got ah - I just wanted to knock all of the mother fucking teeth out of his face - man - I wanted to come all in his mouth first, so I just kept fuckin' in his mouth - kept pulling his head down on my cock trying to choke him with it — and ah — finally he took it out of his mouth and started jackin' it off - and I started to come and I just shot come all over his face - umm, it was gooood! I told him to open his mouth and eat it. He just opened his mouth, I just started squirting that cream all in his mouth, all over his tongue. Like I say, that was my first experience with another man. And it damn sure wasn't to be my last.

As time went on I found out that they was willing to pay for it. We had a guy we called him - well, he called himself Dicky, 'cause he loved dick. And about - oh me, five or six of my partners at school - we was all crazy, we all liked to fight, drink and fuck broads, fuck dudes, we didn't care, as long as there was a good time involved. And we started going over to Dicky's house and get our rods copped - and ah - this dude was a ex-marine , a little short stumpy lookin' guy, kind of bald on top - had false teeth on and gave good head. We went over there one time, five or six of us. My friend Ronnie was out - was in the bedroom with him and we were all off in the living room drinking and carrying on looking at fuck books and ah - me and the rest of my partners we got to talkin' and we said you know what let's go in and pull the a- train on this mother-fucker man — and ah — like he was only givin' us $5.00 a piece to suck our dicks. We thought that wasn't enough man. So like - I think there were five of us left in the living room - might of been six - I know it was at least five of us. And off in the bedroom and he was there on the bed sucking Ronnie's dick. He git it all off in his mouth - so Ronnie just kicked back man, just … sees us come in the bedroom - we told Ronnie to get up for a minute brother, we're goin' to down this mother-fucker here - we told Dicky, "get on your stomach we're goin' to fuck you. We're goin' to fuck you long and hard and you're goin' to like it. You're goin' to pay us all." And he kind of seemed to get off on the idea — man —

Continued on page 68

then this production is eons away from any "once-upon-a-time" attack, both in theme and characterization. We are, simply, presented with a mixed group of rapists, murderers, robbers, you name it, into which is thrust a young white prisoner (Bruce Willard Davison) on a charge of child molestation. In prison lingo this makes him "short eyes, and in prison hierarchy places him literally at the bottom of the pecking order. As such, he becomes the catalyst - not unlike Eugene O'Neill's Iceman - that provokes the climactic violence.

In the course of the events we are bombarded by a cacophony of appropriate four-letter words, spat out by a Ship of Fools company of inmates: writer Pinero himself as a hustler, Jose Perez as an optimistic Puerto Rican, Perez as an optimistic ruerto Nicari, Joseph Carberry as a vicious white, Curtis Mayfield the philosophic older man, a couple of blacks (Nathan George and Don Blakely), and Shawn Elliott as a Puerto Rican who has the hots matter of fact, homosexuality runs rampant , with the entire cast seemingly

It is Bruce Davison's focal performance that makes the whole thing work, however. Playing a role that might easily have gotten out of hand by even the most disciplined of performers, Davison neatly shades the tempting histrionics in such a way that we are left with a character who disturbs as well as repulses. His inno- cently blond good looks add to the general effect, especially as contrasted against the proliferation of blacks and Puerto Ricans in a milieu where the normal concept of minorities is turned

Only slightly jarring the overall thrust of the film are occasional lapses into lyrical theatricality, inadequate explanations of the passage of time, and utterly gratuitous musical interludes. Otherwise, its searng expose of the sudden violence and seething sexuality implicit in our Medieval prison system makes Short Eyes a film to be recommended virtually without qualification to the broadest possible audience. Don't miss this one!

Ed Franklin

ROGER

Continued from page 46

Rows of cocks come out. The audience shouts for more.

Hardly can a man applaud for Roger. Applause takes two hands.

Rows of cockpumping men shout, "ROGER! ROGER! ROGER!"

In response, slides of Roger flash on the screen: clothed and nude. His shaft is enormous. Suddenly, the live Roger steps into the projected images. He wears the white headband and white see-through trousers of his centerfold beach pictures. His torso is naked and oiled. His hands rub across his own bare flesh.

See me. Feel me. Touch me.

He offers himself with great dignity and no egomania.

He dances to the disco music. His every move totally macho. And then, finally, he begins his slow strip, an agonizing shedding of white clothing from tanned skin, down to his big- pouched jockstrap. He runs his hands over his hardening basket. He turns and his hands smooth across his buns. Tigerlike he moves stage front and center, stands his nearly naked body still, moves his head slowly surveying the audience, locking eyes with individual men in the crowd. His bare feet are only a yard from me. Omigod: even those toes. Those calves, thighs … I hit the popper. On both sides of me, arms are pumping cock: the whole front row jacking off.

Look at me. I am willing him to look at me.

Roger turns slightly on the ball of his foot. His dark eyes look directly down at me. He towers eight feet over me front row center. We are eyeball to eyeball. "Take it, you fucker," I'm saying under my breath. The music is louder. "Take from me as much energy as you're giving us." And I no kidding fucking shoot. I lose my load to that fucker's face, His timing is perfect. He breaks off our energy-stare and dances hard and furious, sweating himself down further in a strip so erotic that even with the loud music, the groans of coming men roar in a low, heavy bass. Even the rows of seats tremble as the shockwaves of men coming travel down the interlocked theater chairs.

The slides change to a movie of Roger jacking off. The live Roger lies back on the posing platform and in mirror image to the film, back, then side, to the audience, rubs his oiled pecs, his belly, his thighs, and finally his big meat. The film-Roger and the real-Roger mirror each other exactly. Two Rogers touching themselves.

Touched at last! Touched at last! Great God Almighty. Touched at last!

Roger's act climaxes. The lights fade out. Roger disappears. For this knight in white satin, the crowd calls out for more. The cry rises, becomes a chant, a plea, a prayer, a demand.

And in answer: very, very slowly the single overhead spot shines down, as in the beginning, with increasing hot in- tensity on The Total Roger. On the posing platform, he stands unmoving, imperious, naked as some ancient warrior-god , pumped arms folded across his massive pecs, legs spread, knee-length cock thick and ready, head held high and steady, staring straight as the Second Coming out over the cheering crowd. The rose-light haloes him somehow, burns his image graven forever into my eyes. Roger is a holy hero straight out of Franzetta. For him, standing stock still, rises the audience pandemonium of worship, respect, and cheers.

ROGER: A FINAL FANTASY

Years from now, when I think of this, and I will think of this when I think of Life and of Death, I'll recognize them both from my close encounter with Roger. I'll be seated somewhere hot and bright, squinting through my ancient memories, painfully trying to clear my vision which as in a movie will have become all blurred about the edges, and I shall want to clear my sight to resume my sweating cool glass of Perrier Water, and

I'll look up.

He will be there. Suddenly. Waiting. Turned in upon himself. Leaning against a white stucco wall. His body tanned, stripped to the waist, wearing those nylon long beach trousers that will cling again wet to his thighs, wet from his healthy seasweat, from a plunge into the sea I never saw him take. A white sweatband will coil his dark hair. His face will be turned down toward his white transparent crotch, the drawstring opening a vee-shaped whiter shade of pale above his cock which will be hard and held shielded in his right hand. His left hand will hold out the drawstrings to slow the slide of his clinging wet pants down his thighs. He is very muscular: arms, shoulders, and chest. He has a black moustache which with the curl of hair over the sweatband obscures his perfect dark face from my eyes. But I know him. I recognize that bicycle boy, who in the village is called Roger.

I know when he looks up, finally, from his crotched hand, across the distance to my eyes, that he will be beautiful, that he will lift my heart, sweet fucking savior, right out of me and carry me up into the brightness and light and heat of the sun, and my then-ancient eyes will pain no more. Life and Death are, after all, only the brightness and heat of noon burning in a young man's body. Will Death anymore than Life reveal any secret? Will Roger, hoisting me high by flap of his muscular wings, whisper secrets I know behind his body armor he conceals? Will the Brightness and Light become so light and bright that in a flash I will see what in spite of every careful observation in life I missed? In all that Light can a man finally see, finally trans- cend the sweet wrap of flesh? Rising with Roger, will he lift us higher and higher until Life passing through Death becomes life once again in a young man's body?

TUNE IN NEXT WEEK

Currently, Roger is scheduled for a European tour. Frankly, he ought to retour the U.S. first! Meanwhile, the best second encounters with Roger are available from Lew Thomas' Target Studios, as well as from Wakefield (Boys in the Sand and Bijou) Poole's Irving Studios. Irving has the most recent Roger: 200 feet of him in super-8 color movie, color slides, and black-and-white prints. This is still not enough. I'm frankly waiting for movies like Deep Roger, Roger in Bondage, and I Am Roger's Prostate, because there's everything I want to know about Roger and am not afraid to ask.

SCOTT SMITH

Continued from page 14 on all fours. I told Gary my other partner – get on 'im and start fuckin' 'im. So Gary got first, started fuckin' him – just got to grinding on that mother fucker — and I got in front of him and knelt down and my cock was just standing straight out in front of his mouth and I told him to suck it - I said suck that mother fucker like you ain't never sucked before or I'll knock all your mother

fuckin' teeth out. He just looked up at me man and I could see his eyes just turn like into mother-fuckin' water. And he grabbed my dick, stuck it in his mouth and just started rootin' on it. And - Garv is back there just pumping his cock in and out of his ass — fucking him — dog fuck- ing this punk — and alls I'm thinkin' of is hon - I just want to - I want to degrade this sucker. I want to piss on him, whip on him, beat on him, tie him up, fuck him in his ass, in his arm pits, in his ears, come all over his face, in his mouth, in his eyes, just get crazy with him - take some of my anger out on him - that's what I wanted to do. So I got to fuckin' on him. Gary grabbed him by the back of the neck while he was fuckin' him 'cause he was startin' to come and I guess he started to choke him a little bit - and he kind of turned his head to get Gary's hand off of him — I pulled my dick out of his mouth and just slapped him across the face - "I said mother-fucker don't turn your head, don't take my dick out of your mouth - just keep your fuckin' head where it belongs." and right then Gary just started pumpin' real hard, started to come all in his ass and Gary pulled out and ah - one by one the rest of my partners got on him and fucked him in the ass. Some of them couldn't come inside him, they pulled out, shot all over his back — all in the crack of his ass. We got done with that poor mother-fucker - he looked like he done kissed a mack truck at sixty miles an hour - had come all over on him - it was about dried up and sticky - we pissed all over him - all over his bed - done everything but kill him.

Like I've been doin' that kind of thing all my life, ever since then man. I'd be hitchhiking somewhere, just fuckin' around, not going anywhere in particular, be a nice sunny day, I'd have my shirt off, good tan and ah — lookin' pretty healthy. I'd be hitchhiking along and maybe somebody'll come and pick me up and like I'm the kind of person ah - I get in the car with somebody, I start fantasizing about I wonder how their mouth would look wrapped around the head of my cock - you know - especially like if I ain't fucker for a couple of days and I got a lot of come built up in me man - I just - thinking about it gets my dick hard. And ah - I'll be sittin' there in the front seat and my cock will start to swell up thinkin' about it. And ah - I maybe put my hand on it to where it ain't really noticeable to the driver and just start squeezing a little bit man - sometimes I've done this and the person, he'd just reach over and grab it you know, and sometimes I'd just tell the mother-fucker you know wether I think he's gay or not, you know I want some head and I need to fuckin' come - and ah - I did this one time - the dude picked me up - I don't think he was gay when he picked me up but ah - he damn sure was when he left.

But ah - I'm tryin' to think of - fuck - I've been at parties man where we've turned people out, women, had dogs fuckin' 'em, had 'em suckin' dog dicks, pulled trains on 'em — ah — whipped on 'em, tied 'em up, beat 'em, jacked off all over 'em. We had a guy one time in a bar man - and ah - this was a bar in my home town - it was a pretty rugged neighborhood - you know like you got to shoot your way into your front door at night and ah - me and a lot of people I grew up with, partied with, was at this bar and there was a couple people there that was from out of town - and like we got to rapping with them - and the dude has his old lady with him — and like we kept — we told his old lady that we wanted to fuck her - me and a couple of other partners. Like she said yeah, I can dig it but like I got my old man with me. So we told her old man to split 'cause we was goin' to fuck his old lady, and he wouldn't go for it. So we said well if you're goin' to stay we're goin' to fuck your old lady and you and he didn't believe us so like we just gaffled him up fired on him a couple of times - knocked his teeth out and ah - just threw him up bend him over backwards against the pool table man - told him to take down his pants - my partner stuck a cue stick up his ass about twelve inches and ah - we just sat there while my partner was slapping him in the head making him give us some fuckin' mouth - we sat there and fucked his old lady in front of us - and about four or five of us just sat there man and had her on her back on the pool table and jacked off all over her fuckin' her between her tits, her man - ass and her pussy, everywhere. And ah - after awhile this guy ah - apparently man he must have got kind of turned on by seeing his old lady receive this kind of treatment cause he started to get a rise in his levis - hm - so like ah - she had about, about four or five of us had shot our rocks off in her pussy - and we told her to sit on his face and she sat on his face man - this mother fucker - she had come dripping all out of her pussy into his mouth - and we told him you know what? get used to it man because you got some more of that coming in a minute - and ah — that was another instance where like it turned like into a gang bang — you know - we fucked him and his old lady, man.

In county jail one time waiting to go to the penitentiary - and ah - I had only been in the jail about three or four weeks at the time I think and ah - you know I've done a lot of time in jail during the last ten or twelve years I spent about seven of them behind the walls, You know — we was in this time and I was in a cell with about thirty-five, forty other men - and, a lot of us had done time before - had a lot of experience with the type of things that happen in jail. And so I'm kicking back in there thinking about - man it sure would be nice if we had someone to fuck man - or just to kick back and get our dicks sucked. So this little young guy comes in — and he's AWOL from the Marines, right - he stole a car while he was AWOL and got busted. And he's in county jail - Ain't never been in jail before - and he's a little pretty lookin' mother fucker you know - the kind you just want to put a dress on and pat him on the ass. So like eh - we told him there was no room in the bunks left - there were two - you know - double bunks - and ah they was all full so there was people sleeping on the floor. And <math>ah-I</math> called him over to my bunk and told him "look man, what're busted for" and he ran his story down to me and I told him — "you know what? you're going to be in a long time you know – you better – you're gonna have to get used to it in here - you know it's your first time in jail ah - you're kinda pretty and young and you don't look too tough and like there's a whole lot of people in here who'd like to get their dick off in your ass and your mouth." So I kinda took him in under my wing and schooled him with the thought of fuckin' him later and ah - finally got the sucker so scared that he was ready to give up some buns which he had never done before man <math>-1</math> don't think the kid had ever had any kind of experience like that before - so anyway like it came down to where he was convinced he had to fuck everybody in order to survive in there. So like I told my you know the rest of the men in the cell that we got us a live one here - he gonna give it up - and we started ah - we started drawing straws to see who'd go first man - there was fourteen dudes who wanted to fuck him. O.K. And naturally like I was first off the top since I had been the one to turn him out. But there was thirteen others behind me. So like we got a bottom bunk, we threw a blanket from the top bunk over the side of the bottom to cover it, in case the police you know — walked around outside — and ah - I got down there - got some vaseline slapped some on his butt, told him to get on all fours - and just - my dick was so hard because I hadn't fucked in so long that ah - I didn't even put it in there gentle - I just grabbed him by the back of the hips man - just plugged man - just stuck this mother fucker - about nine inches off in his ass, and like I - I just started fucking man and he started crying and shit cause it was hurting so much — and I got off on it man it just made me fuck all the faster — and I got to starting slapping him on the back of the head and shit man - spitting over my shoulder while I'm fucking him man - so I get off man - I get my nuts off in his ass, and I had shit all over my dick man and it was bleeding and come all on it - that mother-fucker really looked gross man and I told him to lick it off and he licked it off - got my dick hard again, I jacked off in his mouth. Then ah — so like everybody that fucked him after that — thirteen of 'em —there might have been more towards the end there - but there was at least fourteen of us all together. And we all fucked him and he sucked a whole lot of dick that night — whew — that boy must have been come drunk. Next morning man — he went to see the doctor because ah - we tore that boy a new asshole, man. If he had as many dicks sticking out of him as he had had stuck in he'd look like a porcupine . That's how bad it was. Well, like afterwards we got to talking to him - you know - and asking him like - we became a little bit more humane with him once we had got our rocks off - asked him if he liked it and he said yeah — it got kinda good to him after awhile — even the hurt started feeling

My kinky bed-partner in Des Moines put down his pocket calculator and said, "If you had got the minimum for all the sex laws you've broken in this country, you'd be in the pokey for sixty-one thousand years." "No time off for good behavior?" I

Phil<br>Andros

"No time off for good behavior?" I

said sardonically.

"Nope. So with the six month sentence, that'd be…" he figured it out… "0000081. Not a bad percentage for a notorious hustler." "A pure line of zeroes would be better," I grumbled.

Two summers ago I'd been hitchhiking from San Francisco to Chicago, ridin' the ole thumb, and listening to the changes in accent and wording as I got propositioned from west to east. And in the midwest a young stud with glasses wanted it so bad we pulled off at a gas station and headed for the can. Turned out he wanted his ass whopped, so I laid a heavy belt on him and had just got inside him when the door bust open, and two of the corn state's finest caught us. He copped a plea, and I went into the southeast corner of the state to ponder my sins in a living-<br>room six feet wide and nine feet long. The judge invited me to share the state's hospitality for six years.

It wasn't so damned bad in the pokey if you knew how to play your cards. You paired off right away. I found me a poguey kid - got him with two cartons of cigarettes plus my never-failin' charm, and he serviced me after that. He was a little black-haired boy named Chris (everyone called him Christine), cute as a bug's ear, and with an asshole about bug-sized and tight and hot and man, he sure liked to be fucked in that ass. And I'm an ole bugger. He was after my dingdong every time we managed to be alone - "unguarded" moments you might say - in the shithouse, the cell when he came to sweep, and even in the chow-line

A ONE-HANDED FRICTION/FICTION

That was the big mistake. He'd fixed the ass-end of his pants with a zipper, and then he'd get right in front of me on the way across the yard to chow. It was a double line and we'd be next to the building , all crowded tight together. And then right in plain view he'd unzip his rear end, unzip me, and reach down to guide it in. After the first time I was all rarin' and

ready. He always had a lump of butter or grease stuck in his asshole so I could get in real easy, and we'd walk slow in the line. It took me about eight steps to shoot my load. Then he'd grunt, zip up again, and we'd both be settled down by the time we got to the messhall, except for our red faces.

The guys around us knew what was going on but kept quiet about it - except for one damned bible-thumping fink. He was either outraged or jealous, and he must have squealed. We were passing under the window one day when it opened and a guard hollered at us. I backed out of Chris in a hurry, but he saw the whole thing.

That was when I got put in the hole, where no birds sing. Solitary. Ten days. Old Warden Lystenbee (what a name!) said he was sorry, looking me up and down. He seemed real friendly. But stern.

A stool. A cot. A washbowl. A shit-can . Remarks for my diary: goddamnit to hell.

On the second day I was sitting on the stool, facing the slotted peephole in the solid steel door. Somebody in that mixed-up Bastille had been eyeing me off and on for the past hour - a guard? maybe. Anyway, I'd devised my own little opera comique for him entitled Charlot S'Amuse - beating my meat in all kinds of positions - pants up, pants down, sitting, standing and feeling my groin with one hand, spitting on the head to juice it up a little bit. Anything to make the Tom who was peeping a little hotter. Like any ham actor, you always want to entertain and hold your audience … and I'm a co-operative kind of guy.

Then I heard somebody unlocking the door. I buttoned my fly, thinking Ah ha! someone coming backstage with roses. It was highly unusual, because part of being in the hole is that you're not allowed to see anyone during the durance vile.

A cop came in - not one of the guards, but a regular blue-clad city cop with motorcycle boots, cap, handcuffs, night-<br>stick, and all the rest. How he managed to get in was a mystery. But a small chill crept around my shoulders - I'd always had a thing for cops, even though cur-<br>rently I should have been fairly pissed

off at them.

furnish the boot.

I didn't recognize him at first. He said "Andros?" and then I connected, because that bass voice jumped me back to last summer. He was one of the two who'd busted me. He was very nervous.

"Well," he went on, "this cousin of

mine likes to be beat — and I wondered if you could tell me why."

"How the fuckin' hell should I know,

Mac?" I said. "I ain't no shrink. I don't know why anyone likes to be beat. I only know I like to beat 'em. You whup a guy's ass so's his asshole will open up and let you get a big dong like mine inside him.

"J-just thought I'd see how you were gettin' on," he said. He swallowed noisily. "How the hell does it look like I'm

he said. "How come you're here?

I reached down and rubbed my crotch and cupped the bulge in my hand. He couldn't take his eyes away from my fly as frozen as a bird by a cobra. His down-turned face was handsome as hell. It was what I always thought of as a "stage face" - one that looked equally good from both the first and the thirty-<br>fifth rows — straight black eyebrows over well-spaced eyes, a sculptured nose, full thick well-shaped sensual lips. Jaysus. It wasn't just the touch of my hand on my crotch that made ole Betsy unbend a joint or two. That strangest of all two-sided separations in me was activated - not a love-hate one so much as a lust-hate one. Here I was, getting a hardon for the bastard who'd put me in the pokey in the first place! It was plumb crazy, and I was almost as hypnotized as he was - I saw the black curly hair struggling to escape from his cap, the dark hair on the backs of his big hands and fingers, the heavy beard mark. He must have outweighed me by thirty pounds - bigboned and broad-shouldered. A couple of breath-taking fantasies interwove themselves in

"As if you don't know," I said. "I'm here because you busted me for beating a

hole. What you done now?"

hole. What you done now?"

He looked at me. And then I caught him in a movement that in Europe would indicate he wanted sex: he ran his tonguetip from one side of his upper lip to the other. You eat me or I'll eat you. In the cornbelt it just meant this fuzz was nervous, or might be a club-member. I got up from the stool, hooked my<br>thumbs in my belt loops and moved towards him, the old hip-rollin' sexy approach. Ah, the studied gestures of us criminal types.

"Got a cigarette, Mac?" I said.

Then he made another mistake - he ran his finger around the inside of his collar. His hand shook as he finished the movement and then reached for the cigarettes. "Sure," he said, holding out a pack. I took one, noting an intertwined

friendship ring, fourth finger, left hand.<br>"I know it ain't my business," he said, "but I'd kinda like to ask you a question.

Mac?" I said, letting it dangle from the corner of my mouth, playing the whole

growled. If he'd said 'gay' he might have

scene like a bad porno movie. "Uh — oh sure." He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a match folder, but he was so nervous he dropped it, and reached down for it.

had a different answer.

"Yessir, I know," he said hastily. And that tied it - saying "yessir!" My favorite goddess Hilaria tugged at my corners; I almost laughed. Not only gay, but probably an M to boot, and maybe I could

A hustler has to make quick decisions sometimes - and lord help me if I'm

wrong this time, I thought. I reached over with my foot — big and heavy in size 12D prison boots — and stepped hard on the back of his hand. He let out a combined gasp and groan, but kept it low so that nobody could hear.

I put more pressure on his hand. He didn't try to push me away, just kept making small dog noises, sort of whim-<br>pering, so I tried the final test. I reached down and under his chest with both hands, finding the little nipple mounds. Such a position brought me close to his head and I smelled the healthy male odor of his hair, with the faintest smell of sweat from his armpit. I shook my head to clear it, and then pinched each tit savagely and twisted it. He put his free hand up to try to throw me off, but I bore down harder with my foot on his hand, twisting his tits into a helix of pain, and then also twisting my heavy shoe the way you do to put out a match.

He gasped, a kind of strangled sob.

"Oh - oh, please … please don't." "Now you listen to me, damnit," I said, hard and low. "You're gonna do exactly what I say, aintcha?" I twisted his tits again.

"A-ah," he groaned. "Oh … yes." "Say 'sir' to me," I said savagely, stepping on his hand hard enough to

"A-ah," he groaned. "Oh … yes." "Say 'sir' to me," I said savagely, stepping on his hand hard enough to crack a bone.

A sharp yelp. "Ow-w," he said. "Yes sir!"

I took my foot off his hand. He picked it up and shook it and looked at it. His eyes were wet. "That hurt," he said.

I backhanded him across the cheek. Five months of the drudgery of prison

were in the blow. "Just the beginning," I said happily. "You gonna behave?" "Oh yes. Sir," he added hastily as I raised my arm. He started to get up. I pushed him. He was off balance and sprawled back on the cement. I swung my leg to stand over him, straddling his body. Then I reached for my belt and

started pulling it out of the loops. His

boots with his teeth and then to lick the dirty wool of my four-day old socks and how to take the socks off with the teeth even while I kept my heels pressed hard against the cement floor.

said, snapping the belt-end out, "But we can manage a little. It's the thought that counts." I looked down at him. "How come you pull that shit about your cousin liking to be beat? You think I'm stupid?"

Then I moved the stool over to the side wall. He was still kneeling. "Now crawl over here," I ordered, "and suck my toes.'

He came over painfully. His mobile handsome face was tormented. The sweat ran down from under his capbill.

He shook his head, saying nothing. I slapped his face again. It rocked him. "Hey," I growled, "look up here at

me.

He turned his face up. It was grimy where he'd wiped his dirty hand down at his tears. Just when he looked up I let fly a big gob of spit. It landed right

But he made no further move. I lifted the belt. "Say 'Please, master, can I suck your toes?""

He shook his head. I took the doubled belt and swung it against the side of his head. A small bright drop of blood welled out from the ear lobe. His eyes were shocked and startled. His fingers came away bloody from his ear. "Please … don't hit me again," he

between those heavy dark eyebrows. "You son of a bitch," he said and started to wipe it off. I kicked his arm away with my foot. Got him right on the elbow's crazy-bone. He hollered.

"Leave it right there," I said. "I want to watch it run down your nose." It did, slowly, and dropped off the end of it.

said and then added "master."

Sheez, it was good to hear him say that! I could have stopped right there … revenge completed, my little lust-hate session satisfyingly ended. Or could I have stopped? I looked at his humbled broad-shouldered narrow-waisted body, and knew that the animal that lived below my belt would never be content until

The wonderful thing about finding a novice who's new to the rituals of S/M is the effectiveness of the tired old formulas on him — the use of "Sir," the use of "Master" and all the other hackneyed cliches of the preliminaries before you arrived at the sacred canon. My cop was a dandy acolyte, a quick pupil of the holy<br>ceremony. Within five minutes he had learned how to crawl over to the stool where I was sitting, how to unlace prison

it had found a new cave to explore.<br>"Then . . say it," I said harshly.<br>He did, almost in a whisper.

"Say it louder."

"Please master … may I suck your

"Sure, pig," I said. "Go ahead and suck." I leaned back against the wall, rubbing my crotch with the heel of my palm. He bent down. His cap was still<br>on. It started to slip off but I crushed it<br>back into place. The badge bit into my thumb. I pushed his mouth down against

my foot. "Suck, pig," I growled. "Clean 'em off good — get all that toe-jam out from between . And breathe so I can hear you - don't hold your breath." I whacked him over the rump. He lurched forward a little. I took my other foot and rubbed his bloodied ear, and then pushed his

head down with it.

I could tell he was excited. His toe-sucking was hardly a lazy drift of butter-flies around the honey; it was more like a<br>frenzied chomping as if he wanted to<br>swallow the whole foot. But he kept his teeth to himself and just used his lips and tongue. It was grand, and a good toe-job always gives me a real hardon. Ole Betsy lengthened down my leg.

He finished with the first foot and looked up at me with wet black spaniel

The foot was shining and clean. Then I saw a small triangular black spot under one corner of the nail of my big toe. I reached down and dug it out with my thumb-nail - a small bit of black paste, full of my very favorite bacilli feotidis, formed from the accumulated sweat and dirt of not being able to shower in my hidey-hole. I rubbed it between thumb and forefinger and sniffed at the small<br>black smear. It would have satisfied the most devoted foot fettishist.

"C'mere," I said. He was watching with alarm - and fascination. I reached over, put one hand at the back of his neck, and then carefully smeared the black paste on his upper lip, directly

under his nostrils.

"Leave it there while you suck the other foot," I growled, "just so you'll be reminded of what you're doing."

He went to work again. His eyes were shut and he was breathing hard. I looked down at his crotch. He had a hardon, all right — and I had to resist wanting to reach out and take hold of it. It was a big

Watching his head twist and turn, feeling his tongue working between my toes, I began to sense the arrival of the kind of surge I hadn't felt for a long time ultimate and complete power over another human being. It was insidiously attractive - it bloomed and flowered in my groin, and then spread to my arms and legs, almost like the feeling of ecstasy that comes with the orgasm. I felt my heart pounding, and my breath was short<br>and shallow. Flames leaped to life in my armpits and around my balls, and a kind of mist formed in the corners of the room my side-vision clouding and sparkling. And then the pounding - the blood? moved to my neck and head; I heard a rushing in my ears that almost drowned

Then the moment passed. I shook my head, dizzy and panting with the surge. I looked down at the muscles of his broad shoulders moving under the tight dark blue shirt, the striped britches running

down to disappear under the shining black encasement of his boots. The hand-

ing. "You holler and get somebody here, it'll be worse for you than for me.

cuffs jingled a little at his belt.

Then I started. None of that sissy vanilla lovemaking - I was all machine and piston and speedometer whirling. I rammed him for all I was worth, about two per second, and working it up faster and faster. The bumps I gave him from behind almost pushed him over, so I grabbed him with both hands at his waist and held him steady. And it wasn't long, what with all the prelims, the setting, his being a cop … the old feeling began to build up in me - through my legs and arms and groin and chest, and down my<br>spine, and the light little red mist in front of the eyes, and then suddenly - wave after wave of pleasure over me, tingling, shimmering and flickering, and I felt myself shoot and shoot again far into him, until finally I half collapsed over him . .

If cops would only realize how many of us find them attractive, they'd never have to go horny again, and that stuff<br>wouldn't have a chance to solidify in their vesicles. They could find an empty willing mouth on every park bench, an asshole in every alley - if they were in

"Hey, pig," I said suddenly. "That's<br>enough. Time's a-wastin'."

I stood up. The floor was cold on my bare feet. I unbuttoned my pants and stepped out of them. Ole Betsy, freed from her cloth cage, sprang forth, up and out at an angle, the head drooling with a drop of moisture.

Get on your feet," I said, and he did. "Now unbuckle your pants and drop 'em." He did, looking terrified. "The shorts, too."

. but not for long. I straightened up, pulled out and walked over to the win-

His cock was as big as mine and just as hard. And sheez! the hair! It was thick and black. It ran up and down and crosswise , a black jungle on his legs and around his crotch.

dow ledge and sat down. "Okay, pig," I said, "come here and get on your knees. My cock was still hard, a thing that's always made me fun for the boys to have around - it takes about ten minutes to deflate. I relaxed on the ledge, pushing my ass forward so that my cock was standing straight up. He came

around his crotch.

"Now turn around," I said, "and bend<br>over." The hair on his ass was not quite so thick. It lay in a kind of ducktail pattern pointing to his crack. His big balls hung heavy and swollen between his legs. "Grab your ankles," I said, "and

keep quiet."

With that I swung the belt. It landed with a muffled crack across his ass. His breath whooshed out in a gasp, but he didn't holler. Then I waited. I watched the first pink of the broad welt appear, and saw it slowly turn redder and redder. Then I swung again … and again … and again. . With each crack he jumped, and at last began to arch his back. A low moan hummed through the room, I moved to the side and pushed his head down again, and laid on more viciously - a real wood-chopper . I let the buckle work loose and it began to cut into him. That really brought blood - little drops splattering the floor. His dark shirt was plastered to his back, and his thighs glistened with sweat.

I banged at his ass until my arm was To driged at this dos until my affil was tred, and then stopped. He started to rise but I pushed him back. "Just stay there, pig," I said. "I ain't through yet."

I thought my cock was going to split its skin like a boiled

were standing out on it and the head was throbbing as if I'd just come. I worked up a big gob of spit and laid it on my<br>fingers and then rubbed it all over the head and shaft of ole Betsy. Then I reached over and pulled the cheeks of his red ass apart (hot to the touch!), thumbs digging deeply into each side - and there it was, his rosy brown asshole right in the middle of that black hairy nest. You could even see that it was open from all the beating. I took aim and spit another gob at it. It landed high and crawled slowly down the crack. And just when it arrived I braced myself, spraddled my legs, and gave one heluva thrust. About two inches went in on that first big push. He let out a holler you could certainly have heard through the steel door. I cuffed him on his sore ear. "Shut up!" I said, low and threaten-

cuffed him on his sore ear. "Shut up!" I said, low and threaten-

towards me, his eyes on my rod. It was

clean enough, but it smelled. He kneeled. "There it is, buddy," I said. "Hot from your own ass. Now lick it off nice

I reached over and pressed down on his cap but he resisted. I whacked him with the belt and then pushed again. He squinched his eyes tight shut and took a dive, his mouth open. My cock poked him right beside the nose. I guided it over into his mouth. He gagged. I pushed harder and finally he took it all inside.

Once it was in he didn't seem to mind so much. I watched his own cock and reached one foot up to rub over it. With my cock still in his mouth he groaned and twisted. But if he thought I was going to help him launch his rocket, man, he had

it all wrong.

Then I reached down and grabbed his ears and said, "Okay, hold still a minute now. Just hold the head of it in your mouth. It feels good that way," I added, more to keep my plans from him than

anything else.

And then I started to think of waterfalls and fountains and rain on the roof-and it didn't take long. I was all ready for his efforts to break away when he felt the first warm gush of piss into his mouth.<br>He fought pretty hard, but I clamped

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both legs around his neck and used both hands and held him so he couldn't move. Gradually he stopped fighting.

"Take it easy, old shit-can," I said. "Don't fight or you'll gag and choke. You splatter a single drop on me and you'll be damned sorry. Just keep swallering.

Then there wasn't any sound in the cell except that gulping as each mouth-

ful went down.

Finally I was empty. I uncrossed my legs and lowered them and sat looking at him, half smiling. He was red in the

face and looked unhappy. "Whatsamatter, pig?" I smirked at him. "You're a pretty good fuck. This ought to be a red-letter day for you – you found out why guys like to be beat. And had a con's feet in your mouth and<br>his cock up your ass and swallowed your own shit and washed it all down with a pint of mineral salts. That's healthy. You'll grow big and strong. So what's wrong?"

He shook his head numbly from side to side. "I gotta come," he said. "I just<br>gotta." He reached down and took hold

of his cock.

I almost did too. I wanted to, but I didn't. "G'wan," I said, "beat it off. I'll watch you. Want me to spit on it?"

He nodded. I spit in the general direction of its swollen redness.

He nodded. I spit in the general direction of its swollen redness.

Damn, he must have been hot. When the spit hit him, in the pubic hair, he arched his back and jerked his hips for-<br>ward and started to come. I jumped out of the way just in time. I though he'd never stop - big thick white gobs of it shooting out in arcs, landing in puddles<br>all over the floor. Finally it stopped,<br>dribbling in a long thin filament from<br>the cockhead and landing on his black<br>leather boot. I pretended I was disgusted . "Look at what you done, pig," I said.

"Lookit that gyzym all over my nice cell<br>floor." I frowned. "Well," I said, swinging<br>my belt, "there's your dessert, kiddo. Get down and lick it all up, every last god-damn drop. Otherwise what'll they think I been doin' in here all alone?"

He got down and did it - licked it all up. I thought once or twice he was going to puke. And then he pulled himself to-<br>gether, dusted off his knees the best he could and started to leave.

It was then I saw the black plastic name tag pinned to his dark blue shirt. It read "R. Lystenbee."

DEALER INQUIRIES INVITED call collect [714] 623-0384

The name electrified me.

* * *

The warden was startled when I requested an audience with his holiness. He was even more amazed when I told him I'd met his son and knew him well. We exchanged pleasantries, and he said he would do his best to see about a release for me. I told him I would appreciate a pardon more than parole, and somehow he was able to manage it, politics being what they are. Lystenbee was an old and honored name in the state, and I never asked how the warden managed to pull off his minor miracle, getting my six years cut to six months.

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But I was very happy about it all.

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stood over the threesome. Then he bent down, staring hard at the carpet. "You got fuckin' Crisco all over my new carpet, you dumb asshole!" He kicked Rip on the side of the head. "D'ya know how much this motherfucker cost?"

"Sorry, boss!" Rip pulled his arm out of the ass of Percival. It gleamed under the neon of the gym. "I'll get the cleaning stuff right away!" Hurriedly he pulled on his shorts and ran toward the locker room. As usual, one slipped out of the blue bikini.

Mrs. Killer McKenna was in a different world. She looked up from the Enquirer and smiled sweetly. "Honey, did you read about the axe killing in North Carolina? Each limb was placed in plastic bags.

"Big fuckin' deal!" Killer turned to me and the seven foot giant, Alastair Ames. He almost smiled as he looked at the dog collar around his neck and the leash lying on the floor. "You brought him back, huh, Georgie?"

"Yes sir. In the brief case!

"Good work, Georgie Porgie!" I could hardly believe my ears. It was the first compliment Killer had ever given me. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about it. I'd become so accustomed to Killer chewing me out and beating the shit out of me that I almost felt uncomfortable with his praise. "What in hell do you call this fuckin' dog?"

"Fido, sir!"

Killer moved closer to the seven foot millionaire. "Okay, sign the fuckin' papers. I ain't got all night." "No."

The word seemed to bounce off the mirrored walls of the gym. I couldn't quite believe my ears. Killer's mouth fell open. I'm sure that no one had ever said NO to my rugged master before. I waited for the explosion. I knew there was no way that the seven foot giant could handle the unleashed fury of Killer McKenna. I waited and waited but nothing happened.

There was just a touch of a smile on Killer's sensual mouth. His blond wife seemed to be oblivious to everything that was coming down. She must've found a double chain saw murder because she was chewing her gum rapidly. Now Killer reached for his belt buckle. I was positive that he was going to beat the shit out of his landlord. Instead Killer unzipped his fly and then he dropped his pants. My heart quickened, even though I couldn't see the outline of his dick. He wore baggy striped shorts like some square from the mid-west. Somehow the baggy shorts turned me on even more. almost shot my load as he pulled down the baggy shorts and his monster dick flopped out. It wasn't even hard but it was the most perfectly formed cock I'd ever seen. Then he pulled off his t-shirt. I gulped, breathing hard. No matter how many times I'd seen Killer McKenna naked it was always an electric shock that smashed at my body. He had a more defined build than Arnold Schwarzenegger and his thick black hair contrasted with his milk white skin that was as smooth as a baby's ass. His large sky blue eyes stared steadily at the seven foot giant who was lying on the floor. Now Killer grabbed his monster dick and he slowly pulled the foreskin back, revealing a wet satiny knobhead. Christ, I was dribbling in my pants, my eyes glued to the black panther that writhed on Killer's magnificent bicep. I wanted to crawl over to him and lick his feet. I wanted to adore him forever. I also wanted him to shove his arm up my ass

Alstair, or Fido, was mesmerized. I was sure his eyes were going to fall out of his head as he stared at the fat ten inches whisper. "No!" It was as if Alastair was talking to Killer's prick. He gulped, and a dribble of sallva fell to his chin. The son of a bitch was drooling over Killer's cock. I can't say that I blamed him

Killer moved a step closer, his legs spread wide, his thick thigh muscles tensed. A trickle of sweat ran down his belly to his hairy crotch. "Taste it, Fido!" Killer's sky blue eyes twinkled. "It's better than Kal-Kan."

There was dead silence except for the rattling of the Enquirer by the dumb blond. Then the gaint's tongue moved for- ward, flicking at Killer's pisshole. I thought Killer would piss all over him … subdue him that way. But old Killer was one step ahead of me. Slowly, almost tenderly his fingers pushed at the giant's mouth, prying it open. Finally Alastair gave in to his feelings. He let out a scream and wrapped his arms around Killer's muscular butt and the monster dick disappeared down his throat. Killer grabbed him by the hair and jammed it all the way down his throat. Then Killer had him by the ears and was giving him a royal face fucking. Again Killer grabbed Alastair by the hair but this time he jerked his dick out of his mouth.

Slowly he walked over to me, his dick bouncing against his leg. I could hardly breathe. All I could see was his gorgeous dick getting closer and closer to my mouth. "You want to nibble on it, Georgie?" His Irish eyes were smiling.

I couldn't help myself. I could actually smell his hot dick. Gritting my teeth, I let out a low moan and shot off in my pants, my body jerking spasmodically.

Killer ran his hand through my hair as he roared with laughter. "Shit, Georgie, I was really gonna let you suck on my dick … lick my balls and work on my asshole with that tongue of yours but since you shot off in your p

… what can I say, kid?" In that instant I felt like killing the Killer. The rotten son of a bitch! How could he torture me like this? Especially after all I'd done for him. After all, when I'd first started working at the Killer McKenna Gym it was a big flop. I was the one who had made it a paying proposition. I was the one who made it possible to buy all the new gym equipment. I was the one who had brought back the landlord with a dog collar around his neck and the mortgage papers in his brief case. Even if he hadn't signed them yet.

Killer moved closer. I could smell the sweaty man-smell coming from his enormous half-hard dick. There was just a touch of smegma oozing out from the foreskin. "Georgie, it's two and a half weeks before the Mr. Bay Area Contest.

Exactly eighteen days, sir!"

"You win the title and you get the Killer for the night. I might even fist fuck you if you're a good boy."

He started to turn away but then he stopped. I was staring at the profile of his beautiful cock. "If you're really good I'll get out my branding iron from when I worked as a cowpoke and put my initials on your ass!" sure my heart had stopped completely. Just the thought of totally being the property of Killer McKenna almost made me shoot off again. I finally managed to speak. "Is that a promise, sir?"

He turned around his eyes glinting. I could see the blood surge into his dick, making it enormous. I gulped, realizing it was turning him on … the idea of branding me! "That's a promise, Georgie Porgie!" The satiny head of his dick was dribbling.

Now Killer was back to Alastair. Brutally he jammed it down Alastair's throat. After about ten seconds Killer pulled it out. His hands gripped the giant's hair, holding his dick an inch away from the hungry mouth. "You want this hot load, cocksucker?" "Yes, sir!"

"Not before you sign the fuckin' papers!"

Alastair was motionless, just staring at the huge prong and then he was opening the brief case. A moment later he signed the papers and handed them to Killer. I heaved a sigh of relief. The gym was now the exclusive property of Killer McKenna. I felt a surge of pride as Killer walked over to his wife, waving the papers. "The gym belongs to me, Victoria."

Victoria? Shit, the peroxide blonde was no Victoria. She looked like a Tessie or a Bubbles, but no Victoria. She glanced at him with her bored eyes. "Did you know that Jackie O has a new high protein diet? I'm going to try

But I guess she wasn't as dumb as she looked. She knew about the community property rights in California. She snatched the legal paper from Killer and quickly put it in her purse.

The giant was furious. "Ah … sir! What about me? I signed the papers giving this gym to you. You promised me your hot load, sir!"

"If you're a good doggie I might fart in your face. Don't dog like smelly farts?" He thought it was funny. "And, anyway, animals don't talk so shut your fuckin yap!"

Rip was leaning against the parallel bars. He evidently thought Killer was funny because he was bent double, giggling, "What the fuck is so funny?" Killer's eyes were like laser beams of anger. "Sorry, sir!"

Rip Powell, the golden boy of baseball. If only his adoring fans could see him now, the slave of Killer McKenna. He reminded me of Steve Garvey of the Los Angeles Dodgers, the star first baseman that was nicknamed Mr. Clean. Only Rip was taller and better looking. What I really loved about Rip was his white ass that contrasted with his golden tan. His buns were twin mounds of solid muscle that somehow had their own gravitational law that made them stand at attention.

I felt a stab of despair as I realized that Killer had added another slave to his stable as I saw the hypnotized glaze in Alastair Ames' eyes. Christ, his mouth was half open and he was drooling. His eyes rivited on Killer's half hard on.

For the first time I saw Killer on his knees but it wasn't in front of a guy. It was Victoria. Eagerly she turned a page of the National Enquirer as he pushed at her skirt and pulled down her black (Fredrick's of Hollywood) panties, which had the hand of a man embroidered right over the crotch. Killer buried his head in her pussy and he made loud slurpy noises. He was bent over, his big ass facing me and I desperately wanted to bury my face between those beautiful buns. Finally Killer picked up Victoria with one arm. Holding her lightly he lay back on the thick red rug, placing her in a sitting position on his face. After a moment he came up for air.

'Stop reading that dumb assed paper!" he snarled. "I just finished, dear. It was about a beheading in …"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Sorry, Snookums!" She closed her eyes and then she began to undulate her body, pressing her snatch into his eager mouth. I was an expert Killer watcher and I'd never seen his dick get this big. It just seemed to swell and swell and swell. The top heavy knob looked twice its regular size. He was drooling all over his washboard stomach. If only I could lick it off but it wasn't my night.

Killer's voice was muffled. "What a fuckin' cunt … table mured.

Killer came up for air. "Fido, it's time for your liquid diet!'

He didn't have to call Alastair Ames twice. In a second the millionaire crawled across the red carpet and Killer's swollen prick disappeared down his hungry throat. Now Victoria grabbed Killer's face and was pushing it hard against her cunt. "Eat it, Killer, eat it … I'm … I'm … AGGHHHH FUCK … MMMMMMMMMMMMMM UGH … SHIT … LUGAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM lease. Killer's arm shot out, slamming Fido's head all the way onto his swollen prong and the giant gagged as the hot cum spurted out of the side of his mouth onto the new red rug.

It was too much for me. I couldn't watch any more. I closed my eyes. If I hadn't I would've shot my third load into my already sopping wet blue jeans. My mind whirled backward to the north side of Pittsburgh and Dirt Drage. His real name was Dennis but he had a reputation for being dirty on the football field so they called him Dirt.

I was a freshman at Latimar High School when I first saw Dirt. I'd excused myself from Algebra One (I'd flunked twice) to go to the john to jerk off. At this period in my life I was whacking it off two or three times a day, but when I got to the john I saw Dirt for the first time. Legs spread wide, hands on hips, he was jetting a thick stream of yellow piss into the clean white urinal. Instantly my heart skipped a beat. I found out later that Dirt was only 17 years old but he looked at least twenty-one. I could tell he was a street kid who knew the score and once I'd seen his switchblade fall out of his leather boot.

Dirt wasn't tall, in fact, you could call him Shorty … if you had the guts. He wasn't an inch over five feet seven but his body was packed with 200 pounds of rock hard muscle. As I

DRUMMER 24 watched him piss out of the corner of my eye it looked as if half of his 200 pounds was concentrated in his dick. I gulped as he shook the big fat thing and shoved it into his pants.

Dirt was Latimar High's star fullback and he went through the opposing line like a bowling ball. On Saturday afternoons I'd sit in the stands with a raging hard on, watching Dirt not only score the winning touchdown but destroy the other team. After Dirt played for Latimar for a year all the opposing teams began using face guards because Dirt was an expert at gouging out eyes, breaking noses and knocking out teeth. He was also great at breaking arms and legs and fucking up knees.

I was a hopeless long distance admirer of Dirt. He was the campus celebrity with a crowd around him wherever he went. But when I became a sophomore things began to change. I began to cover sports for the school paper and everything was DIRT DRAGO. Even when he had a bad day I managed to make him the hero. I just couldn't help it, I was so crazy about the guy.

As long as I live I'll never forget the day I actually met my hero. I'd gone to the locker room to get my dirty gym shorts when Dirt strutted out of the shower completely naked. I think my heart stopped beating for a second. How many times had I beaten my meat dreaming of Dirt's cock in my mouth or rammed brutally up my ass? Every single day since the first time I saw him. He started to walk by me b stopped, swaying backwards on the balls of his feet. He smiled,

"Ah … I … think … ah … I …" "Shit, man, you don't know who you are?"

An almost girlish giggle escaped my throat and I blushed with embarrassment. "I'm George," I managed to say.

Like all jocks with terrific physiques his hands were all over his body, touching his pectoral muscles, moving down to his flat, defined stomach, finally grabbing at his fat dick.

"You sure you're Georgie?" There was a twinkle in his eye. I was beet red and I felt like a silly school

Still Dirt was pulling at his fat, soft dick. I tried to pull my eyes away from it but I couldn't. I was on the verge of tears and I wanted to turn around and run.

"Shit, even if you can't talk worth a fuck you can write up a storm, Georgie! That was a great story you did on me. Thanks a lot, kid!"

"Ah … er .. I … ah …"

"Ah … er .. I … ah …"

"Plant you now, dig you later, Georgie!"

GEORGIE / … [×3+]

He laughed again, gave me a friendly punch on the arm and moved to his locker. Just as his arm hit my shoulder I shot my load in my shorts and I turned away, scared to death he'd pick up on my intense desire for his gladiator's body. Knees shaking I sat down on a bench, my eyes hungrily eating up his big muscular ass with the thick black hair around his bunghole. He was gone in a few minutes but it took me twenty minutes before my legs were steady enough to get my dirty gym shorts and head for home. That night I jerked off over Dirt three times before I finally fell asleep.

For the next year I admired Dirt from a distance. Every time he'd talk to me I'd get tongue tied and red in the face. I felt like it was a hopeless situation. Dirt was now a senior and I knew if I didn't make my move Dirt Drago would graduate and I'd never see him again. I didn't think I had a chance in a million as the stories about Dirt Drago and his prowess with the girls was all over the campus. I'd heard stories about orgies

… Dirt with six gals and satisfying all of them. Then I got my big break. The editor of the school paper assigned me to interview Dirt right after the final game of the year … the big one with Emerson High. "Even if big hero of the game, get a good interview with him. He's had a bonafide offer from the University of Southern California. A full football scholarship!"

The locker room was full of pandemonium and the smell of dirty socks and jock straps. Dirt had scored the winning touchdown with one minute left on the clock. Besides that he'd destroyed half of the Emerson team. All of his teammates were clustered around him when I stumbled into the locker room and it was a long time before I got near the hero of Saturday afternoon. When I finally got next to him he was

drinking a beer. I knew it was against regulations. The coach was standing a few feet away from Dirt but he didn't dare say a word. the other day and you wasn't stuttering. How come?

“I … ah . .

"How the fuck you gonna interview me?" There was a strange look on Dirt's face. Was he picking up on the fact that I was so hot for his body that I was tongue tied? I sat down on shaky legs, taking a deep breath.

Ten minutes later the locker room was empty, except for Dirt and his closest buddy, Mick Ryan. Mick was quarterback, a big, brawny Irishman with green eyes and a dimple in his chin. He was almost as dirty on the football field as Dirt Drago. Mick let go with a big fart and headed for the showers.

Dirt and I were alone in the locker room. Dirt took off his jersey with the big number 1 and then undid his shoulder pads. I sat on the bench trembling, looking at the cold concrete. But I couldn't keep my eyes off him for another second. Now he was stripped down to his sweaty jock strap, and his crotch was bulging. He reached down and pulled out a plastic cup. All athletes wore it for protection against a knee in the balls. He threw it at me, grinning. "Here's a souvenier for you, Georgie!" My heart beat faster. Did he know about me? "I … ah … pulled off his jock strap. His fat prong glistened with the sweat of the football field. Now he moved toward me, his dick bouncing against his leg. I wondered if Dirt was putting me through some kind of a test. Summoning all my will power I pulled my eyes away from his gorgeous dick. His body was sopping wet and I concentrated on a trickle of sweat running down his chest … meandering to his belly button. The smell of the victorious gladiator filled my nostrils. My eyes couldn't stop at his belly button. Still his leg was on the bench and his fat piece of meat two inches away from my mouth. I gulped, almost passing out. He was getting a hard on. Inexorably his dick moved toward my face as the rest of his body was motionless. Suddenly the satin smooth head touched my chin. It was like a caress … a hot and sticky caress. Still I was frozen in a kind of ecstasy and fear. But his drooling cockhead didn't stop at my chin. Finally it barely grazed my lower lip. Without realizing what I was doing, my tongue flicked out, compulsively licking at the drool on the fat knob. I jerked my head away, my body shaking.

I expected him to grab me by the ears and shove his dick down my throat but instead he plopped onto the metal bench, his fat prick bouncing against his stomach. "My socks!" He held up a foot. "Take off my socks!"

I looked into his steel grey eyes finding the authority for his command. It was indented in his face, the thrust out pugnacious chin, the slightly turned up nose. Dirt Drago was a leader, the captain of the team.

His level gaze made me feel comfortable. Dirt had given me an order and quickly I obeyed him. I guess I wasn't quite sure what I wanted to do because after I took off his thick athletic socks I held them tightly against my chest. "Smell 'em … go on!" His voice was low, a kind of sexual command. didn't need a second order. I buried my face in his sweaty socks and reaching down, I grabbed my cock. It was so hard it was hurting.

As my tongue cleaned between his toes my eyes ate up his power packed body. His calves were huge, out of proportion with the rest of his body. His thighs were as big as hams and there were scars and bruises all over them. He raised one leg and his giant balls hung low, almost covering his pink asshole. I wanted to lick all of him, from his toes to his neck, clean off the sweat of victory from his gladiator's physique. "Go ahead, Georgie!" His voice was sex charged and it

My tongue had gone all the way up his legs and I was about to swallow his fat prick when he puts his arms behind his neck and I saw the glistening silky hairs of his armpit, sopping wet. I buried my face in the next of hair, inhaling, drinking in the delicious man-smell. My mouth sucked at the fine hair. Then my tongue moved to the hollow of his neck.

He pushed my head away. "Below the neck, Georgiel" Then he stood up, his fat dick waving in the air. "On your knees, where you belong!"

Now he grabbed my head with both of his calloused hands and slammed his dick down my throat. At that very second Mick Ryan, the big brawny Irishman burst into the locker room from the shower. When he saw Dirt fucking me in the face he dropped his towel and his mouth fell open. "You crazy mother fucker! You gotta be outa your head! What if Coach Lombardo came in here right now?"

Dirt's huge scarred legs were spread wide. Now he was holding me by the ears. "I've always thought maybe the Coach could go for a good blow job. I know his old lady don't give him no head!"

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the brawny Irishman's dick begin to grow. He was very light skinned and I could see a blue-green vein pulsing rapidly on the shaft that ended with a knobhead that was red … almost angry red. "Well, shit, I . ." He was about a foot away from us. Quickly Dirt grabbed Mick by his dong and yanke other hand shoved at Mick's ass, and his prong was down my throat. "You gotta do the rest, Mick!" He laughed. He didn't have to worry. Mick was like a rabbit. It seemed He didn't have mouth for about two seconds when he shot his creamy load down my throat. I didn't have time to swallow because Dirt had his dick in my mouth and a second later I caught his tremendous load. It was like a fountain and I almost gagged on it. I shot off in my blue jeans.

"Shit, Dirt, we shouldn't 've done it!" Mick complained.

"Wasn't we going over to that whore house in Sandusky?" Dirt slapped him on the back. "It's the best way to do it, man! When we get over there you can get your money's worth. Take your time and have a nice slow fuck!"

Mick looked at Dirt with admiration. "God damn, Dirt, you think of everything!"

Dirt patted me on the head. "You can get off your knees now, Georgie. But we gotta keep you around … especially after the Bowl game."

Mick grinned. "Right on, man. The whole team's goin' to the whorehouse, right?

Dirt smiled at me. He had a dimple. "Georgie, you think you can take care of the whole team?"

I looked him right in the eye. "Only four guys on the team

I want to blow, Dirt!'

Dirt winked at Mick. "This cocksucker's choosey. Got a mind of his own. But we better take it easy with him … after all, he is a member of the press!"

"And a great cocksucker!" Mick said.

Yeah, I've always had a 'thing' for big stud football players. Yeah, when I was in high school it was Dirt Drago and now it was Killer McKenna. I pulled my mind away from the past and tried to concentrate on what was coming down in the

I could tell that Killer was about ready to shoot off his load into the giant's mouth. Quickly he kicked him away and threw Victoria's legs over his shoulders and slammed his ten inches of uncut dick up her twat. His asshole puckered as he shot his load deep into her guts. Christ, he'd come twice in about five minutes. I could hardly wait for the Mr. Bay Area Contest to be over so I could have Killer for the night. I was going to make him come ten times!

He pulled out quickly and stood up. Now Killer moved toward me. Of all the men I've met in my twenty-one years on the planet Earth I've never met a stud to compare to Killer

McKenna. He was my fantasy come true.

His hands were on his hips. His sky blue eyes twinkled as he looked down at me. "You've been a good boy!" he said. "Ah … thank you, sir!"

"I'm gonna give you a break. Lick off the pussy juice!"

CONGRATULATION YOU'RE UNDER ARRES

BY JOHN SAUL

There are many among us (let's face it) who enjoy the seamier side of gay life: the parks, the tearooms, and the peep shows. They find a sense of adventure in doing their cruising in public, not to men- tion their scoring. If you are one of these people, this article is meant for you. If you are not one of these people, but are considering becoming one, this article will give you some idea of the risks involved and what can happen to you. If you sneer at the whole parks and tearooms scene, don't bother to read any further. This article is intended to give practical advice, not to condemn.

WHAT ARE THE CHANCES OF YOUR BEING ARRESTED?

This depends largely on you. If you are the sort of person who likes to be aggressive, likes to walk right up to a goodlooking guy and make a proposition or cop a feel, your chances of getting arrested are very great. The police do not send toads out to lure gay people. If they did, the arrest rate would be very poor indeed . If, however, you are at the other end of the spectrum, and will never make the first move, your chances of being ar- rested fall considerably.

Contrary to popular belief, entrapment is not a particularly common occurrence . (Entrapment, for the record, is any action on the part of an officer that encourages the commission of a crime. This is not an easy thing to prove either way, but at the same time it is a serious offense for an officer to entrap someone. Consequently , it is seldom done.) If you remain on your guard, watch and listen carefully, you can avoid cops. Be aware that there is a difference between entrapment and a trap. If an officer offers you twenty dollars to suck his cock, that is entrapment. If, on the other hand, he simply asks you where he can get his cock sucked, and you volunteer to do it, you are trapped. The distinction is that he did not, in the second instance, proposition you. He simply asked for information. You did the propositioning.

Another distinction. You are standing at a urinal. A good-looking number steps up to the urinal next to you, opens his fly, and begins playing with himself. When you make a move, he arrests you. That is entrapment. Now let's change the circumstances, but just slightly. There you are again, standing at the urinal. The good-looking number comes up next to you, and just stands there. You assume he's scared. To show him you are "okay" you begin to play with yourself. You are arrested. (The charge will be masturbating in a public place.) You were not entrapped , legally. That officer did not lead you to believe he was interested in sex with you, even though you may have thought he did.

HOW CAN YOU SPOT A DANGEROUS SITUATION?

First, count the number of people present. If there is no one but you and your prospect in sight, chances are you are safe. Vice officers like to travel in pairs, as it is much easier to get a conviction to a witnessed crime than an unwitnessed one. If you see another nice-looking number lurking in the area, put your guard up very high.

Second, listen very carefully to what is said, and how it is said. Vice officers love to ask us "what we like to do." If you answer that you dig sucking cock and getting fucked, you are in trouble, particularly if you have previously suggested that the two of you get together sometime (which is what usually leads to the "What do you like to do?" question). If, on the other hand, you are very clever and allow as how you are into bridge and volleyball, you will more than likely net yourself a pained look and a loss of interest. This may lose you an occasional trick, but it will save you a lot of grief.

Remember that there is safety in num- bers, especially if all the numbers are doing each other. In other words, if you come across a public orgy, and the cops aren't hauling people away, you might as well join in. The odds are that if anything were going to happen, it already would have. If there are a lot of people around, and no one is doing anything, don't be the one to start the balls rolling. If the cops are there, they might take every- body in, but it's you who is going to get the morals charge.

WHAT IF YOU GET ARRESTED?

First, keep calm and keep quiet. You do not have to say anything, you have the right to a lawyer, and anything you say can (and will) be used against you.

Do not try to run. You don't stand a chance of getting away, and the cops don't like to have to chase you. It gets them mad, and they are likely to get tough. No marks will be on you, but you will be in pain for days afterward.

You will be handcuffed, put in a car, and taken to the police station to be booked. This process, depending on the area you are in and the time of day, can take twenty minutes or four hours. At some point, you will be given the opportunity to use the telephone. It may happen during the booking procedure, it may not happen until after you are photographed, fingerprinted, charged, and searched. If you are afraid it is not going to happen, ask the officer who is booking you. (You will find, generally, that the booking officer is much kinder to you than the arresting officers. He will usually answer your questions, and try to put you at your ease.)

When you make your call (or calls; most departments will allow you more than one if you need them) remember that your prime object is to get out of jail. Therefore, if you have a lawyer, call him. If you do not, call a friend or relative whom you know to be both sympathetic and reliable. Tell them where you are, that they should arrange bail, and that they may find out what the charge is and how much the bail is by calling the police department. If none of these options are open to you, call H.E.L.P. (see Listings) if you are a member. Or a bondsman. Do not plan to sit in jail until you are arraigned or released on your own recognizance. This can be both dangerous and detrimental to your case.

After the booking procedure, you will be put in a cell (by yourself or with a cell mate) or tank (with up to fifty other people). Do not talk about your case. If someone wants to know why you are there, make up a story. Unless you get off on being raped, do not, under any circumstances , admit to your cell mates that you are there on a gay moral charge. (In some cities, you may wind up in the "queen's tank." This is for your own protection , and you are much safer than you would be in another tank. Still, do not talk about your case. You don't know who is listening, or whom you are talking to.)

Now sit, or sleep, and wait. Unless you are a total deadbeat with no friends and relations, you will be bailed out in a matter of hours. Some people experience a strange feeling of security in jail - the knowledge that you don't have to do a damned thing, and you will be fed, clothed, and sheltered. If this happens to you, don't worry about it, it is simply

DRUMMER 26

your mind protecting you from an otherwise untenable situation.

YOU DO NOT ALWAYS NEED LAWYER FOR A MORALS CHARGE

Lawyers are very expensive. Most of us do not have much money. The government knows this. Thus, there is a pool of lawyers in every state that is available to you. You can find them in the Office of the Public Defender. In the private sector, there is the Legal Aid Society, among others. Information about legal services for the destitute can usually be gotten from local welfare offices or other governmental sources.

Even if you can afford a lawyer, you may not need one, depending on the seriousness of the charge and the nature of the offense. If you are arrested for some- thing you didn't do, by all means get a lawyer. If, however, you are arrested for something you DID do, and are interested in getting off as lightly as possible, you might want to handle it yourself, at least in the early stages. Before you are tried, in most cases you will be arraigned. At this point, your guilt is not established. You are informed of the nature of the charge against you and asked how you plead. If you plead guilty, sentence will be imposed on the spot. If you plead not guilty, a trial date will be set. At this point, you can talk to somebody. Tell the judge that you do not have an attorney, and that you would like to talk to one before pleading. If there is a Public Defender in the courtroom, you will be re- ferred to him. If there is not, you can talk to the prosecutor. The prosecutor cannot give you legal advice, so don't bother to ask him for any. He can tell you what you will get if you plead guilty, and he can bargain with you for a guilty plea in exchange for a lesser charge (and, hence, a lesser penalty). Because court calendars are crowded, plea bargaining is commonplace. The court would often rather have you plead guilty to a lesser charge than have to go through with a full-scale trial.

If you can live with what the prosecutor offers you, plead guilty and forget it. If you can't, then get a lawyer, after pleading "not guilty." Remember, it doesn't cost you anything to see what you can do for yourself, and it may save you a lot of money.

HOW WILL THE ARREST AFFECT YOUR LIFE?

This depends, to a great degree, on the nature of the offense and the outcome. If you are arrested and not convicted, that will be pretty much the end of it. Employers are often interested in convictions ; it is very rare that you will be asked about arrests that did not result in a conviction

A felony conviction is much more severe than a misdemeanor conviction. Among other things, a felony conviction can result in loss of certain civil rights (including the right to vote). Certain misdemeanor convictions, on the other hand, can, after a certain period of time, be expunged from the record entirely, leaving your record totally clean. How your record will affect your life, then, depends on the nature of the record, and the nature of your life. If you have a national-security-related job, and you are convicted of felony child molestation, don't count on holding on to your job. On the other hand, if you are a bit actor and you get picked up for making a pass at a vice officer, who cares?

WHAT ABOUT APPLYING FOR JOBS?

If you have a conviction record, you might or might not want to admit to it on the job application. If you are applying for a job with a governmental agency, read the application form carefully to see what the penalties are for being less than truthful. Do not leave yourself open to a fine or imprisonment. If the worst that can happen is that lying on the application may be grounds for dismissal, it is often wise to take a chance. Once you have proven yourself on the job, the employer will be inclined to overlook a minor omission on an application form. The guideline here is relevance. Is your criminal record relevant to the job you are applying for? If you are applying for a job in a bank, and you were arrested for picking someone up in a park, don't mention it. You are still bondable, and

Continued on page 80

MEN'S BARSCENE MEN'S B

WESTERN / LEATHER [×13+]

THE POST

Although Philadelphia is often considered the third most active leather scene in the country after New York and the Coast, and that is the principal category of The Post's trade, the staff and manage- ment are active in Philly's entire gay community movement which, of course, is not limited to just the L / L set. Most members of Philadelphia's enormously successful "Roast Anita Bryant Com- mittee" worked at The Post. They have also been instrumental in forming the Community Alliance of Philadelphia, a successful gay businessmen's group in Philadelphia's Center City; and the bar management openly supports and encourages the local and very active Gay Community Center.

The 4-sided front bar of The Post is noteworthy for its stucco walls and carved wooden canopy, supported by foot-thick carved wooden posts. The back bar is even more rustic, with exposed brick walls, accented by toys bearing an S&M theme and the banners of the clubs whose home is The Post. In between the two bars is the game room with a constantly-used pool table, rest rooms and the kitchen. The Post is open seven days a week: Mon.-Sat. from 12 noon until 2 a.m.; Sundays from 1 p.m. to 2 a.m. Lunch is served from noon until 4 p.m., dinner from 6 p.m., and Sunday brunch from 1 p.m.

After visiting The Post bar in the lovely old colonial city of Philadelphia, it's easy to see why that city – the 4th largest in the U.S. – is commonly known as "The City of Brotherly Love." Old the city may be, but it's as young as tomorrow in its ambience and attitude towards the L / L scene.

The management and staff at The Post have made a concerted effort over the past three years to establish a warm and friendly atmosphere, where everyone feels welcome, whether from out-of- town or local. The bar is located right in "Center City" Philadelphia at 1705 Chancellor Street, between the principal shopping thoroughfares of Chestnut and Locust Streets.

Within a year after its opening, The Post had just about cornered the local L / L club scene in Philadelphia. Here, the men don't play games, but mean just what their hip-pocket handkerchiefs and other signs indicate (bone up on your color code). It is the home of the VAN-GUARDS M.C., one of the oldest (9 years) clubs in the East, and one of the country's largest (80+ regular and active associate members). Most of the barten- ders are VANGUARDS. Additionally, the bar houses the banner of the locally- notorious "Pig M.C.," which has a highly restrictive membership, awarded only to those who have proven - time after time - that they are "worthy" of the "Pig" colors. Hundreds of pigs decorate The Post bar, as the proprietor, Oscar O. ("Ozzie") Schwartz, is a member of "Pig

MEN'S BARS

WESTERN / LEATHER [×3+]

M.C." and collects miniatures of the domestic animal.

Since opening, The Post has branched out by having one out-of-town club sponsor a club bar night each month, usually the last Saturday night of the month, wherein the club members man the bar and raise money for their club activities. In addition to local groups, at least 30 clubs - most of them from the Eastern U.S. - have "hosted The Post," including clubs from Boston, Connecti- cut, New York City, Long Island, Roches-ter , Bucks County (Pa.), Washington, D.C., Harrisburg (Pa.), Baltimore, and Virginia, with some clubs from further afield, such as Cleveland, Detroit and Toronto. No wonder there is usually a goodly number of out-of-town leather- men mingling among the regulars at The Post.

While the bar openly caters to the macho crowd, its customers are not limited strictly to those in the club or leather scene, and there is no enforced dress code (although very liffle fluff patronizes The Post). The dress is casual, however, and almost universally L / L; but it is not unusual to see the same customer in total leather one night and a tie and jacket at cocktail hour the next afternoon. The local press has called The Post "the roughest, toughest saloon this side of Arizona," which isn't far from the truth, but the big hunky bar-keeps have no trouble with any patron who may begin feeling a little too frisky.

TM

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IRAPPED! By Houston Smith

PART FOUR

Sometimes I feel like a man with his head through a noose, waiting for some dude to whip the horse out from under me. And that's exactly how I felt when I got that last in the series of those notes: "You're next" the note

Harry and I, both buck naked, but with H reking of four hours of turn-on sex, word a pether to dra Thomas off the bed. His mind was forge, he ws three-or treat out, and his body saged to the floor. But we man, did maneuver prop him up against the wall. In his cond in he could nav drowned in a half-inch of water. We trie sitting him down; that didn't work either. He kept falling over and bumping his head against the tile. We stepped back to s nead against the tile. We stepped back to survey the laid-back number sprawled in front of us.

"Using all my Police Academy, raning," Harry said—damn, did he look good bent over trying to keep Thomas from going supine. He

"Because I've already had a shower."

Which seemed to make sense. So, while Harry held Thomas up, I climbed in. Then, with Harry's help, we propped him up on my back. I felt like I was being mounted by a corpse, but it worked. We got him straight up so that we could let the shower wash off some of the dirt and blood he had on his back and ass.

Harry, not using his Police Academy training this time, turned on the hot water first. A scalding splash caught Thomas right in the middle of the back. The kid screamed. But then he settled down. While I held him, Harry rinsed off his back. Then, with a lot of maneuvering, we turned him around and washed the front of him off. Chest. Belly. Balls. I handed the now slightly-less-sleepy Thomas out to Harry while I finished up under the water.

If the kid had screamed when the water hit him, it was nothing like what he let loose when, after sitting him down on the toilet seat, we started to rub him over with alcohol. I admit the whole thing was a turn-on for me, especially since I was able to get a few kicks and perform a humanitarian deed all at the same time. That doesn't happen often.

We led him back to the bed and tried to make him talk, to

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

tell us exactly what, and exactly who, had been involved in turning him into a human pin cushion. He couldn't talk; the most we could get out of him was a few mumbles, which sounded mostly like "Ronald MacDonald." And I knew for a fact that Ronald MacDonald hadn't whipped the kid half to death.

Since my gut was rumbling and since I was feeling a little spooky around the place, even if it was my own apartment, I suggested to Harry that we go somewhere and get some lunch. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a single bill. "I've only got a dollar," he said. "Could you loan me a little?"

This from a guy I'd only met twice in my life, once under peculiar conditions and the second under sensational conditions . I chose to remember the latter and agreed to lend him the money. But I had to ask. "Why only a dollar?" I thought I knew the answer.

"I thought maybe you'd roll me," he said. He laughed. I laughed. Then I made mention of the fact that I would like to roll him. On his belly, right in the middle of a goddamned police line-up. "Anywhere but there." He grabbed my cock. The guy was learning fast.

We went to PYP's, which of course stands for "Pick Your Poison," a restaurant run by two leather numbers down the hill from my apartment.

We ate lunch talking about my little episodes with Jesse and his pal. I really hadn't much to tell because I didn't know that much, didn't understand why or who, and except that I was integrally involved, wouldn't have cared. But Harry, always the good cop, pumped me for information. By the end of the lunch he knew as much about everything as I did. kept answering his questions while trying not to look at him like a love-starved bull, but sometimes that didn't work. He caught me staring at him with my tongue hanging out a couple of times, and, believe it or not, that brought a response . At one point in our conversation, he reached over, after looking around to see that nobody was watching, and grabbed my hand. "I sure like you," he said, then blushed, and my day was made. "What'd you look around for?" I asked. "I'm a cop," he answered, "and other cops eat lunch. I wanted to make sure my sergeant wasn't around." "I'don't think they eat at PYP's," I said.

"Why not?" That was his favorite question.

I didn't have an answer.

We finished up in little over an hour and I paid the bill. Harry left his sole dollar as a tip, for which Carl, the other half of the partnership who owned the joint, groaned. "You sit there for an hour, practically fuck in my booth, and then you leave a buck. Is that fair?" I nodded that it was, and we left.

Every three thousand miles I take my little "True Spirit" into the garage to be taken care of, so when the truck didn't do anything when I turned on the ignition, I immediately got suspicious. Somebody had been fooling with her. I climbed out of the cab, mad, and lifted the hood. I don't know why; I know from nothing about engines. Harry backed me up and looked too. "Do you see anything wrong?" I asked.

Nope. ance. We started hoofing it up the hill to my apartment where, of course, I had left my AAA card.

Harry wanted to jog up the hill, but I talked him out of that. Who needs a half-digested omelet leading a path to my door. We compromised. We walked fast. Harry had me huffing in no time. "That's why I can eat so much," Harry said. "I work it off. You should, too."

"I'm a carpenter, fucker," I answered between heaving breaths. "I work i

I suddenly got the picture of what things would be it our relationship led to anything. I might be the fucker in the family, but out-of-bed little Harry would be numero uno, the leader. Feisty fucker. I liked that about him. In fact, I saw Feisty fucker. I liked that about him. In fact, I saw myself in future months jogging eighteen miles every day, thousands of yards behind Harry, but when I finally pulled into home, he'd have the best blow job of my life waiting for me. Hot damn! We got to my apartment in no time, and I headed into the house to get my wallet. I always leave it in the desk in the top drawer in the front room. It was missing. I ran back outside. Harry came up the steps towards me. "My car isn't working either," he said. "I'm starting to get worried."

That made two of us.

I suggested something about calling the police, but he only grimaced at the line he had heard thousands of times. Be- sides, and I realized it, this wasn't the time to be making jokes, even little ones. We went back into the house and sat in the living room. I finally decided to call AAA and cajole them into coming even if I didn't have that damned number to give them.

I went back to the bedroom, sat on the bed, pulled the telephone book from the bottom shelf of the nightstand and started to dial. Then I realized something bigger was missing. Thomas! He was gone. I dropped the phone and went back out into the living room. And that's when I got another dandy little shock. Harry was on his belly on the floor, with his arm twisted up his back to his neck; some big asshole was sitting on his butt. Three more guys - yeah, this time four of them were involved - stood in the living room, waiting for me. I might have known them except for the leather hoods with the eyes, noses, and mouths cut out. My first thought was what in the hell would the neighbors think? Did these guys walk around in the middle of the day with leather hoods over their heads? A moot point at best; they were there and they were wearing hoods. And leather pants. And vests, It was a bad night at a full-moon party.

Actually, I recognized two of them, even with the hoods. Jesse was one and his sidekick, Gabby Hayes or whatever the hell his name is, was another. But who were the other two? They could have been anybody, except I remember telling myself to remember that one of them had a cobra tattoo on his right arm.

I backed up, considering making a run for it, but Jesse, my old nemesis, stifled that. "Run and your buddy gets a broken arm," he said in his smooth style. I stopped. I knew Jesse meant what he said; he had proved that to me often. "What'd you do with Thomas?" I asked. "He's fine," Jesse answered. He motioned to the guy on

Harry's back to get my friend to his feet. "How can he be fine?" I asked, trying to act angry. These guys were draining all my macho right out of me. I had to do something. Then just a split second after I'd asked the question, it dawned on me that probably Thomas was alright. I remembered the first time I'd run into the kid and the kind of condition he'd been in that night. Eight guys working on his ass until it was a bloody pulp. Black, blue, red, bleeding, swollen, puffed, and then he'd shot his wad and after ten minutes in a shower, his ass looked like nothing more had been done to it than a couple of friendly swats over tea. Maybe Thomas had recovered that fast from this bout, too. Weird kid. Scary, almost.

'Outside," Jesse ordered, and Harry was shoved towards the door, still with his arm twisted all to hell. I had to wonder how the guys had gotten the best of Harry. They had no guns. No weapons of any kind. But then, Harry wasn't armed either … but still, don't cops know judo and karate and all kinds of shit like that. Or is that just Angie Dickenson?

I was put into an arm lock by the second newcomer of the group. He wasn't gentle, maybe because I hadn't been an easy lay; he needed both Jesse's and Gabby Hayes' help. He pushed me towards Harry. At that point, I figured I'd had enough of being messed with. "Now, Harry!" I yelled and tried to twist out of the arm hold and get around to beat the shit out of the guy who was holding me. Within a split second, somebody's knee, whose I don't know, slammed into my groin. The pain. The nausea. Then I knew how they had gotten the best of Harry

I don't remember exactly how they got us to the van, that famous black van of former escapades, because I was still feeling the effects of the knee. Although I do remember leaving something that looked like a puddle of lunch on the front lawn

This time, instead of riding on top of the van, they put both Harry and me inside, and once inside, the strangle holds were released and instantly cuffs were put in place. I have to hand it to Harry; he fought like hell. He looked like some guy on the six o'clock news resisting arrest. But it didn't do him any good, any more than it does the guy on the six o'clock news. He ended up in the cuffs. And I was still feeling too out-

of-it to put up much of an argument myself. So there we were, handcuffed, then hooded, and sitting in a van going who-the-fuck -knew where with four maniacs.

Harry, who still sort of thought this was a game, leaned over to me after a short while. "Dan, I have to be at work at four.

I whispered back. "I don't think you're going to make it." "Do you think they'd let me call?"

I was just about to tell him that he couldn't lose anything by asking when I felt a hand on my neck. Then somebody started to open the zipper on one side of the hood, just a bit. Then another hand shoved what felt like a piece of gauze up the front of the hood, under my nose. I thought for a second that it was just another popper, but then I didn't think any-more at all. I was out.

I woke up years, months, weeks, days, minutes later - I didn't know - with a headache that would have floored The Hulk. I was naked. I was dangling from chains in a dark room. Actually, I wasn't all that uncomfortable, except for my head. My arms were up, but angled unpainfully, to a chain on each side of me where my wrists were clipped. Somebody had put ankle cuffs on me and I was clipped to chains down there, too. I looked to my left. Harry was in the same situation. He looked over at me. "I had a feeling I shouldn't come over to your place today," he said. Then he smiled. Good old

Harry, always keeps his sense of humor.

The room was dark and uninhabited, but not too dark. We could see almost any piece of workroom equipment a man could think of, and some no lightweight sadist could even think of. Some man had spent a fortune outfitting the room. Even in my present circumstances, that gave me sort of a sexual tingle. Maybe the guy would let me use it sometime.

We hung alone maybe a half hour. We talked little. The

Finally the door opened and the Angel Gabriel walked in. I'm not kidding; that's what I thought when I first saw the guy. He was dressed in a long white outfit, very flowing and open down almost to his cock. Under that he was wearing an elaborate body harness, the kind that usually has a forty-inch dildo attached ot it, and a hood. He came into the room and closed the door behind him. He reached over and flicked a wall switch and a bright light came on behind him. Slowly he walked towards us, arms outstretched. "I finally have you with me," he said, and sure enough I knew who it was. Who it had to be. Thomas. The nut.

"I have picked you. You are to be my disciple. You are a beautiful man." He ran his hand up and down my cheek and then leaned over and kissed me. "I don't want to be your disciple," I said as soon as I got his tongue out of my mouth. "But you are doing so well," Thomas said. "Soon you will want to be." He was talking like Twilight Zone. "No, I don't think so," I answered. "Come on, Thomas,

Thomas paid no attention but moved to in front of Harry. He caressed Harry's cheek just as he had mine and then kissed him. I noticed Harry kept his lips closed tight. "And how lucky," Thomas said, "to find this other, beautiful man for my disciple. You will always be together."

I didn't believe this whole stupid, piss-ass mess. The kid was ready for a jar, obviously, but before somebody put him there, he had us at his disposal. "How about those goons out there?" I asked. "Are they your disciples?

Thomas laughed at that. Hard. "Of course not," he said when the mirth was over. "They're Neanderthals. Ugly, vile men. They do what I want for money. When I'm finished with them, when I have you two with my others, they'll be disposed of."

That part of the set-up appealed to me, but the rest sucked. "Why me, Thomas?" I asked. Trying for sympathy, you know. "The first time I saw you, at your friend's house, I saw something in you that made me want you in my movement, Thomas said. He talked a lot without saying anything.

"You're gonna have to get some new friends," Harry piped up. I threw him a dirty look. "Faith," Thomas said. "Pain is what stops us. If we can control it, we can control everything. And we can control it, all of us. The mind, our minds, will do it for us."

"Hey, kid," Harry said. "Do you know I'm a police officer?"

"Yes."

"Then I want you to know that you're under arrest."

"We can only achieve our ends by dedication," Thomas continued, ignoring Harry, which I would have done, too, under the circumstances. "Dedicate ourselves to controlling ourselves. I subjected myself to the most horrible of beatings just this morning. You saw me, didn't you?"

Nobody answered.

"Dan, you saw me, didn't you?" I nodded. "Then look at me now." He turned around quickly and threw the white robe off his shoulders. It fell to the floor. Except for the harness he was naked. And honest to god, believe it or not, there wasn't a single mark on his body. Not one. It was smooth, not even red.

It was a goddamned miracle. "Son of a bitch," Harry said. "I willed the pain and the markings away, just as I will use my will to eliminate aging and death.

I was getting bored.

"And now we must start you two beautiful men on your paths to immortality. Today." With that he picked up the robe, threw it over his arm and walked out of the room. He left the light on.

A minute later the door opened again. Two guys walked in. hadn't seen either of them before, which made me figure that Thomas had a payroll the size of the federal govern- ment's. But at least these two were a little more presentable than the other goons we'd dealt with. In fact, I wouldn't have thrown either of them out of bed. They wore no hoods, just eye masks, body harnesses, boots and leather jock straps. Sort of a kick. Both had black hair, beards and moustaches. One walked up to me; the other went to Harry. The one by me just stood there, but Harry's partner slipped a blindfold on him and then unclipped, lowered and re-clipped first Harry's right arm, then his left. "Kneel," he said.

Harry stayed where he was. That's when the guy next to me got into the act. I hadn't seen the little instrument he was carrying, a small cat-o-nine tails, with studs on all the tails. When Harry didn't do as he was told, the whip was raised and brought down, hard, across my belly. One stud caught the knife cut I had on my chest. I let out a yell that could be heard for miles.

"Kneel," came a repeat of the command. Still Harry just stood there, and whack, I got another one. "Kneel."

"For Christ sake, Harry, kneel down!" He turned towards me, "Do you really want me to?" Like I was betraying him, "Don't you hear what they're doing to me?" He knelt

As soon as Harry was in a kneeling position, his tormentor opened his leather jock strap and let fall one of the bigger cocks I've ever seen. To say that he was a tripod would be an exaggeration, but not much of one. He lifted his cock and put it against Harry's mouth. "Suck."

They waited about three seconds and when Harry didn't suck, I got another lash from the whip. Christ, that hurt. I damned near wound myself around from the pain. As soon as I recovered a little, I looked down at myself. I had three main welts across my belly and a lot of lesser ones. I felt like I was on fire.

"Suck the damned cock," I shouted. "I'll make it up to you." "I'm gonna get somebody for this," Harry said, but my buddy opened his mouth and let that monster in. He was gagging before it was halfway down his throat. But I have to hand it to him; he tried. He sucked that mother and got more and more of it. He never did take it all, but he did suck it. For me.

Finally the guy pulled his dick out of Harry's mouth. He stepped back and re-fastened his jock strap. "That's an indication of how we'll work," he said matter-of-factly. "You'll be asked to perform more and more duties and to receive more and more pain, and we will use your affection for each other as a catalyst."

"What do you mean 'affection'," I said. "I just met the guy last night."

The man looked at me. He smiled. "We know," he said. Then he turned and walked to the side of the room. He took two pairs of handcuffs from hooks in the wall. He came back, handed one pair to the guy next to me and started to put the other pair on Harry, carefully, one at a time. Next a blindfold just like the one Harry had on was put on me. We were moved about three feet forward. We waited a short while.

"We're moving you to a different place, where the experi- ment will take place," the man said. "I'm explaining this to lessen your fear. You'll do exactly as I tell you or …" With lessen your fear. You'll do exactly as I tell you or … that, simultaneously, both Harry and I were jabbed with two more of those goddamned cattle prods. If you've never been on the receiving end of one of those things, I don't recommend it, unless, of course, you're inclined that way. I'm not. It just hurt like hell. My pride and my ass. "Move straight ahead to the door," we were told and both of us, haltingly, started to move. "Harry, I don't know about you," I said, "but I'm scared shitless.

'So am I," he whispered back. "And I don't even believe

We left the room, walked down a long hallway, and with guiding hands under our arms were led up a long flight of stairs. We then walked, angling to our left, for about fifty feet and then were told to stop. We heard things being moved around, like heavy crates, and then were t I brushed something as I walked. It felt almost like a curtain, a theatre curtain, heavy velvet.

We were led another distance and then brought to a stop. We were turned ninety degrees to our left. "Stay there," we were told.

It was very quiet, but I could feel that there were people around. I didn't know how many, but I knew they were there. Then, suddenly, lights were turned on. I could tell from the glare that shone through the edges of the blindfold. Then something light brushed against me, fleetingly. It was a piece of material. Soft.

As we stood there, with me sweating bullets and Harry, I guess, doing the same thing, the applause started. I must have jumped a foot when it began. It continued for a long time. "Danny, what in the hell is this?" Harry asked. I could tell from the tenseness in his voice how frightened he was. "I don't know," I answered. "Should we run?" "How in the hell can we run?" he said. He sounded angry.

I didn't have an answer for him, I was just trying to suggest possibilities, and although I wracked my brains, I couldn't come up with any other that were even half as good.

A few seconds later, the material brushed me again, but this time it stayed, and I felt a hand running u mask. It was slipped off and the first thing I saw was Thomas standing in front of me. He had his angel's suit on again. He moved to Harry and took off his blindfold. I looked at

Harry; he looked at me. We both knew what sheep felt like being led to the slaughter.

I looked forward then, trying to see past the bright spotlights that were focused on us. By blinking and straining I was finally able to. I almost shit on the floor. We were on a fucking STAGE! And in front of us was about a two-hundred audi- ence. "Don't pay any attention to them," Thomas said. "They are only a means of financing our movement." With that he moved away, to a large, throne-like chair set to one side of the stage. He raised and then lowered his arm, much like Nero must have done, and the show started.

The two men who had brought us to the stage approached again. And again, the one assigned to me stood quietly next to me. He again was holding that whip in his hand, so I knew what was coming.

"Kneel," Harry was told. He looked at me. "I can't, Dan. Not in front of these people."

I nodded, and braced myself for the first lash. I didn't have long to wait. This time, though, the bastard brought it down not on my belly, but right across my genitals. I know I didn't make a sound and then I fell to the floor. I might even have passed out for a very short while. I do remember, though, that the audience cheered. Jesus.

I was helped to my feet after a short while. I staggered, but managed to stay up. I don't know why I wanted to. Pride, I guess. There's no other explanation. Somehow I was feeling that if these assholes were going to do this stuff to me, I was going to take it, and take it as manfully as I could. I know that sounds melodramatic, but that's the way I felt. "Kneel." The order was repeated. Harry looked at me. I looked away from him and lifted my head. And waited.

The blow this time came on my back. At least there was the consolation of not having them concentrated in one spot. This one I took standing up. I just lurched forward and then regained my footing. I think it was then that I worked up some saliva in my mouth, which under the circumstances wasn't easy to do, and spit on the floor. The audience got a big charge out of that, although I heard one asshole yell out, "Hit him again!" "Kneel." This time Harry did it. He started off moving slowly and then sank to his knees. The man standing in front of Harry moved to his side, then grabbed Harry's hair and hearth shall be supported by the san pulled him into moving so that they were again facing each other. His long dick, half hard, was pressed against Harry's mouth.

'Suck." And Harry did that for me, too. I couldn't see the whole thing, but from the reaction of the audience, I knew that Harry was doing his best. Again, somebody in the audience, maybe the same guy, yelled, "Take it all, cocksucker." I hope I never run into him.

I could hear Harry struggling to take that cock, then he gagged. There was a short silence and then again the sound of sucking and again Harry gagged. He tried to pull his head back, but he was pulled forward. Eventually H

Finally it ended and Harry was allowed to stand up. He was turned to face the audience. I looked over at him. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, I think from the humiliation he was feeling.

There was maybe a two minute wait, during which nothing happened, and then Harry was led towards the back of the stage where two chains hung down from overhead. He was clipped on to those, the same way we had been in the room below, only this time his arms were higher and his body stretched.

When he was secure, I was led by my escort to a simple looking device to the left of the stage. "You know when I get out of here I'm going to kill you," I said to the guy. He just looked at me. His face was blank.

My ankles were clipped a good distance apart. In front of me was what looked like a bench press from a gym. Leather padded. It was maybe two feet in front of me, going lengthwise . I was facing the side of the stage away from where Thomas sat.

The man who had face-fucked Harry then walked behind me. Mine went to stand next to Harry. I could hear a stirring in the audience. I looked around. The man, having reassembled himself in his jock strap after the bout with Harry, was again dissembling himself. I watched as the cock dropped out of the strap. He spit in his hand and rubbed it on his cock; I could see his prick getting harder. It started to stand out almost straight.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Thomas again raise his arm. He hesitated, and then lowered it. There was a pause. Then I heard that same voice. Emotionless. Level. "Bend over when you want to get fucked." I closed my eyes and waited.

I heard Harry scream and had to open my eyes. He was hanging not more than ten feet from me. His body was stretched tight, every muscle in his body showing, prominent. yelled.

"Bend over when you want to get fucked." The order was repeated. Again I stood. This time I watched as the whip slashed down on Harry, directly on his genitals. He screamed his agony.

The audience was making more noise. A few were chanting something I couldn't make out.

There was another short wait. Then, "Bend over when you want to get fucked." I looked at Harry again.

"I can't, Harry. You have to understand," I said, "I'm sorry."

To Be Continued DRUMMER 35

GAY DETERIORATA

GO PLACIDLY AMID THE BOYS AND TASTE, AND REMEMBER WHAT SOUTHERN COMFORT THERE MAY BE IN GRABBING A PIECE THEREOF. AVOID QUIET AND PASSIVE MEN UNLESS YOU ARE IN NEED OF QUA-ALUDES . KEEP YOUR ACT TOGETHER. SPEAK GLOWINGLY OF THOSE HUNKIER THAN YOURSELF AND HEED WELL THEIR COLOR-CODED HANKIES. KNOW WHAT TO SUCK AND WHEN. CONSIDER THAT TWO LOVERS DO NOT A THREE-WAY MAKE. WHEREVER POSSIBLE, WRITE YOUR NUMBER ON WALLS. BE COMFORTED THAT IN THE JADED FACE OF ALL ARIDITY AND DISILLUSIONMENT AND DESPITE THE CHANGING FORTUNES OF TIME, SOMEWHERE IN IOWA A CHICKEN IS COMING OUT. REMEMBER TO CLIP YOUR NAILS. STRIVE AT ALL TIMES TO SUCK, FUCK, SNORT, AND STAND ERECT. DOUCHE YOURSELF; IF YOU NEED HELP, CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT. EXERCISE CAUTION IN YOUR AFFAIRETTES, ESPECIALLY WITH THOSE CLOSEST TO YOU: THAT DILDO YOU LIVE WITH, FOR INSTANCE. BE ASSURED THAT A WALK THROUGH A BACKROOM BAR WILL WET YOUR FEET. FALL NOT IN THE URINAL THEREFORE; YOU WILL CHIP YOUR CAPS. GRACEFULLY SUR-RENDER THE THINGS OF YOUTH: CONTINUAL HARDONS, SIZE 30 LEVIS, TIGHT ASS, NEW TATTOOS, BOOTCAMP FANTASIES, AND WET DREAMS. LET NOT YOUR POPPER SPILL DOWN YOUR NOSE. HIRE MODELS FROM ADS. FOR A GOOD TIME, SIT ON YOUR FACE. TAKE HEART AMID THE DEEPENING GLOOM THAT YOUR STRETCH MARKS DO NOT SHOW IN THE RED LIGHTS AT THE BATHS. REFLECT THAT WHATEVER MISFORTUNE IS YOUR LOT, IT COULD ONLY BE WORSE IN DADE COUNTY. YOU ARE A JERK-OFF OF THE UNIVERSE. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE HERE, ESPECIALLY IN FULL LEATHER ON A BUS. RE-MEMBER THAT BEHIND THE COSMOS, THERE IS NO GREAT MYSTERY - ONLY A COUPLE OF JOKE BOOKS. THEREFORE, MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR MASTER, WHATEVER YOU CONSIDER HIM TO BE: HELL'S ANGEL BIKER OR SUGAR PLUM FAIRY. WITH ALL ITS TALK OF GYMS, REAL ESTATE, AND RISING CONSCIOUSNESS, THE WORLD CONTINUES TO FUCK UP. YOU MAY AS WELL FIDDLE AS ROME BURNS. BE HAPPY. DO WHAT YOU MUST AND CALL IT BY THE BEST NAME POSSIBLE. FIST YOURSELF, JACK OFF, AND TRY NOT TO DROOL. AND ABOVE ALL, REMEMBER THAT IF WRINKLES HURT, YOU'D BE SCREAMING. BE THANKFUL YOU WERE EVER LAID IN THE FIRST PLACE.

© JACK FRITSCHER

All rights reserved.

SOLDIER!

By DEREK

(0800 hours) - It didn't take Private Buck Doyle long to learn the ropes at Camp Big Timber - he took to the rugged "army life" like a kid to a mud puddle. After nearly a month of his six-week tour had passed, it was obvious to all the other men of C Company that the blond, hunky college-jock had become the sarge's personal pet. In more oecome the sarge s personal pet. In more ways than one, Ine privileges he enjoyed from his special status, which included terrific sex, more than made up for the occasional jealousy which sparked among his bunk buddies.

Y basic paradox: the mind-blowing freedom to engage in your wildest fantasies any time of day or night, coupled with the extremely strict rules and regulations governing rank and sexual pecking order. His lucky hook-up with the muscular Italian DI, Sgt. D'Angelo, let him see a lot more of camp life than most first-timers.

And so it happened that four weeks into his tour of duty, he got the chance. It was a hot, muggy morning shortly after mess when the sarge called Buck over and asked him if he was up for a really wild scene. The kid never

"Sure!" he said. "Well, they caught some duck tryin' to go AWOL over the south fence last night. The Dobermans got him by the seat of the pants." The DI laughed to himself. "He's down in the

stockade right now, and seein' as it's my turn to discipline weak-willed soldiers, I thought I'd take you along to help, if ya want." The stockade! Buck's ears pricked up at the sound of that word. Rumors he'd heard about what went on behind the stark grey walls of the camp's detention quarters were hard to believe. Buck liked to think that most were exaggerations, but he wasn't going to pass up the chance to find out for himself.

One of the first things a new recruit learned at Camp Big Timber was that you didn't break the rules, especially the one about leaving before your tour was up. They sure as hell weren't going to let you walk out the front gate, and dogs patrolled the perimeter twenty-four hours a day (which also accounted for the fact that they rarely had uninvited guests wandering about). Buck couldn't figure out why anyone would want to leave, but there were always some guys who just liked to get caught breaking regulations. It was a dangerous game with serious consequences. "When do we go?" asked the anxious private.

"Soon."

The stockade sat on a piece of flat-land behind the officers' barracks, past the latrine where Buck had spent that day a couple of weeks ago in humble servitude. All disciplining began at noon - the hottest time of the day - which gave prisoners the entire morning to think about what was coming their way. So, late that morning Buck and the sarge set off across the parade ground. As they topped the rise behind the officers' latrine, Buck saw it squatting there in the field, ominous and prison-like, a good twenty yards in from the pine woods surrounding it on all sides. A plain cinder-block square about fifteen feet high, its walls were topped with glittering shards of broken glass and barbed wire. There was no roof, In the center of the wall facing them was an opening with a chainlink gate. Beside it stood a small, white guardhouse. The MP, dressed in typical Big Timber guard get-up and holding a carbine across his barrel chest, ordered them to halt. A single thought flashed through Buck's head - is that thing really loaded?

State your business." by the Camp Commander.

Eyeing the private intensely beneath his blazing white helmet, the MP's mirrored gaze sent chills down Buck's spine. He always felt that way whenever one of these sadistic brutes stared at him, and he was glad the sarge was along. The guard quickly glanced at the paper and seemed satisfied. "Ok, kid," he said. "Strip!"

Buck wasn't ready for that. He looked nervously at the sarge, but the big officer just grinned. "Sorry, Doyle. Camp rules. Only CO's and guards wear clothes in the stockade. But keep your boots and PFC cap. I them in the tiny guard house while the MP opened the gate. "Have fun, kid," he said as he clanked it shut behind them. lust inside the gate was another cement wall, placed there to keep anyone from seeing in through the chain fence. The sarge and his young buddy, who was feeling a little conspicu- ous in just his boots and cap, made a sharp right turn and emerged in the open yard of the stockade. Buck took it all in quickly. The interior was about thirty yards square, open at the top, and floored with plain old Montana dirt. It had rained the night before, so the yard was muddy even though the sun beat down hotly now. The only meager cover from the elements was under the wooden catwalk which stretched all around the insides of the walls. It was at least ten feet off the ground, and a lone guard paced relentlessly around and around overhead. He, too, carried a rifle. The outside wall rose just to his shoulders, so he could see anyone who approached the building from the outside. Or anyone who tried to leave. Under the walk were the cells, recesses in the concrete blocks with chain fence across the front. They weren't much bigger than toilet stalls, and about half of them quartered naked men.

Other officers had arrived before Buck and the sarge. In fact the place was already a scene of activity that would make the squeamish turn and run. Two DI's had a group of sweaty, bare-assed prisoners doing endless pushups in the stinking mud, kicking them or swatting asses with belts whenever they missed cadence. Another group had men bound hand and foot, suspended from the crossbeam of an upright wooden frame. They gang-fucked them, using cocks, fists, and god-only-knows what else. Over in a far corner, a guard was working over two prisoners bound together on either side of a sturdy pine post. The MPs were known as the meanest motherfuckers in the camp, and this one's victims were making loud cries of pain and protest. The hair on the back of Buck's neck stood up when he caught the glint of honed metal in the MP's hand. He looked away quickly. In the opposite corner a column of dark smoke drifted lazily upwards from a shallow pit. Long metal skewers rested against the lip of the pit, and Buck could only guess what they were for.

"There's our man," said the sarge, pointing to a cell along the near wall. The prisoner was alone in one of the otherwise empty cages marked AWOL. The DI went up to the cell, opened it, and ordered the man out.

He was about thirty, Buck guessed, and foreign-looking - maybe Portuguese or from the Caribbean. Anyway, his skin was darkly tan and his eyes, bright green, regarded the sarge and the near-naked private tensely. His body was muscular, practically smooth, and topped with a curly fuzz of short black hair. Heavy rope bound his brawny arms behind his back

"On yer belly, you sonofabitch!" the sarge commanded. Slowly, the captive soldier knelt on the bare ground, then prostrated himself clumsily in the mud. Other prisoners in nearby cells paid close attention to the three men. From a hook on the wall between the cells, Sgt. D'Angelo grabbed a cat made of leather thongs with a black, billy-club style handle.

"Stand over there, Doyle."

The sarge pointed to a spot about twenty feet away. Buck moved into position. "At ease!"

Buck took his wide-legged stance, arms folded behind his back. The sarge kicked the prostrate soldier from behind.

"Ok, you cowardly hunk of shit! Crawl over to the private there and lick his boots clean!" He brought the cat down hard on the poor jerk's ass.

The prisoner squealed, his body jerked, and he inched forward . It isn't easy crawling on your belly when your hands are tied behind you. But the DI saw to it that the dark man didn't spare any effort. He continued lashing that naked ass and the backs of his thighs while the man groaned and squirmed through the mud.

Buck was getting off on the whole scene. His cock stiffened as the husky prisoner crawled up to him and began to suck on the toe of his black combat boots. The sarge let up on the cat, but he kept a barrage of verbal abuse going while the guy licked the mud off the PFC's filthy boots.

"Stupid turd! You're no better than the worms under yer belly! Lick 'em clean, asshole! Clean that private's shoes nice and neat! He's better 'n you any day! LICK 'EM, SHIT-HEAD!!!'

The guy choked on the dirt a little, spitting it out between rasping gulps of air, but he finished the job. When the sarge was satisfied, he made him crawl around behind Buck and get to his knees.

"Now lick his ass, motherfucker! Bury that sissy mouth of yers in that man's butt and eat it!"

Buck's golden cock now stood straight up as the prisoner's rough, wet tongue ran along his asscrack and found the musky bunghole. He got a kick out of the other prisoner's staring at his hard, naked body while the guy behind him rimmed his ass, and he wanted to jerk off real bad. But he figured he'd better wait for orders from the sarge.

While the dark stud was busy eating out the insides of the private's asshole, sarge gave him a few more tastes of the cat. It seemed to Buck that the harder the sarge came down with it, the more eager were the thrusts of the slippery lickmuscle in his anus. Just when he could hardly stand it anymore, the DI called a halt.

"Ok, Doyle. Get a 'horse' over there and bring it back. I want to see this piece of garbage strung over it — PRONTO!"

Buck saw a bunch of wooden sawhorses stacked near the wall, not the flimsy kind used to mark holes in the highway, but the sturdy sort made from two-by-fours. Leather straps with harness buckles were attached to all four feet. He went

over, slung one up on his shoulder, and brought it back to where the sarge had the naked soldier undoing his pants with his teeth. The guy managed to pull the metal zipper down, but he was having trouble getting the DI's enormous hunk of

Italian sausage out without biting it. "Get it out, you cocksucker!" the sarge bellowed. "I can't," the prisoner blurted out. Tears of frustration dribbled down his dirty cheeks. "It's stuck."

Sgt. D'Angelo grabbed him by the ears and jerked his head back so far Buck was sure the guy's neck would break. "You can't?! Is that what you said?" He spat square in the guy's face. "Don't you ever say that to me, prick! You'll do anythin' I tell you to. GOT IT?! YOU'LL EAT SHIT RIGHT OUT OF MY ASSHOLE IF I SAY SO!! UNDERSTAND?!"

The prisoner nodded obediently

The prisoner bent over the sawhorse longwise so the top beam ran from his chin to his groin. Buck untied his hands and secured them to the feet of the wooden frame with the leather straps. The DI did the same in back with his ankles. Pulling the dark stud's meat and hairy balls back between his thighs, the sarge grabbed a half-piece of cinder-block lying on the ground and hung it with the rope from the dangling genitals. When he released the weight, the prisoner groaned pitifully.

"Plug the fucker's mouth with that meat of yours, private," he said.

Buck held the guy's head on either side and guided the slippery head of his dick to his mouth. To his surprise, the guy took it eagerly, sucking it in almost to the hilt. Buck face-fucked him while the sarge shoved the hard rubber handle of the cat up his asshole and reamed him with it. He twisted it round and round, goring the poor guy's helpless ass mercilessly . The prisoner's moans were muffled by Buck's cock stuffed down his throat, but it was just as well. Protesting would only make things worse, anyway.

Sarge removed the black fuckstick and patted the upturned ass. "I've got somethin' special planned for this," he said. "Keep feedin' him meat, Doyle. I'll be right back."

With his prick flopping out of his fatigues, the sarge hurried over to the smoldering pit and picked up one of the long, metal skewers. Buck was getting mighty close to shooting his load, but he held back until he got the OK from the sarge. As the DI returned, Buck recognized the instrument he carried for what it was — a branding fron! "This here's to mark him as an AWOL," the sarge sneered. "If he tries it again, we'll know he's a second offender. Things'll go a lot rougher for him-then!"

The muscular stud dropped Buck's cock and twisted his head around, trying to see what was coming. When he caught sight of the glowing-red iron, he let out a gutteral howl of protest

'NO! PLEASE!"

"SHUT THE BASTARD UP, PRIVATE!"

Buck grabbed the prisoner's head again and forced him down on his prick all the way to the balls. Looking down, he saw the guy staring back at him, and for the first time Buck saw real fear in his eyes. "HANG ON TO 'IM TIGHT, DOYLE. HERE IT COMES!"

The man's trembling body went rigid as steel as the red-hot iron touched his left asscheek. Screams hissed out around Buck's cock as he rammed it deeper and deeper into the sucking mouthhole. He was excited as hell. He couldn't hold back any longer. As the sarge removed the smoldering iron, he felt his hot manjuice rising rapidly through his shaft. "I'm cummin', sir!" he yelled. "Go ahead, kid! Fill the pussymouth with your load!"

Buck fucked like a wildman. He slammed his spurting rod into the prisoner's face, draining what seemed like a quart of cum from his bouncing nuts. When he was completely fucked-

The guy didn't even have a chance to catch his breath. The sarge poked his thick uncut meat down his throat while Buck brought the cat down across his sore cheeks until they were livid pink. The prisoner attacked the sarge's fuckpole as thick gobs of cream flooded out and slid down his gagging throat. Sarge made sure he swallowed every drop.

"That's it, shithead! Eat my fuckin' dick! That's all you AWOLs are good for — eatin' cockjuice." To prove his point, the sarge washed down the load of sticky jism with an explosion of wet piss. Being in no position to argue, the prisoner noisily gulped it down. "Untie 'im, Doyle, and bring 'im out here," the sarge ordered. Buck released the leather straps, stood the guy up, and followed the sarge toward the center of the stockade yard, and followed the sar The muddied prisoner had a hard time walking with the brick still tied to his aching genitals. Forced to stumble bow-legged across the grounds, he let the brick swing in jerky arcs between his thighs. The private pushed him from behind, purposely making him go too fast so the weight would bang painfully against his knees. Buck realized that he was really getting off on making this big, dark stud humiliate himself, forcing him to do anything he and the sarge wanted.

In the center of the yard, under the searing eye of the sun, was a low metal bar shaped like a T planted in the earth. It rose about a foot and a half off the ground, and the arms of the T were a lot longer than the center bar was high. "On yer knees, pisshole!" the sarge barked.

The naked soldier knelt before the low T-bar and the sarge pushed him down by the back of the neck until he was doubled over it. The long cross-bar stuck out from either side on his belly.

"Forearms in the dirt!"

When he was in the right position, the sarge pulled two nylon-web straps from his thigh pocket and tossed one to Buck

"Here. Tie this around his arms and legs like this," he said. Squatting beside the naked prisoner, the sarge looped the strap behind his leg just above the knee and then around his upper arm. He pulled tight and tied it off. Buck did the same on his side. When they'd finished, the guy was trapped on all fours over the bar, limbs snuggly joined at elbows and knees. While they secured the prisoner, Buck noticed that the other officers had temporarily halted their own games in order to watch the events in the center yard. Even the attentions of the other prisoners were riveted on the T-bar and its helpless occupant. Somehow, Buck sensed that he was about to witness a special event. Standing behind their captive, sarge and Buck admired the firey ass hunched in the air.

Looks just like a bitch in heat, don't he," laughed the sarge. He knelt down and spread those cheeks with his strong hands. "Give us a hawker here, private."

Buck noisily gathered all the saliva he could and let it fly. His aim was good. The sarge rubbed the spit around the man's quivering hole with his finger and roughly probed inside.

"Better hope that's enough, soldier, 'cause that's all yer gettin'!" He slapped the guy's ass hard. "Thought we'd let the boys who caught ya get in on the action. After all, they earned it!"

The prisoner froze in fear. "No!" he cried, and he really meant it. He struggled with his bonds, trying his best to wrig-

But the sarge paid no attention. Crossing to the wall on the right, he reached for a small door that Buck hadn't even noticed before. It looked like a sluice gate, only about two-by-three feet, and it led to the area behind the stockade which was out of view from the trail that led to the front gate. Buck

The prisoner was frantic, squirming around and hollering "NO! NO!" at the top of his lungs. The sarge threw open the small door and out bounded a pack of the biggest, meanest-looking Dobermans Buck had ever seen. So there was a kennel behind the stockade! There were a half-dozen of 'em at least, and the minute they spotted the helpless prisoner they went wild. All that kept the attack dogs at bay was The Dog Master. He stepped from the kennel, ducking his huge nude and black height out the small door. Buck admired his hulking, hairy build. His deep voice resonated from his bigger balls. The Dog Master commanded the barking Dobes to silence. The prisoner squirmed, bound in the mud, terrified of their bark and their bite. The Dobes settled in a circle around their big black Master. They watched him with full attention. His thick arms and chest were matted with a heavy pelt of hair. He reached down to his black uncut dick and petted it up to chow-down size. The dogs whined in anticipation. The Dog Master spit into his palm, pissed down on the once-AWOL prisoner, and dropped his weight onto the begging man's back. His dark cock ploughed into the musky hole. The dogs went wild at the

sight of their Master humping the thick ball-head of his cock into the AWOL ass. The Dog Master pawed and rutted into the bound body. His growl came from deep in his throat as he sent load after load shooting from his black-knobbed cockhead . The dogs, at his climax, barked wildly.

"Let's go out in the woods and fuck, private," the sarge grinned.

"But what about him?"

"He'll be ok. His pride'll hurt more 'n his ass tomorrow. When The Dog Master is through with his fun, one of the guards'll let 'em go. Come on."

EPISODE 5: BIVOUAC

(0900 hours) - Looking forward to his last weekend in camp, PFC Buck Doyle felt a mixture of sadness and excitement . Sadness because he had to leave Big Timber on Monday morning for the long, lonely drive back to California. He hated to go. But school would be starting soon, and before that was football training camp.

He was excited though because this weekend was the one big event in the camp's season - Bivouac. All four companies set off for a weekend in the wilderness, each in a different direction, and each with a plentiful supply of new recruits to help with the shitwork. There were always lots of new recruits on Bivouac. Some guys came only for that weekend, signing up a year in advance for the privilege of playing packmule. It was the only time short stays were permitted.

All the regular soldiers looked forward to the big weekend, too. Even the guards who had to stay behind and keep an eye on things. With everybody else gone, they had free run of the camp and could indulge in all their sadistic games to their cock's content, both with each other and with the unlucky soldiers left behind in the stockade. That was one good reason why everybody else went out on Bivouac - to stay behind meant you were at the mercy of the MPs. Hell, they didn't have much! And it would be a full two days before anyone could make it back to get you out of a jam. (If you were still alive, that is.) The other reason everybody went was just plain - wild, woodsy, and rough! fun -

Saturday morning after mess the entire camp assembled on the parade ground. Full packs were required, of course, but the new recruits were loaded down with the heaviest equipment and tents. C Company, the one Buck belonged to, managed to snag six husky newcomers to carry their shit. That was three times the number who usually joined up on a regu- lar week.

Greenhorns, Buck thought as he looked them over. Except for sturdy climbing boots, the recruits were stripped to the skin. Some were musclebound brutes, others hard and wiry, but all were obviously in good shape for the hike. They'd better be, the sarge warned, since they had t packs on their backs over rugged terrain. One recruit in particular caught Buck's eye - a kid about his age, maybe younger, similar in build with straight black hair, high cheekbones , and a ruddy complexion. Fiercely handsome, his obsedian eyes darted about nervously. Buck suspected that he was at least part Indian. Just watching him standing there, cocky but awkward in his nakedness, made Buck's blood rise. "Attention!" cried Sgt. D'Angelo. "You recruits line up single file. You other guys get those packs on 'em, and double-time it!"

When the packs were in place, the sarge tied a rope around the base of cock and balls of the last guy in line, passed it up the asscrack of the dude in front of him, around his dangling meat, then forward again. A long piece was left over in front, and the sarge handed this to Buck. "Here, Doyle. You lead 'em. And if one of 'em gets stubborn on you, use this." He handed the private a riding crop.

Buck took the rope, glad to see that the handsome black- haired boy stood at the front of the line. He tugged on his pines, then south along the river to the ford about a mile and a half downstream. We ought to reach it about late afternoon. Once over, we'll make camp about another three miles further in." He scowled at the bare-assed recruits, "And you pussies better keep up with the rest of the men. I don't like slackers in my outfit! You'll rest when I say so, and don't try sittin' down before that or you might find yourself missin' somethin' important!" Considering the rope which joined them together at the crotch, they all knew what he said was true. At the very least it would hurt like hell!

'OK. C COMPANY, MOVE OUT!"

Buck pulled on the rope, clicked his tongue a few times, and grinned broadly at his naked muletrain. "Let's go guys, he said.

The company set off through the front gate, then to the west with Buck and his recruits bringing up the rear. It wasn't long before they were out of sight of camp. The morning heat soon became stiffling, so most of the men removed their shirts after an hour or so. There was plenty of talk and horsing around at first, but when the trail began to rise and head up toward the river gorge, things quieted down. All you could hear was the wind and the strong, deep breathing of sweaty soldiers.

They reached the gorge by noon. Cascading from the blue- grey mountains that loomed overhead, it roared and tumbled over itself through a deep V cut in the rock. The scenery was out of this world. Exhilarated by the exercise and the fresh mountain air, Buck was super-horny. He looked over his shoulder at the black-haired boy behind him and would've liked to rape him on the spot.

The sarge let them take their first break here. The recruits were sweaty, covered with grime, and their crotches chaffed from the rope. Scratches from the light underbrush laced their dirty thighs with thin red welts. Buck doled out canned rations and water, paying particular attention to the kid in front. If he noticed his special treatment, he didn't give any sign.

After lunch came the hardest part of the hike. Winding their way down the east bank of the gorge, they followed a narrow trail which hugged the cliff above the raging river. It was hair-raising even for the regular soldiers with light packs, and Buck had to use his crop several times on timid pack-mules . They had a rough time of it. If the guy in front went too fast, he yanked on the cock of the guy behind painfully. If the guy behind slowed down or tripped, he pulled your cock back between your legs and crushed your balls with the rope. It was the first time Buck was able to get a rise out of the black-haired boy. He swatted him across his tight ass with the crop, and the kid jerked around, giving him a look that would've cut through steel. Buck's cock jumped in his pants.

By late afternoon, the column reached the ford. Here all the soldiers stripped to the buff, and piling their clothes on their heads, they waded through knee-deep water. It was a beautiful sight - all those buck-asses pink against the white water, and the woods and the rocks on the other side. Buck stripped, too, and he couldn't help noticing that the black- haired recruit eyed him with more than casual interest. "Alright, you jerks!" he said, standing naked before them.

"Get your butts across that river, and don't get any of that stuff wet or you'll get my foot up your ass, boot and all!" Tugging the rope extra hard, he led them through the ice-cold stream.

No one put his fatigues back on once they reached the other side. The path was wide here with little underbrush, and it felt damn good to be free-swingin' again. Buck was in heaven, and once more he felt the sadness come over him as he thought of leaving this place. It was going to be rough readjusting to the up-tight world outside.

After another hour or so through pine forest, they broke out into a large clearing of fairly level field. With a wave of his hand, the sarge brought the bare-assed column to a halt. "Ok, men. We'll make camp here. Doyle!" "Yes, sir!"

Buck untied the rope and let the recruits drop their packs. Rubbing their cocks and shaking their arms to bring back circulation , they only got a couple of minutes rest before Buck had them on the move again, unloading packs and supplies. All the men pitched in to set up camp, but the recruits did most of the dirty work - digging latrine trenches, chopping firewood, stuff like that. The black-haired boy was particularly handy with an axe. He collected more wood in an hour than two of the other guys combined. Buck kept a close watch over him as he worked, fascinated by the supple ripple of muscles that ran across his broad back with each swing of the heavy tool.

Soon the sun sat fat and red on the horizon, the tents were up, and the fire was going great. Steaks were cooking over live

coals. Now that all the work was done, the sarge let the men break out the beer. It was time for good ol' manly fun. The group of naked soldiers became loud and raucous, and Buck knew they were in for a good time tonight.

The blond private downed his steak in record time, it tasted so good out here and he was ravenous. Afterwards, he sat by the sarge slugging a beer, but his attention wandered to the gang of new recruits a short distance away. They had eaten their food like hungry wolves, and now they waited obediently for the soldiers to decide just what kind of entertainment they wanted. Buck's concentration on the black-haired kid was so great that he didn't even hear the sarge speak to him.

'What's the matter, Doyle? You deaf!?" the sarge growled.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, sir. Just thinking!" "I asked if you were up for some real fun, now that your

"Good!" The sarge gave him a wry grin. Buck liked it when he looked at him like that. The big man stood up and addressed the soldiers sitting around the campfire. "Men, for starters tonight, we're gonna have a little wrest your butt up here!"

Buck sat stunned. This wasn't exactly what he had in mind. The sarge had at least fifty pounds over him! No way could he take him in a fair fight!

'I said get up here, soldier!" the sarge barked.

Buck lept to his feet. If there was one thing he'd learned during his six-week training at Big Timber, it was never to disobey your DI. The other soldiers whistled and cheered as the hunky blond strode into the orange glow of the campfire. His skin shone as he stood before them naked except for hiking boots. The sarge slapped him on the rump. "And you — over there!" He pointed to the knot of recruits standing at the edge of the circle. Buck's gut did a flip-flop when he saw that the sarge was pointing to the black-haired kid. Without a word, the recruit stalked over to Buck and the sarge. His movements were sure and cat-like as he walked through the dim light, and the flickering shadows accented his eyein' this dude. Couldn't keep your eyes off 'im all day, could ya? Well … now it's yer chance to show him who's really boss around here." He looked at the recruit. "What's your name, boy?"

Jim, sir! Jim Crow."

So he is an Indian! Buck thought.

"Jim, this here is PFC Buck Doyle. Now's your chance to pay him back for that stripe across your ass!" He turned to the group of soldiers. "Alright, you turds! Move back and give 'em room! It's a free-for-all match — anyth

Buck and Jim nodded, eyeing each other cautiously. "Good, Go to it!"

The soldiers scrambled back to form a large circle around the fire and the two wrestlers. Buck and Jim crouched low and circled warily, sizing each other up, waiting for the other guy to make a move. Buck was hypnotized by the kid's swift, sure motion, and those night-black eyes bore straight through to his soul. He knew this wasn't going to be an easy win.

As quick as a rattler, Jim made his first lunge. He dove for Buck's legs, grabbed them just above the knees, and threw him off balance. The two men tumbled to the ground and scram-

"Git the fucker!"

"Cream 'im kid! Plug his ass!"

The Indian had Buck down on his belly, trying to get a hold around the big blond's neck. Gathering all his strength, Buck managed to heave him off, then quickly got back to his feet. That first skirmish had him hot and excited. It was his turn now to show this kid what he was up against. He threw himself at the black-haired stud with all his strength, knocking him backwards to the ground. Jumping on the naked, muscular boy, he circled the narrow waist with his arms and tried to roll him over.

Jim put up a helluva scrap. Over and over they rolled in the warm dirt, a tangled mass of muscle and sweat. Buck could feel the heaving chest against his own, and hot breath hissed in his ear. Once they rolled so near the fire that Buck almost went in. As it was, he singed his shoulder, and the shock made him lose control. Jim slipped out of his hold and quickly flipped the private on his back. He jumped on the blond's chest, straddling it backwards on his knees, and shoved his tight ass down on Buck's face. At the same time, he pulled Buck's legs up and tucked them under his armpits, spat on his finger and tried to ram it in his grimey bunghole. "Fuck 'im, kid," cried the sarge. "That's an order!" But Buck had different ideas. Jim raised up slightly to get a better angle on that ass, and his balls brushed lightly against Buck's lips. That was enough. Buck sucked them in his mouth and bit down - hard!

"EIIIIIIIIAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" the Indian screamed in pain. Buck jerked quickly sideways and threw him off.

That was it. No holds barred now. Jim attacked with all the fury of a mad dog. Down they went, a slamming, clawing heap of taut flesh writhing in the eerie glow of the campfire. The soldiers, excited by the action, began their own orgies while they watched. Buck was nearing his exhaustion point when he suddenly found his move. The kid let his guard down for a split-second, and with a loud animal yell Buck pinned him belly down. He sat across the kid's lower back and held him face-down in the dirt by the shoulders.

"Alright, you fuckers!" he hollered to the crowd. "Some- body pour some beer on that ass!"

A nearby soldier did the honors, spilling a whole can of suds between Jim's squirming asscheeks. It dribbled down the hairy crevice and wetted the tight brown muscle-ring. Buck wanted to bury his face in that mound of flesh and lick the beer out, but he couldn't let his quarry get away. Maybe next time

When Jim's ass was soaked, Buck slammed himself down on top of it, put his legs between the kid's and wrenched them apart. The crown of his rigid fuckpole jabbed at the entrance to Jim's body as he spread their legs even further. Buck was so hot and horny from the wrestling match, and so hungry for that trembling mass of muscles beneath his body, that he didn't worry about protocol. In one sharp thrust he shoved it in.

"OOOHHH, CHRIST!!" Jim wailed. He tried to raise up on his elbows, but Buck wrapped his huge arms around the kid's chest and bear-hugged him. Biting hard into the back of the Indian's neck, he fucked for kingdom come.

It was over in minutes. With loud animal grunts, Buck shot his load into the handsome boy, wiggling around to pump every last drop from his spurting rod, then rolled off into the dirt, exhausted. Jim just laid there - panting, defeated. The private reached over and rustled his hair, then patted him on

Jim looked at him sternly, then broke out in a grin. "So do you … sir." "You want t'share my tent tonight?" "Sure!"

Before sacking out, Buck returned the favor he'd won in the wrestling match. As they drifted off to sleep in delicious fatigue, Jim told him a little about himself. He was half-Shoshone , and he was going back to school on a government grant to get an engineering degree. When he told Buck where,

"No shit! You're kiddin' me!" he said, suddenly awake again. "That's where I go."

'Really?

"Yeah, I'll be a senior this year. How come I never saw you there before?"

"Just transfering from the state school here. This'll be my first year in California.'

Buck shook his head in disbelief. "No shit! Hey, I'm driving down Monday. Need a ride?"

The Indian boy eyed him intently, then leaned over and planted a heavy kiss on the blond's mouth. "Sure," he said, "anywhere you say, sir."

Monday wasn't such a sad day after all. Buck packed all his gear in his footlocker, said good bye to his bunk buddies and the sarge, and headed for the main gate where Jim waited for him. It isn't going to be such a lonely ride back after all, Buck thought. Together, the two of them walked bare-assed out the gate, just like they'd come in.

"Come again, guys," the guard called out as they disappeared d peared down the path.

PUMPING ROGER Acts, Facts, & Fantasy

Jack Fritscher

No two ways about it: I love, adore, and worship Roger. I would eat his shorts. I would sleep on Roger-printed sheets and pillowcases. I would hang Roger wallpaper inside and outside my house. On my deathbed, I'd settle for one last glimpse of his Charles-Bronson face and Botticelli body.

I've watched Roger at my gym.

He works out heavy, stripped to the waist, and barefoot. His grey sweatpants darken with triangular wet patches in the front, below his navel, and in the rear at the small of his back. A line of white jockstrap holds tight against his smooth skin as the sweatpants slip down from his waist toward his tight butt. He stops to hitch them up. He tightens the draw- string. He wipes his hands dry on his thighs. He ignores the mirror. He spreads a clean white towel over the vinyl-covered bench. He crosses to the weight rack arranged in a neat row along the wall. He glances quickly into the mirror to gauge the pump of his workout. His hands wipe again down his thighs. He inhales . His chest rises. Each hand turns into an iron fist as he grips a pair of 85 pound weights. He walks back to the bench. The poundage he totes striates the muscles of his forearms and deltoids. He looks neither to the right or left. He sits his ass down at the end of the bench, places a weight on the floor at each ankle, rests his forearms on his thighs, and breathes deep. His thick shoulders rise. His black hair falls soft across his forehead . He is deep in concentration.

DOLLY, ARNOLD, & ROGER

The gym is at an off-hour. Only four or five guys are working out. From the office, a radio plays country-western music. On the office window hick-chic Dolly Parton poses in front of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Her hands rest on her black pantsuited hips. Her blonde wig piles high enough to hide most of Arnold's face. Out of her shoulders jut Arnold's huge arms in full biceps shot. Out of her hip shoots one of Arnold's enormous legs. Dolly is laughing. Arnold is smiling. They know they are jokes.

On his towel-covered bench, Roger meditates in heavy concentration. Roger is no joke, no Parton put-on, no Schwar-zenexaggeration . His well-muscled body remains natural enough to appeal to those who aren't into heavyweight bodybuilders , and super enough to turn on men who are. An aura of nobility surrounds him, protects his privacy from invasion. I can only look at him from a distance, through mirrors brightly, so as not to disturb his concentration.

His head raises. He throws himself an ok-let's-go look in the mirror. Each hand lifts a weight to each thigh. He lays back on the towel-covered bench. His arms on the tower-covered pencin. This arms bulge with the weights as he pulls the iron back to his pecs. He raises his bare feet from the floor and tucks his heels up against his ass. His toes curl over the bench edge — the wa attention and arranged his body to isolate his upper torso for full workout. He begins the set, raising one 85-pound weight at a time. Left. Then right. A full set of eight reps for each arm and pec. He pumps the heavy weight at low reps to build the bulk that has changed the beach-n-bike centerfold body of two years ago into the full-blown man's body that thousands pay to see perform.

ROGER: ONCE IS NOT ENOUGH

In San Francisco, New York, Washington, and Los Angeles, Roger's SRO appearances cause lines to rival Star Wars. At New York's Jewel Theater, the crush of fans literally caved in the plate glass of the box-office. Any man who has seen Roger once will see Roger twice. Once is definitely not enough.

At the gym, as he works each set, the sweat glistens on Roger's body. It beads into rivulets, puddles on his abs, runs off his thick pecs, and out of his armpits. If ever a Holy Grail were needed to catch the sacred run-off, now is the time. Every day for two hours and twenty minutes, Roger pumps, not some slick chromium machine, but heavy metal. He's pumped for four years now, since he was nine- teen. In two years, he wants to have won a major physique contest title. In the meantime, at the right times, he leads a life as disciplined as his workouts. Roger isn't one of those professionally great gay bodies topped by a jaded acid face.

Roger is Mom's Apple Pie baked by Tom of Finland.

His face is the key: after the muscles, after the enormous cock, comes the surprise of that face. Altogether in the altogether, Roger is a very real package: body, face, energy, and aura. Privately, he has his singular personality. But publically, he is also the stuff of fantasy. know.

I made love to Roger and lived.

Only because our fuck was a close en- counter of the second kind.

I mean I started out cynically. Roger-Schmoger . Just another gay beef-twinkie. Straight beefcake has always been preferable, even though that's almost a contradiction in terms, because all along the income in terms, because an along the iron-grapeine rumors run rampant that most physique stars play the price is right. Even Arnold will pose, the gymgossip goes, for a thousand bucks an hour. If that's true, more power t bothers to deny it, a fickle public will only think of the Shakespearean lady who doth protest, especially since, before the big San Jose Physique Show, Arnold stated flat out on TV that he knew no bodybuilders who used drugs, and then a year later when asked why he was glad he retired, he stated it was mainly he didn't want to take steroids anymore. Steroids are drugs, so is that a lie, or just another example of Germanic amnesia? Anyway, for a thousand bucks a session who is

kinky enough to make love to a Panzer tank? Who needs a close encounter of the Third Reich?

ROGER: "I NEED A LOT OF LOVING."

Now with Roger something besides gay beef-twink comes through. After all, Christopher, Castro, and Melrose are paved with hunky physical specimens. Who wouldn't, in the words of Boys in the Band, trade his immortal soul for a lifetime of such skindeep transitory physical beauty? So I made a pact with the devil. I sold my soul for Roger - or at least spent a lot of cash following his career. In a year I watched him grow at the gym, in still photos at Wakefield Poole's studio, in movies with Jack Wrangler, on stage in live performance, and in a movie of my own.

Roger admits he needs a lot of loving, and rumor again has it that although Roger recently married straight, an evening's pleasure with the man runs around five hundred. Bucks hardly matter when spending time with Roger on-stage, on-screen, on-whatever. When I pay my doctor for his time, I'm paying him for all the preparation he went th present patients at any given moment with his skill. This is Roger's moment, and dollars detract nothing from him, if he trades off his energetic preparation. Besides, if for one minute I thought Roger would cruise into a bar and give it

I might consider a night with Roger, but maybe some fantasies are better left alone. Why destroy in the third kind, encounters that can only be perfect when kept as the second kind? Why lay something impossibly divine on a mortal? Roger, like Redford, can get too much of a good thing. Some men prefer only to stand opposite Roger to watch him flex while they jerk off. That is, after all, the voyeuristic essence of Roger's on-stage act.

Roger has come a long way from the Florida go-go boy he was when he was "discovered." He claims he'll still be in shape at fifty (2004 A.D.), so I hope he's bulking on workouts and proteins, not steroids, and that his manager smartly invests his money in real estate or whatever , so after Roger's comet flashes across the stages, screens, and skies, he will have something left at fifty - at least part of what Paul Newman has now at 53. Tennessee Williams has said about Roger, "You can be young with money, but you can't be old without money." After what I've seen Roger give, I'd kill any motherfucker who abuses that boy and leaves him nothing.

ROGER: NATIONAL ENDOWMENT FOR THE ARTS

To know Roger's face, to stare into his eyes, is to fuck his soul, I know: I shot him with telephoto super-8 color Ekta- chrome, close-up from thirty feet away. I respect his space, but movie portraiture is my specialty: holding the camera on a man's face until the pose, the look, the mask, the attitude melts and the soul comes through. Similar footage got me Colt Superstar Ledermeister who, not so long ago was and still is in my book, one of the first and greatest gay Fantasy Men. On-duty straight cops also are easy prey for the telephoto lens that closes in tight for face shots that melt the celluloid: especially when the cop is getting just a little pissed that he's being photographed but can't do anything about it - that's when his public mask breaks down and he throws his look of utter contempt at the camera to establish his straight macho, because he knows deep down that some guy sometime will jerk off on the footage of his face. And he's right. Movie portraiture gets a shot more whole than a snap. A still photographer clicks a single frame, even with a Canon AE-1, and often captures only the subject's mask. A cinematographer breaks through that. What I shot at the gay parade and what Wakefield Poole shot of Daryl Roger Hanson's face and act is the same: Roger the Real. I like / love what I saw / see in Roger: what I encountered at the gym, what I have seen on-stage, and what Wake Poole discovered shooting the same Roger in multiple stills and even more revealingly on motion-picture film.

PUMPING ROGER

Roger, like Ann-Margret, uses one name. Fans catch on quicker. Next to his manager, writer Charles Herschberg has probably provided more personal information on Daryl Roger Hanson than anyone. The Herschberg profile reveals Roger as a Detroit Capricorn, Libra rising, born 1954, youngest of three brothers, a health nut for vitamins, doesn't drink or smoke tobacco, posed nude for college art classes, in 1972 began a two-year Navy hitch, and gets his main high from sex. Sexually his movies reveal him to be a veritable one-man Kama Sutra.

Stars are not born; they are more often delivered by Caesarian calculation. Roger, like Elvis, had to be "created" the way Henry sophisticated Eliza. Roger's mentor is a former Florida marketing man: Jim Bacon. Bacon is aggressive, but he's not pushy. Back in Florida, he tried three times to get up the courage to go backstage and talk to the fabulous go-go boy. Finally, Bacon introduced himself to Hanson. They liked each other, talked business, took over 2,000 Polaroid pictures of Hanson in every erotic pose possible (Super-8 cinematography would have gotten them the same end result faster and cheaper), and in the straight-forward tradition of American entrepreneuring began the creation of ROGER.

Enter Herschberg. Herschberg is a good journalist with the good sense to talk to Daryl Roger Hanson and to let Daryl Roger Hanson talk. Most men cannot talk to Roger. His charisma leaves them speechless. (The same is true of Streisand and Redford: what would you say after you said "hello"?) So with the words that Herschberg has written, the act that Bacon has tutored, and the film that Poole has shot, Roger is available neatly packaged for anything your head, your hand, and your popper can imagine. They are the Trinity behind the God.

ROGER'S ACT

No connoisseur of well-purveyed meat ever misses a Mr. Teenage This or Mr.

America That contest. America has a horde of beefed-up, buffed up, oiled-down , and iron-pumped meat flexing on posing platforms from dirty YMCA's through slick State Fairs and big city auditoriums all the way to muscle exhibitions at the Museum of Modern Art. So when a Roger comes along, it's like find- ing Prime Rib in among a bunch of ham sandwiches.

Roger ain't your ordinary lunch.

Bacon has seen to that.

When Roger's mixed-media live show is in town, the SRO audience sits patiently filling amyl bullets and arranging jackets in their laps. To the left and right of my front row center seat every lap had a jacket-tent and every tent had a pole. Waiting for Roger is nothing like waiting for Godot, because in this show God is gonna arrive.

The houselights dim. Real poppers, saved like vintage champagne for a special occasion, snap in the darkness: inhalation therapy. An overhead spotlight comes up slowly revealing Roger locked into a still-life pose on a raised platform. The light cascades down his tanned body. The audience sits in silent awe. Is he live or is he Memorex? Then the vision, omigod, moves. He glides from one classic physique pose to another. Hands start jacking off in the dark. Roger, alone lit by light, is all there is in the world. His face is energy. He hits a double biceps shot, holds it, pulls his thick arms slowly down, palms his ass, pushes his hips for- ward, and works his thighs, isolating the muscles in each leg, popping them into isolation isometrics, making them bulge out like huge cocks caught under his skin. His breathing is heavy with the exertion . He seems unaware of the audience out in the darkness. He is a study in concentration as he flexes each body part, tightening his truly washboard belly, and then finally, raising his mighty arms slowly out from his broad shoulders, he hits again the double bicep shot, and then conjuring with all his might, sweat pouring off his face and dripping to his pecs tipped with dark hot nipples, he swings his full-flexed arms down, fists clenched, shoulders hunched, chest swelled and thickened, locking into the classic "crab" pose, the "Most Muscular" pose that always knocks 'em dead at physique contests . He tightens down harder, veins popping over the defined bulk of his whole body. He juts his chin out. For the first time, and with no narcissism, he seems finally to acknowledge the audience with a look that announces, "I am here" here.

For one brief shining moment, Roger freezes into presenting himself in his full body armor: a perfect living flesh sculpture . Shoulders, chest, arms, and belly all tighten down on top his narrow hips and ass and thickly tensed legs. And his chin, under his face, intense in its frame of dark hair and dark moustache, holds steady as his coal-dark eyes reach into the audience. He stands stock still and the ceiling spot fades down and out. Roger is Man the way Man should ideally be.

The theater goes crazy. Less of Roger is not more. To the left and right, jackets are tossed like inhibitions from laps.

Continued on page 68

"WHAT'S YOUR NAME?" I yelled into his ear.

"I used to be Charles Beesley. In my leaned over for another listen using his right thigh to support my weight. I pressed hard. Very hard. "Did you say

"They hug you. They hold you. They never let you down."

Crissakes. This kid was straight out of the Toob.

The music was apexing. The crowd was rushing the stage for a taste of SUI-CIDE . The bleeding performer was alternating his mike from his mouth to his asshole, jamming it for a few hot licks into the faces worshipping him. Before he could sing another chorus of "I Wanna Eat Your Shit," I asked Legs, "You want to go out for a good smoke?"

We shouldered our way to the door. A spook stamped our hands as we left. Stepping over the bum and buddy lying in their puke duet, we headed into the alley behind the club. It smelled of piss.

'Okay, Legs. What's the real story?' He looked at me like a cocker spaniel that just shit on the rug and expected the Sunday Times across his ass. I reached for his leather lapels. His right hand shot up and grabbed mine. The back of his hand was angry, red, and blistered with fresh cigaret burns.

Terrific. Another creature from Alpha

Centauri.

I shook his hand away and slapped him across the face. He went down like shot snot. He kenlt in the bum piss, clutched my knees like the Saving Cross, and whimpered. I grabbed the shoulders of his jacket, unsnapped the epaulets, and using them as handles, forced the punkfucker up against the wall. He grabbed my foot and put it against his chest. Lordy! Make me a footstool at thy feet! Taking the cue, I crushed him against the wall.

For something in his youth or childhood , he deserved, I'da betcha, the kinda thing I got to give. I mean I could see a bulge rising in his tight levis. My own cock was at fighting stance. (What do they mean about sex and violence. Sex is violence.) I wanted to outpunk this punk. He reached for his fly held closed by six big safety pins. I scraped my boot

"Mine," Asshole!"

With trembling hands he reached up and unlatched my Peterbilt belt. Slowly he popped open my buttons. He lowered my jeans to my knees. Who the fuck wears underwear? My cock sprang out toward his face. I was gonna have me my first genuine certified punk mouth. I slapped him once more, just for the bloody good juice of it. "Not so fast." I spit on him. When in Punkdom, do as the punks do. "We got all night. Go slow. Treat it nice."

Legs went into a cliche of tip work. This kid had an all-pro tongue. Every few seconds he raised his mournful eyes to check if he was licking me alright. I sneered my best Presley sneer-of-death. Elvis would have liked my version of his style.

Gradually, Legs worked his way to my roots. He sucked long and steady. Far fucking out! I was almost this side of coming when suddenly goddam coughing came from my left. The soylent green bums had found their way into the alley for more puke time in the old corral. I pulled up my jeans. "Later," I said.

We showed our stamped hands at the CBGB door and reclaimed our seats. SUICIDE had finished trying and a new group was on stage. "Punks and Punkettes! Meet THE

DEAD BOYS!"

The crowd managed a cheer. Yay. Yay. (Who the fuck are THE DEAD BOYS?) They looked like abortions that got away. The guitar-punk wore a tight dogcollar. A safety pin dangled from his ear. The lead singer was meditating, masturbating, waiting his cue, ropes of drool hanging from his mouth to his muscular belly. Suddenly he sprang to his dead feet and started the song:

I don't need your company Girls like you all come for free I don't really want to dance Girl, I just wanna get in your pants I don't want ya to hang around Girl, I don't need ya to track me down I don't really want to dance Girl, I just wanna get in your pants … I need lunch!

Yea baby, I NEED LUNCH!!! (This shit is copyright 1977 by Omfug/

Dead Boys / Blue Disque Music.)

Legs and I looked at each other. Suddenly , because everything happens sud- denly in the punk world, Stiv, The Dead Boys' lead singer, threw himself from the stage into the audience, landing on our table. Our two bottles of beer crashed to the floorboards. We kicked him away and he crawled back onto the stage toward the drums. He stuck his head inside the bass drum to really hear a few hot licks, then threw himself onto the floor again, flopping like a beached fish at the end of Fellini's La Dolce Vita.

Again, suddenly, a punk from the audience dashed for the stage. Just as suddenly the vicious-looking drummer rose from behind his drums, and with his sticks in his thick mitts played twelve bars of "Bolero" on the punk's face. The entire CBGB broke into a mass of flailing fists and screams. The punk, who now knew "Bolero" by heart, was hum-wiping his bleeding face across the safety-pinned tits of a tattooed earth-mother punkette. Fan Tan Fanny ran trailing her rear fan along the floor. Behind us, glass shattered. I pulled Legs to the door. "Wait a minute," he said. He dropped his jeans, squatted, and dumped on the heeby-jeeby doorsill.

We walked east through the meanest part of town. Not a New Yorican touched us. We reached the East River. No prob- lem. I turned to Legs. "Okay," I said. "Now where were we? O yeah. Your legs fit my legs."

He stood mute.

I punched him in the stomach as hard as I could. He turned green. I could see that puke-look a guy gets in his crossed eves, so I grabbed him by his greasy hair and held his head over the water. Why the fuck mess up a nice city sidewalk? He up- chucked straight beer. This kid was gonna end up back in the Bowery, but right now he was in bloom and hot. "You and the night and the sewage," I sang. He sank to his knees, lapping at my crotch like the East River lapped at the cement wall below us. God! I felt poetic. I also felt hard again. "Stop!" I said.

He looked up at me, his mouth still around my cock like a choirboy caught on the fourth note of "O Holy Night." I slapped him hard and he let go. around," I said. "Turn

He opened his mouth to speak. I raised my hand. He obeyed. "Drop your jeans."

He reached for his belt and dropped his trousers.

'Now, boy, down like a dog." He went down on all fours.

"Legs," I said, "they should call you ws." I steered my cock straight 'Paws.' toward his asshole. Was he ready? I ask you: Is Flushing in New York? I plunged in. Surprise. He was tighter than I expected . Good. New punk. I pumped him harder. His insides stretched to new spaces. His ass had promise, but his potential was too dry for me. I withdrew. He thought I was finished. He had another thought to think. I pushed him down further. "Okay, Legs baby, daddy's gonna teach his doggie a new trick."

A shiver ran down his spine. He wagged his butt.

I rubbed my hand through the thick punk grease in his hair, then held it at his mouth. "Slobber on it," I said.

Without question he slurped my hand. The mix of beerpuke, saliva, and grease lubed my fist just fine. "O fartin' Jesus in heaven," he whined. "I can't take that."

I pushed my middle finger into his asshole. "Easy," I said. "You're easy." I slipped in my ring finger. "Greasy." Then my index finger. "Sleazy."

He moaned.

I reached under with my other hand and pulled him back to me by his balls. He had a safety pin stuck through his cock. My pinky slipped in. "Cheesy." His butthole snapped at my knuckles. I bent my thumb across my palm and drove my fist home to the wrist. He made whining sobs. Music to my ears. "You underestimate yourself," I said. "Big punks don't cry. Doo wah. Doo wah."

I withdrew my fist and inserted my cock. His fruit juicy young hole was punk perfect. I humped away. Hell, I even let the kid jerk at himself. And, oh God, how he pulled, his ass-ring tightening down harder on my cock till we both shot off

I kicked him down on the sidewalk.

"You been punkfucked, punk."

'It hurt. "You liked it."

He licked my greasy hand.

On our way back to the West Village, we walked through a Spanish neighborhood . Two girls sat on a stoop. When we passed, they looked up. One of them pointed.

"Mira, Janita, mira!" she said. "Los punks! Los punks!"

That little ol' Janita sure knows los punks when she sees 'em!

THOS MANY HORR PRINGHUY opens its Unclassified to all DRUMMER readers!

Many things have happened since the Leather Fraternity newsletter became DRUMMER 'way back three years ago. The Fraternity had been going for a year before that and proved that there definitely was a need for a clearing house where men who were interested in the leather lifestyle could learn more from one another.

DRUMMER has become a runaway success and is in the top half-dozen of gay publications nationally (and internationally). Imitators have come and gone or never really have taken hold. In the meantime, DRUMMER is running more original material, more fiction and more artwork than any other gay publication. And all in the masculine vein.

Among DRUMMER's other improvements is the opening of the Leather Fraternity listings to all of our readers. You do not have to be a member of the fraternity to write to a member and you can also put your ads in alongside those of Fraternity members for a nominal cost.

So what do Leather Fraternity members get for their $35 membership? First, a year's subscription to DRUMMER ($25 at the current rate) and a year of ads, plus free forwarding of their own responses. The rest of us send a quarter in with each self-addressed stamped envelope. There are other benefits, too. Send the Fraternity a buck (applicable on your membership) and we'll send you all kinds of information. Better hurry though, DRUMMER's costs and rates are going up, which will increase the price of membership.

In the meantime, if you are not a member and want to run an ad, fill out the form below and multiply your number of words by 25c. THEN CUT THE TOTAL IN HALF! This is a one time deal, but you can buy as many repeats of your ad as you wish at this price. DRUMMER's Unclassified is going to be the biggest collection of person-to-person ads anywhere. It may even get so big that we'll have to classify the damn things!

1,311,7,7,133

1730 DIVISADERO / SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94115

Anyone corresponding with advertisers must comply with all local, state and federal laws. No advertisements accepted from persons under age 21. Drummer Publications will not knowingly accept fraudlent, obscene, offensive or questionable advertising.

Name_

Address ___ City _

State & Zip Code ___

Phone Number _

I declare that I am over 21 yrs. old, and that the data in my ad is true and correct. I understand that no proofs of ad will be supplied to me for my approval and I waive all claims regarding accuracy of reproduction , due to mistakes or technical failures. I understand that Drummer Publications is in no way responsible for any transactions between myself and any persons I contact through their publications.

Signature

You may pay by check or money order.

ALABAMA

ANNISTON. M. Gemini, 42, 5'9", 185. White 6%". Knowledgeable, Heavy bondage, Nodrugs, Box 358.

ALASKA

ANCHORAGE.* S. Capricorn. 25. 6'1". 230. White. Knowledgeable. Professional, understanding, respectful Master seeks well-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 014Z, PHOENIX, S. Leo, 37, 6'2", 180, White, 8", Knowledgeable, Seeks masculine slave to 40, Should be imaginative, versatile. No blood, fats. Box 017Z.

PHOENIX, S. Libra, 36, 6', 175, White, or fats. Box 315.

SCOTTSDALE. SM. Libra. 38. 6'2". 175.

SCOTTSDALE. SM. Libra. 38. 6'2". 175.

White. 6". Knowledgeable. Sincere and imaginative in either role and demands the same from partners. Takes S&M, B&D seriously

ARKANSAS

FORT SMITH. S. Leo. 29, 5'9%". 130. White. 8". Knowledgeable. Sensible, selfish, arrogent S wants true M, experienced and sensuous. Must be small and cut. No fems, role-switchers, parasites, permanent relationships. Box 13

CALIFORNIA

AVALON, SM, Leo / Virgo cusp, 43, 6", 135, Latin, 6%". Novice, Willing to give / sccept most terms in active / no talk scene with butch partner to 45. Must have boat, good build. No fats, seat, body odor, permanent Box 318V. BERKELEY SM. Scorpio, 46, 5'11", 154. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Masculine, good-looking dude with moustache, 41" chest, 31" waist, seeks young well-built companion, pre- ferably Oriental, to develop S&M and bondage roles. Limits respected and expanded with imagination and affection. Photo and details assure prompt reply with same. Box 300X.

BIGGS. M. Cancer. 32, 6', 180, White, 61 / 2" Knowledgeable, Needs Leather Master for life Knowledgeable, Needs Leather Master for life. I love leather and need kinky scenes, mild SAM, BRO, am into WS scot fantasies, humili- ation. I must serve my Master in leather and boots. I am considered good-looking, mas reality is where I'm you bad. Box 081E.

BURBANK, M. Cancer, 35, 5'8", 158, White, 7" cut. Knowledgeable. Good-looking, mascu- line and muscular. Has workroom. Seeks hunky, heiry and hung imaginative Master, 25-45. Into bondage and fantasy trips. Box 250

CAMARILLO. MS. Aquarius. 51. 5'11". 171. White. Knowledgeable. Masculine, prefers slave role and needs punishment from partner over 35. Wallows in dirty sex but has limited tolerance for pain. Box 254S.

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,

HASSIE

DRUMMER'S NEW UNCLASSIFIED / LEATHER FRATERNITY SECTION IS A WHOLE NEW BALLGAME. NOW ANYONE CAN RUN AN AD AND ANY READER CAN ANSWER ONE - TO THE UNCLASSIFIED OR THE LEATHER FRATERNITY! COST IS A MODEST 25c A WORD AND IF YOU WANT TO USE A DRUMMER BOX NUMBER, ADD ANOTHER BUCK FOR US TO FOR-WARD YOUR REPLIES. intelligent. Seeks muscular slaves to 50 for discipline training. Prefer some body hair. Bald a plus. No dirt, drugs, smokers, heavy drinkers. 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. 6%". Novice. Butch, muscular, good- looking, responsive to other's needs and desires. White Wants man-to-man relationship with warm, af- 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, bigheaded cock. uncut preferred. No drugs neaded cock, undut preferred. No drugs, drunks. Box 132R. DANA POINT. M. Leo. 35. 6'2". 185. White. 6%". Novice. Seeks knowledgeable, well-pro- portioned partner into leather, Levis, Western. No fats. Box 186Z3.

GARDEN GROVE, M. Leo. 24, 5'10", 190, GAHDEN GHOVE. M. Leo. 24, 5 10°, 190. White. 5°. Completely inexperienced. Will obey all orders and be dominated by experienced Master 25:50 who wants to be pleased by a passive partner with a virgin ass. No heavy pain, fems. Box 05ZZ6. paint, tents. BOX 052205. M. Pisces, 37. 5°10½". HAWAIIAIN QARDENS, M. Pisces, 37. 5°10½". 165. White. 7½". Knowledgeable, Complete Bondege Master. BOX 051H. HOLLYWOOD. S. Sagittarius. 30. 5°10". 150. White. 7". 001 hand.

MS. Gemini. 38. 6'. 165. White. 7". Novice. Blond, hot body, tight ass, extreme muscle control. Wants goodlooking man into role-switching who knows what he wants and how to get it! No fems, fats. Sox 017Q.

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%". Knowledgeable, Handsome, willting to try out anything with discreet, masculine, trustworthy partner to 45. Tattoos a turn-on; fats, fems, scat, personal dirtiness are tur offs. Box 017S.

HUNTINGTON BEACH. M. Gemini. 41. 5'10's". 160. White. 6". Novice. Good-looking. French scrive, Greek passive to serve trust-worthy, respectful partner to 45. No fats, worthy, respectful 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 partner to 40. No blood, bruises, sever pain, 80x 186P.

LIVE OAK. S. Gemini. 31. 6'. 165. White, 6''. Old hand. Experienced Leather Master, specialist in piercing, titwork, genitorrure, W / S. F. bondage, seeks well-disciplined slave for group scenes with other Leather topmen, or will trade slaves for added experience. Box 219M. 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. Aries, 41, 5'10%", 147, White, 7", Novice, Seeks M to 50 into ass- slapping, heavy tit work, No fems, drunks, heavy drugs. Box 087. LOS ANGELES. S. Libra. 22. 5'10": 145. White. 7". Novice. Stable and responsible. Demands and will reward respect and obedience from submissive, smooth, cut white male, to 25. Box 130Y. 18 to 25. Box 130Y.

LOS ANGELES. S. Capricorn. 32, 5'6". 145. White. 6'%. Knowledgeable. Intelligent and experienced to satisfy young partner with little over No fast. Box 15'8.

LOS ANGELES. S. Libra. 40. 5'10". 155. White. obedient, Box 182.

LOS ANGELES, M. Cancer, 41, 6', 155, White, 7'', Novice, Leather-lover, bike-owner seeks husky, clean-cut CHP or motorcycle cop type to 45, ower 5'11''. Box 185H.

LOS ANGELES, SM. Virgo, 41, 6', 230, White, Completely ins

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 be clean, to 45. Box 308F.

LOS ANGELES. S. Virgo. 34, 61". 168. White. 11". Knowledgeble. Intelligent, imaginative, hunky Master seeks virile, well-endowed partners to 50 into leather, drugs, music, FF. No-Orientals, retheads. Box 450. Orientals, en

9%; Khowledgeaus, Box 040. LOS ANGELES, MS. Sagittarius, 50, 5'9" 140. White, 6%", Knowledgeable, Appreciates and can produce the theatrics necessary to the full pleasure and experience of the scene. No fats, over 40, phony masculinity, excessive hair. Partners should be intelligent conver- hair. Partners should be intelligent conversationalists. 80: 802. cursive. 22: 6111". 180. LOS ANGELES. 8. Modepable. Tough, hot-looking, Lt. boss gets total savice from sub-missive, wild-assed, hungry bootlickers. If they

Votre: / Knowledgeate. Integrinate cowledge to loves it both ways with masculine partner. Beards, moustaches, good build definite turnons. Into L / L, FF, B&D. Not into blood, severe pain, scat. Will consider permanent severe pain, scat. Will relationship. Box 318U.

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%". Novice with strong desire to learn, Prefers masculine bodybuilder type with large cock, Box 050S.

LOS ANGELES. MS. Leo. 42, 6'1", 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. MAYWOOD, S. Aries, 52, 5'9", 145, White, 5", Old hand, Has had laryngectomy, Prefers

MONTEREY, MS. Segittarius, 48, 5'11", 150, White, 7%". Knowledgeable M / Novice S. Imaginative, 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. Segitarius, 41, 54". 138. White, 6%". Novice, Butch, muscular good-looking, responsive to others' needs and desires. Wants man-to-man relationship with warm, affectionate, dominant partner to 45. Should b

OAKLAND. S. Libra. 40. 5'10". 170. White. 6%". Knowledgeable. Experienced, discreet, masculine, good-looking dude, well equipped with toys, seeks slim, submissive partner to 30. Should be clean shaven, clean cut. Box 0576. 052G

OAKVIEW. SM. Capricorn. 44. 6'3". 225. White 6'4". Novice, Virile and versatile, wishes to enjoy sex to the highest possible degree with muscular, mature partner 30-50. No drugs, skinnies. Box 170.

PACIFIC GROVE. S. Virgo. 28. 5'8". 210. White. 6'8". Novice. Interested in finding new slaves under 45 willing to service him and his present slave. No heavy drugs, mutilation, unintelligent people. Box 029.

PALM SPRINGS. M. Leo. 50. 5'10½". 170. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Excellent at "personal service." No drunks, hard drugs, rip-No drunks, hard drugs, rip-offs . Box 318Z.

PALO ALTO. M. Scorpio (Sun, Moon, Venus). 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-proport body for bizarre-but-not-heavy scenes. No fats, fems, drunks. dirty types. Box 050P.

PALO ALTO, MS. Virgo, 44, 5'7", 155, White, 7" knowledgeable, Uninhibited, obedient, Into anal action and W / S. No fems, fats, boozers. Will travel. Box 206.

SACRAMENTO. S. Gemini. 32. 6'2'. 170. White. 6" Novice. Will genuinely consider any fetish or fantsay other than Nazi regalia. Set for B&D, W / S, sax, FF, etc. Will M at times. Slender or muscular, butch or fem, tall or not drugs or cigarette smokers. Box 184.

SACRAMENTO, MS. Cancer, 39, 6'1", 225, White, 6'4", Knowledgeable, Prolonged bondage and training. Box 296A.

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

SAN FERNANDO. M. Cancer. 37, 5'11" 185. White, 6". Completely inexperienced. Chains, tattoos, grease, Box 201.

SAN FRANCISCO. S. Cancer, 38. 5'8", 130. Black, 5½", Novice, Former M wishes to work out S fantasies with inexperienced partner born on the 21st of any month, Body hair a born on the 21st of any month. Body nair, amust. No fems, fats, blonds. Box 032. SAN FRANCISCO. MS. Scorplo. 31. 6'1". 165. White. 6'4". Novice. Obedient, trusting, willing to experience with limits. Would consider S role ienced S. N 45. Box 084.

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 3144

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.

SANFRANCISCO. M. Pisces. 30, 5'10", 150, White, 8". Novice, Macho appearing, apprecia-wine . b. Novice. Macho appearing, apprecia- tive submissive with small hairy ass and tattoos wants hunky, masculine, hairy partner to 45 who will respect limits. No fems, bottoms. Box 318C.

SAN FRANCISCO. S. Virgo. 39, 6'2", 175, White, 6". Knowledgeable, Sadistic and perverted for scenes in tight black leather. Hooded verted for scenes in tight black leather. Hooded salvefs] wented to give head and more to this motorcycle-riding, leather-crotch man. Slaves should be well-stocked with LUST and must be French active. Greek passive with a with codpiece pants, leather breeches, high boots, hoods, gloves. Have BMW motorcycle. No pushy bottoms need apply. Box 184F.

SAN FRANCISCO, SM. Sagittarius, 55, 5'11" 180. White, 5". Knowledgeable, Riding breeches fetishist seeks same to 35. Fetish most important . No fems, women's clothing. Box 205P

SAN FRANCISCO. M. Gernini. 27. 6°. 150. White. 68". Novice, Will supply Master with sensuous mouth and ass. Eager to be trained to served. Marts to be served. Marts tong scene with bondage and humiliation, preferably from

SAN FRANCISCO, MS. Virgo, 31, 5'8", 155 White. 6%". Novice. Mesculine, good top or bottom to please the most discriminating. Partner must respect limits, be clean, masculine, versatile, under 40. No fems, fats. Box 050Q.

SAN FRANCISCO, SM. Scorpio. 46, 5'21". 154, White, 7". Knowledgeable, Masculine, 154. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Masculine, good-looking dude with moustache, 41" chest, 31" wists, seeks young well-built companion, to develop S&M and bondage roles. Limits respected and expanded with imagination and affec reply with same. Box 300X.

SAN FRANCISCO. SM. Gemini. 23. 5'11". 150. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Enjoys giving and receiving rough sex with clean-cut, straight appearing partner to 40. Should have good body, be well-endowed. No fems, fats, red heads heads. Box 314M.

SAN FRANCISCO. M. Virgo. 46, 6', 165, White, 6". Knowledgeable, Well-trained as boot lover and uniform worshiper craving heavy physical and mental obedience training under arrogant, demanding, hirsute, trustworthy disci- plinarian. No scat, blood, permanent damage. Box 377.

SAN FRANCISCO, M. Cancer, 28, 6'2", 175, White, 6'4", Knowledgeable, Seeks old hand 35-50, over 6', under 200, Tattoos a plus. Box

ANA, SM. Cancer. 29. 5'8", 130. 5'8". Knowledgeable. Good-looking, me man seeks well-hung, trim studies of the second limit-expanding sessions. Look-No scat, blood, bruises, brutality. Main is bondage and C / B torture, but will almost anything else, Send informative and name your game. Photo. Box 380.

MAN OAKS, SM, Libra, 35, 5'6", 130. artice. 7" 7". Novice. Seeks knowledgeable, under- des partner under 50 who respects limits. 50 Eps. Box 181T.

WYVALE, MS. Virgo. 30. 6', 180, White. Imaginative, masculine, intelligent, 30. No W / S, scat, heavy drugs, permanent madinative. Box 085.

Novice, Dominant, demands obedience Novice. Dominant, demands obedience

Knowledgeable. Heavy action man with partner who is sure of himself and knows he wants, what he likes and what the see will be. Box 301,

LOS ANGELES, SM. Scorpio. 28. 6'2" white 6%". Novice, Adventurous, strong, ement-oriented, seeking understanding, et. affectionate partner to 40, Beards, bair, muscles a turn-on. Caucasian only, no fets. Box 310.

CODLAND HILLS. M. Pisces. 40. 5'9\".

White. 8'". Enjoys C&B action, catheters, serious sex by controlling Master.

When the serious sex by controlling Master.

COLORADO

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

DENVER, MS. Scorpio, 28, 6'3", 195, White, Completely inexperienced. Prefers partner 28 for mutual fulfillment of fantasies with nom to learn or who will teach well, respect- ing limits. Also wants to correspond with / meet into wrestling movies, etc. Travels ers some. Box 150F.

DAHO SPRINGS, MS. Libra. 43. 5'9", 147, mite. 7½". Knowledgeable. Masculine, well-built construction man will do anything to sa-all advantage of man will do anything to say a Master, knows and respects limits but all experiment. Has fantasy-trip location and aupment for sessions with masculine, sincere, say-hung guy to 45. Prafers rugged, outdoors

CONNECTICUT

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

LEBANON, MS. Sagittarius, 36, 6'1", 190, White, 7", Knowledgeable, Imaginative, muscu-ar , attractive, heavily into bondage and most scenes. Seeks Master or slave to 45 with good body. Box 300.

Tystic. S. Aries. 50s. 5'10". 175. White. Old hand. Experienced top man will train exually uninhibited, honest partner to 50. To drugs, phonies, dullards, fats, fems. Box 329

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

PUTNAM, MS. Libra, 29, 5'8", 135, White, Inexperienced . Clean and experimental, seeking introduction to leathersex / bondage from sensible , discreet partner to 40. Box 140M,

STAMFORD, SM. virgo, 26, 5'7", 158, White. B'4". Knowledgeable, Gives slave what he needs Anowhedgeane. Gives save what he needs with care and responsibility. Prefers bottom. Seeks partner 35-50 for give-and-take relation-nip, possibly permanent. Must be mature, responsible, capable of feeling as well as acting

WEST HAVEN, M. Capricorn. 21, 5'10". 140. Chinese. 6", Knowledgeable, Obedient, willing to learn. French active, Greek passive. Will wear restraints, harnesses, clamps, etc. Seeks knowledgeable, dominant, understanding partner with own living quarters and equip- ment. 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, Levis. No fats, slobs, under 5'6". Box 062H.

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA

WASHINGTON, SM. Sagittarius, 33, 5"". 130. White, 10", Knowledgeable, Very inter- ested in a variety of sexual experiences and willing to try them with mature, uninhibited partner, 45 to 50 preferred. No fems, fats, long hair, body odor. Box 084D,

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

WASHINGTON, SM. Leo. 42. 5'10". 165. White. 6". S&M story-writer anxious to correspond with guys willing to tell him about their hot times. Interested mainly but not solely in real-life group scenes: frat initiations, brig / stockade brutality, prison reform, military interrogation, hazing, etc. Box 01 not tary interrogation, nazing, etc. Box 017M. WASHINGTON. M. Seglitarius, S4. 5'65's. 182. White, 6". Novice. Reliables being sub- servient to decent, good-looking, mature, well-educated, well-endowed Master who is sincera an

WASHINGTON, S. Pisces, 35, 5'10". 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, attractive stud seeks muscular, well-endowed partner. Other bodybuilders, Marines preferred. 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, longhairs , Box 009 hairs. Box 009.

HALEAH. S. Sagittarius. 32. 5'11". 180.

White. 3". Knowledgeable. Will provide skillful application of pain / pleasure and fulfill fantasies of muscular, deep-throated partner to 40 into long sessions. No f Box 136.

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.

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 ferns, amateurs. Box 1251.

MIAMI. SM. Scorpio, 37, 5'9%", White, Knowledgeable . Heavy oral orientation and exhibi- tionism desired. Box 047.

MIAMI. M. Aries. 49. 5'9%". 155. White. 8%". Knowledgeable. Slave desires hunky, hairy black or white studs to visit when in town. Gay Masters or swinging straights. Masculine , sweaty, funky, hairy bodies a turn-on. No fems. Box 059.

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 be lean, well-endowed, masculine biker. No fems holics, drugs. Box 280.

SATELLITE BEACH. S. Virgo. 47. 6'3\s''. 175.

White. 7''. Knowledgoable. Will provide any experience 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 lals, limitations. Seeks partner 30 to 55 to entertain, Travels frequently to Call- jia Texas Florida able fornia, Texas, Florida, major Eastern cities. No fornia, 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.

IDAHO

BOISE SM. Taurus. 42. 6'1". 160. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Tolerant, patient, intelligent, will respect limits fully of slender, light-complected partner to 50. Should have little or no body hair, be into suspension and/ 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, 6%". Completely inexperienced. Imaginative, willing to experiment with virile, good-looking, butt Master 18 to 40. No drunks, drugs, dirt, heavy S&M. Box 070Z.

CHICAGO, M. Cancer, 43. 5'11%", 179. 7%" CHICAGO, M. Cancer. 43. 5'11\footnote{"179. 78"." White. Knowledgeable Masculine, Lesther Levi, uncut, round-bunned, ex-Marine pilot needs very masculine, masculine, sustrue, experienced S-type top-man for expansion of lim and Canada, Box 370.

CHICAGO, S. Aries. 27, 6', 180. White, 6',''. Knowledgeable. Demands and will reward respect and obedience from submissive partner to 35. Possible permanent relationshi balds, fats, fems, TVs, drunks. Box 181P. hip. No

CHICAGO, M. Gemini, 28, 5'8%", 150, White.

Knowledgeable. Needs to serve and be humilisted by assertive, attractive partner under 40. Box 300Y.

CHICAGO, SM. Capricorn. 37. 6'6". 220. White. 7". Strong S / Novice M. Masculine. Enjoys giving pain. As M. moderate pain a turn-on with very masculine partner. Should be tall, well-built, experimental, under 46, have good s fems, drunks, Box 205T.

CHICAGO, M. Capricorn, 47, 5'6", 160, White, 6". Knowledgeable, True M into heavy 8&D has high pain tolerance. Seeks knowledgeable, masculine partner to 40 who knows what he's doing. No role-switching, fats, 8ox 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, 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. 7%", Knowledgeable, Weightlifter with an un- derstanding and tolerance for pain seeks athletic , well-built, hairy partner to 40. Should be into bondage and rough sex but know when to No fems, fats, drunks, cigarette smokers, stop. Box 180X.

CHICAGO, SM. Scorpio, 38, White, 8", Knowledgeable, A 175. 5111 White. 8". Knowledgeable. Adaptable, ex- perimental. Partner must be interested in in mutual pleasure. Big balls, hairy chests a plus. Boy 1815

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. 7½", 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 2284

CHICAGO, S. Cancer, 32, 5'11", 160, White Knowledgeable. Experienced Master with 6½". 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. 8". Knowledgeable. Into leathersex with masculine partner over 30 who is REALLY the Master. No long hair, fems. Box 294V15.

MAYWOOD. S. Gemini, 45. 5'11", 190. White. 8%". Completely inexperienced. Seeks clean, discreet partner. Box 142.

SPRINGFIELD. MS. Aries. 51, 5'8", 170, White, 5\%", Knowledgeable, Wants to meet muscular hairy men for bondage, 30-50 preferred . Box 335.

INDIANA

FORT WAYNE, S. Taurus, 37, 5'11", 157, White: 7%". Old hand, Masculine, dominant, levelheaded, athletic guy with experience in a variety of activities seeks trim, well-proportioned, emotionally stable partner to 40 with reasonable endurance for pain. No fems, fats, heavy drugs. Box 369P.

GARY. MS. Aquarius, 25. 6'2". 230. White. 5%". Completely inexperienced. Wants to be taught to take almost anything and everything 5%" from experienced Master. Exceptionally willing to learn. No drunks, heavy drugs, dehumaniza- tion. Box 157.

INDIANAPOLIS, M. Aquerius, 46, 5'10", 190. White 6%". Completely inexperienced. Has high tolerance for pain and is eager to learn from knowledgeable Caucasian Master to 50. Box 063.

INDIANAPOLIS S Libra 35 6' 150 White 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. No chickens, beginners or those unable to follo

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, 6'4" Novice, Firm, understanding Master seeks cleen, 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.

KENTUCKY

COVINGTON, S. Virgo, 35, 6'4", 190. White, 7%", Old hand, Well-built stud into hot, sweaty trips, oil. Well-built, white only to 45. pain Box 153H

LEXINGTON, S. Leo. 39, 6'1", 197, White. 7". Knowledgeable, understanding. Partner must be experienced, smaller, straight appearing, educated, discreet, without conscience conflict in these and related matters, over 25. 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, 74°. Novice, Firm but gentle, understanding of partner's likes / dislikes. Seeks similar into role-switching. No fems, drunks. Box 130Z.

NEW ORLEANS, S. Gemini. 44, 6'1". 195, White, 6". Knowledgeable. Prefers young [21-30], good-looking proportionately built Ms who are totally submissive, obedient, respectful and willing to perform as directed. No fems, fa Box 305.

NEW ORLEANS. M. Scorpio. 32, 5'7", 140, White. 8½". 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

ADELPHI / HYATTSVILLE, M. Aquarius. 6'6". 235. Black. 10". Novice. Bodybuilder seeks knowledgeable bodybuilder Master who 6'6" respects limits and will train, Under 45, white preferred. Must have sincere understanding of Leathersex, S&M. Box 227L.

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

LANHAM. SM. Sagittarius. 36. 5'9". 180. White. 6%". 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 en-

durance. 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%". 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.

BOSTON, S. Gemini, 31, 6'2", 155, White, 8' Knowledgeable. Seeks fully submissive M to 35 willing to give himself over to natural, satisfying, highly sexed S. Must have good ass and know how to use it. No involvements. Box 070. BOSTON, M. Cancer. 29, 5'7", 140, White, 5", Novice, Good-looking, well-built, eager to please and learn from firm but gentle leather-master over 32. No one fat or unclean. Box 153A.

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 public shaving and being owned. WASPS especially welcome, discretion assured, long-term relation- ship possible. Box 253,

BOSTON, SM. Scorpio, 47, 6', 170, White, 8" Knowledgeable. Hunky, experienced.Imagina- tive stud seeks partners under 50 into 8&D, W / S. G / T. 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 partner to 30. Must be clean-cut, relatively hairless, discreet, presentable. No drugs, fats, dirty or sloppy types. Box 068C.

BOSTON, M. Leo. 40, 5'7", 150, White, 7' Completely inexperienced. Loves the mal male body and yearns to worship and be humiliated. Gives good body rubs, baths. Will wait on taller, heavier partner over 35. No scents, slobs, shy types. Box 125K10.

BOSTON, M. Leo. 27, 5'11", 178, White, 8" Completely inexperienced. Quiet, obedient and willing to be used and taught the finer acts of bondage by knowledgeable, experimental, well-endowed partner to 35. No fems, fats. Box 19248. 183M.

LEOMINSTER. SM. Taurus, 28, 6', 165, Black. 7". Completely inexperienced. Would like to master large, discreet partner to 40. Should have good testicles, body hair, muscular body. No drugs, fems, fats. Box 023M.

LEOMINSTER. MS. Pisces. 38. 5'9½". 160. White. 6". Completely inexperienced but imaginative. Understanding, into bondage. Seeks clean, intelligent partner. Box 185N. but

WORCESTER. S. Libra. 36, 617, 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. 6½". 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. Pisces. 25. 5'11". 170. White. 6". Completely Inexperienced. Requires train- ing by experienced S under 35. Box 045. BERKLEY, S. Virgo, 33. 5'6", 135. White, 8%". Knowledgeable. Firm Master demands obedient experimental Slave. No balds, fats, 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! Seaks tall, handsome, well-endowed partners to 40 into Levis, leathe western. No fats, fems, phonies, redhead redheads. Must be clean, in good health. Box 1850.

DETROIT AREA. SM. Gemini. 27. 5'11. 185. White. 5'2". Novice. Leather / bondage enthusiast digs leathermen, biters, uniforms. Will do anything to or for a real uniformed leawman. Prefer partner willing to switch roles. Discr Box 051M

DETROIT, SM. 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, well-built. No fem, insensitive persons. Box 154M

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

HILLSDALE, SM. Pisces, 30, 5'10", 150, White, Completely inexperienced, Imaginative and intelligent, seeks discreet, educated Cau- casian partner to 33. No redheads, fats, dirty or uncouth types. Box 226.

LIVONIA. M. Virgo, 58, 5'10". 185. White. Old hand. Compulsive masochist has been y trained as animal slave to serve Master 6" fully who will horeswhip him as work animal. Must be masculine. No public humiliation, full dress, excessive material demands, leather Box 348

MARQUETTE, SM. Leo. 28, 6'1", 180, White,

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. Box 188F.

Box 188F. MIDLAND, S. Taurus, 25. 6'. 185. White, 65'." Knowledgeable, Young, aggressive, vertatile, will try anything at least once with butch M to 45. Moustache, beard, hairy belly turnors, Into cock, ball, ass work. No

Box 261

MINNESOTA

NEW PRAGUE, SM. Pisces. 40, 5' 11". 200. NEW PRAGUE. SM. Pisces. 40, 5 11, 20. White. 7". Completely inexperienced. Wants to learn from and seek new pleasures with muscular, clean-cut, powerful yet gentle Master to 40, No hippie or dirty types, heavy drinkers or

Novice, Eager and willing to please firm, experienced, discreet, understanding Master to 45 who will respect limits. No fems, role- switching. Box 298.

MISSOURI winduUNI COLUMBIA, SM. Gernini, 25, 5'11", 165. White, 5½", Novice, Leather / bondage enthusiast seeks straight-appearing partner who discreet, will switch roles. Bikers, uniforms a plus. Wants contacts in Michigan, Indian,

BOX UD IM.

KANSAS CITY. S. Aries. 36. 5'11" 190.

White. 8". Knowledgeeble. Intelligent, imaginative. Seeks candidates interested in a total involvement who are truly submissive and enjoy pain, humiliation, discipline. Travels frequently to Omaha, Minneapolis, San Francisco, D.C., Dallas, Houston, Detroit, Atlanta, Denver, New

Dallas, Houston, Detroit, Atlanta, Denver, New Orleans, St. Louis, Salt Lake City. No one insincere, indiscreet. Box 2309. KANSAS CITY. M. Aquarius. 28. 5'11". 175. White. 6". Knowledgeable. Imaginative, willing to ty new

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 cowboy / leather gear, No fems. Box 230.

NEW JERSEY

CHANGEWATER, SM, Cancer, 22, 6'4", 150, White, 10%", Knowledgeable, Has played both roles, eager and curious to learn what he may have missed with knowledgeable, imaginative totes, eager and curtous to tearn writer te 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. 5'9%". 155. White. Novice. Seeks training from patient partner . Box 294W.

PRINCETON, MS. Aries, 42, 5'11", 190, White, 7". Novice, Virile and versatile, wishes to enjoy sex to highest degree with masculine partner to 45. No hard drugs, heavy drinking. partner to Box 318W.

BOX 316W. RANDOLPH. S. Scorpio. 36. 6'2", 180. White. 6'%" 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 291

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

NEW YORK

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

BLOOMINGBURG, S. Capricorn, 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- vice, Sir; total commitment. Box 017.

BROOKLYN. M. Aquarius. 33. 6'. 170. White/ Cherokee Indian. 7's''. Uncut. Knowledgeable. Smooth, body-building, talented, tight ass, slave needs domineering Master to 40 over 6', hairy, hung. Into B&D. No role-switching, s soat, shaving. Box 122.

BROOKLYN. S. Aquarius. 25. 6'3". 190.

White. 6". Novice. Dominant dude seeks part-of / the / state [×8+] blacks Box 052H.

ILION. MS. Gemini. 47. 5'8". 130. White. Completely inexperienced. At best when 5% 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 fantasies with masculine, discreet, clean, unselfish partner to 48. No fems, fats, fr fakes, Box 185R, NEW YORK, S. Taurus, 33, 5'8", 160, White save / to / 8 [×9+]

8". Knowledgeable. Submissive and versatile with high pain tolerance. Loyal and anxious to serve trustworthy, hairy, masculine, loving S over 45 who will encourage new physical and psychological levels. No scat, phonies, red- heads, amateurs, verbal abuse, one-night stands. heads, amateurs, verbal abuse, one-night stands. Box 328. NEW YORK, M. Capricorn, 5'8''. 200. White.

6". Knowledgeable. Desires moderately ag- gressive young 5 for humiliation, some bondage and torture, W / S, scat, boot-licking, etc. Stable action with manure especially desirable. Black 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 flexible , strong, well-endowed with well-defined ble, strong, well-endowed with well-defined legs. No ego trippers, psychos, freeloaders. Box 023P. NEW YORK. SM. Virgo. 44. 6'. 190. White. 7'', Novice. Will do anything with hairy, butch partner. No permanent damage, no f 079F

NEW YORK, SM. Leo. 44. 6'. 180. White. 9" Old hand. Into heavy role-playing able to switch. Discreet, respects limits. Wants partner to 55 for week-day scenes locally, any time out. town. No permanent relationships. Box 136M

NEW YORK, M. Virgo, 33, 5'11". 198, White, 6½". 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 serve you well, please! No prissies, nervous Ivy Leaguers, drug users, heavy drinkers, Age, race, looks unimportant. Box 156Z.

NEW YORK, M. Cancer, 40, 6'2", 210. White.

252R

NEW YORK, SM, Gemini, 38, 6'4", 190, white, 7". Novice eager to learn both roles from knowledgeable partner to 40. Must be clean with good body. No fats, fems, dirt, drugs. Box CA-344.

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

059G. 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. Leo, 44, 6'1", 175, White, 8". Knowledgeable, Police domination and discipline and bondage with leather gear. Will build pain tolearance in Slave, Limits respected. Box 127.

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

YORK, SM. Virgo. 26. 6'. 180. White. NEW 7". Knowledgeable, Sober dude gets off on mutual enjoyment with over-sexed, level- headed partner under 55. No fems, youths. Box 168K.

NEW YORK, M. Aquarius, 36, 5'6". 130 White. 7". Novice. Into domination, humilia- tion, W / S from masculine, clean-cut, dominant but not unkind partner 27 to 50. No brutality, sadism for its own sake. Must be physically clean. Box 220K.

NEW YORK, MS. Gemini, 24, 6'1", 155, White, 7". Knowledgeable, Sexual animal ex-White , 7". Knowledgeable, Sexual animal ex- pects to be blindfolded during strap or whip scenes, forbidden ejaculation. Needs permis- sion to touch cock or piss. Wants dog slave scenes, bondage, eating. S should be very creative, capable of total domination and humiliation, into far-out Bishop-style restraint numilation, into far-out banop-style restraint and discipline. Younger with experience a definite plus, but no one over 45. Should be well-endowed and out. No permanent marks or scars, fems, fats. Box 12513.

NEW YORK, SM. Aries, 38. 5'11", 165. White, 7". Novice. Willing, level-headed, trustworthy, has understanding of anatomy and physiology. Seeks same in knowledgeable partner to 55. Uncut a plus. No fats, freeloaders, people

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

NEW YORK, M. Taurus, 48, 6', 145, White, 6' Knowledgeable. Wants relationship with clean, intelligent man with leather tastes. No hardcore

S&M, drugs, fats, blacks. Box 252C. NYACK. M. Leo. 30, 5'8", 150. White. 6". Novice. Has sincere desire to please demanding partner to 40. No fats, dirt, handicaps, balds, glasses, Box 12515.

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

070H.

WOODBURY, LONG ISLAND. SM. Taurus. 43, 5'9". 172. White. 6". Knowledgeable. Trustworthy, responsible, intelligent, creative and fully aware of risks and dangers. Wishes to\nufulfill M fantasies with masculine, discre freaks, fakes, Box 185R.

Freaks, takes. Box 189H.

YORKTOWN HEIGHTS. S. Sagittarius. 42. 6'. 155. White. 7's.". Knowledgeable. Gentle yet firm, will respect limits of quiet, obedient slave over 30. Can travel, will assist older Masters. Possible l

NORTH CAROLINA

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

Novice. Dominant but considerate leather- lover and bike owner seeks sincere, honest, discreet partner to 40. No fems, fats, phonies, dopers Box 1855.

RALEIGH AREA, SM. Cancer. 44. 6'1½". 195. White. Experienced, Domination without physical pain. Digs wearing partner's clothes and boots. Box 156.

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

OHIO

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

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

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

CLEVELAND. SM. Sagittarius. 30, 5'11", 152. White. 6". Novice. Former slave seeks respectful partner to 45 for W / S, light B&D, nude games. Should be neat and discreet. No fats, slobs. Box 316.

CLEVELAND. S. Libra. 29, 5'11" 140. White. 9". Knowledgeable. Highly sexed, well- built, educated Master will guarantee satisfying sessions and respect limits of clean, healthy

good-looking partner to 45. Should have suphisticated equipment. No fems, fats, loose mes. Box 152Z

CLEVELAND. MS. Aries. 46. 5'10", 155. ite. 6%". Novice. French active, Greek pas-Wants to please large, well-built partner to No fats, heavy S&M, B.O. Box 017V.

CLEVELAND, M. Libra / Scorpio. 45, 5'9". White, 6". Novice, Wants to serve big, White. 6". Novice. Wants to serve big, Master 30 to 50. Some experience, but ing to learn more, Box 318F.

Novice. Will please and respect limits of arty, muscular partner. Must be clean, any preferred. No fems. Box 197.

COLUMBUS, SM. Aquarius, 46, 5'8", 143, 7". Novice bordering on knowledge of / the / control [×9+] Box 234.

DLUMBUS, SM. Taurus, 25, 5'9", 183, White. anight appearing butch types. No fems, fats, seebs, chicken. Box 365,

LAKEWOOD, MS, Libra, 35, 5'8½", 140, the 6" Completely inexperienced. Willing and interested in learning from patient, well-bit teacher under 40. No drunks, hard drugs, tens, fats. Box 130,

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

ENTOR MS. Libra. 42, 6'2". 230. White, Knowledgeable. Big, hairy, well-built roged type wishes new friendships for mutual ex, sensible B&D, W / S. Have equipment. No sensible B&D, W / S. Have equipment. pain, Box 318.

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

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

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

OREGON

MEDFORD, MS. Aquarius, 24, 6'5", 195. White. Knowledgeable, Open to new ideas and completely willing to serve discreet, butch-acting and appearing white partner 30-45. Should be over 6' tall. No fems, fats, hippies, drunks, heavy drugs. Box 060.

PORTLAND. S. Leo. 34. 6'1". 155. White. 5%' 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 assured by persistent, level-headed Master. Massages available, sauna included. Partners MUST be clean, should be stocky, husky, muscular, hairy types 21 to 60. Does anyone share

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

Knowledgeable, Broadminded, excited in her role with hairy, masculine partner to No fats, lack of respect. Box 295. either

MAIN LINE PHILADELPHIA. MS. Leo. 47. 574". 145. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Seeks sincere, straight-appearing Master 27 to 50. No fats or blacks. Moustaches a real turn-on. Box 296G

PHILADELPHIA, M. Cancer. 46, 6'1", 146, White, 6", Completely inexperienced, Eager to please white or Oriental Master who will respect and expand limits. No drunks, smokers. × 062W

PHILADELPHIA, S. Aquarius, 46, 5'9", 165 White, 7". Knowledgeable, Masculine S seeks, Munder 35 into S&M, B&D, W / S, oil, Leather / Levis, anyl. Send photo and phone number with respectful letter. Box 209.

PHILADELPHIA. S. Virgo / Scorpio. 42, 5'7". 160. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Italian stellion, muscular and hairy, experienced to understand limits in all areas. Master seeks mascular line, 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. chains, bike and western leather toy Send letter of submission with photo and phone. No bullshit. Box 052. PHILADELPHIA. M. Libra. 49. 5'10%",140.

White, 8". Completely inexperienced. Willing and eager to learn from refined, well-built partner to 50, Box 052F.

PHILADELPHIA. S. Capricorn. 26. 6'3". 180. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Good-looking body-builder with strong, creative personality seeks willing, trusting partner to 35. No fats, drugs, back talk, sloppiness. Box 318K. back talk, sloppiness, Box 31cs., PHILADELPHIA. S. Libra, 40, 6'3", 165, White. 9". Novice, Has assumed slave role for White. 9" slave limits and desires. 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. White. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Imaginative, 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 guaran- teed! Box 227G.

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 25. Into FF, group sex. No fems, drunks. Box 050R. PITTSBURGH. M. Virgo. 60. 6'. 165. White.

7½". Old hand, Thirty years' experience in first class servitude. Not into heavy S&M but can provide young slaves for Masters' stronger desires. Box 205G.

READING, SM. Cancer, 46, 6', 160, White, 6", Novice, Enjoys bondage, Respects limits, Dominant , but will switch for right partner. Must be cut. Box 0518

WILKES-BARRE, S. Cancer, 40, 6', 170, 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 and order Will train willing beginners. No fems, needs fats. Box 055

RHODE ISLAND

MANVILLE. SM. Virgo. 28. 5'7". 135. White. 7½". Knowledgeable. Guarantees good time for masculine S or M, mid-30s to 45. Piss OK, no scat, will not be whipped. No fems, fats, redheads. Box 023N.

SOUTH CAROLINA

CHARLESTON, M. Leo. 35, 6', 155, White, 6½". Knowledgeable. Prefers motorcycle rider who wears skintight leathers, high boots and 61 / 4" codpiece pants, one who wears chaps and boots for sex and like leather hoods. Enjoys Western scene. No fems, fats, heavy drugs. Box 222.

TENNESSEE

TENIVERSE: CHATTANOOGA, SM. Pisces. 45. 5'10½". 200. White. 7". Old hand. Versatile. Into enemas, creative bondage and toys with genuine honest partner to 55. Box 134. CHATTANOOGA. S. Aquarius. 31. 5'11".

CHATTANOOGA. S. Aquarius. 31. 5'11". 155. White. 6". Novice. Well-taught Master 155. White. 6". Novice: Weil-raught wassus-seeks partner under 40 close to area or able to travel. No fats, excessive body hair. Box 01725. CHATTANOOGA. M. Leo. 30. 5"9". 165. White. 6". Novice. Leather / boot fetishist wil 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.

MEMPHIS, MS. Aquarius, 37, 6'2". 180 White, 6'4". Novice. Travels extensively. Wi experiment under dominant partner. Box 140. 180 Will SIGNAL MOUNTAIN. SM. Aquarius, 55. 6'5". 230. White. 5". Old hand. Seeks a true masochist who wants and needs to feel pain to limits. No drugs, drunks, blacks, chicken. Roy 219. Box 218.

TEXAS

DALLAS, SM. Cancer, 35, 5'11", 195, White, 7%". Knowledgeable, Hairy muscular, big-booted biker desires experienced man with good hands. Trees accepted. Box 017R

DALLAS, S. Aries, 42, 5'8", 130, White, 7% Old hand. Handsome stud respects limits. No fats. Must be masculine appearing, acting. Box 049.

DALLAS, S. Pisces, 33, 6', 170, White, 9\%'', Old hand. Hes 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 numb

DALLAS, SM. Pisces, 5'91 / 4", 160, White, 7", Knowledgeable, Leather / uniform enthusiast. 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, Levis, leather, bondage, mature, into bikes. Box 059D.

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. 65". Knowledgeable. Totally uninhibited to serve completely masculine, experienced Master to 35. Own quarters, game room a plus. Generous body hair a turn-on. No dirt, fats, heavy d

HOUSTON, SM, Sagittarius, 35, 5'7", 135, White, 6'%", Knowledgeable, Tattooed, Re-White 65". Knowledgeable, Tattooed. Respected in both roles Uninhibited, creative, dedicated and committed to partners into tattoos, piercing, shaving, leather, rubber. Must be extermely submissive but versatile. Box 318X.

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

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

VIRGINIA

ALEXANDRIA, M. Scorpio, 24, 6', 165, White, Knowledgeable, Masculine, semi-muscular, M wants to serve S stud into police uniforms , boots, britches, domination Over 27 preferred. No drunks, blacks. Box 125K2. ALEXANDRIA. SM. Aries. 30. 5'11'. White. 7½''. Knowledgeable. Marine a sharing new and mutually enjoyable 175 enjoys enjoyable periences with attractive, intelligent M to 35. Blond, large endowment, hairless body turn-on. No one selfish or inflexible. Box 151

NORFOLK, SM. Aries, 40, 5'8", 160, White,

Knowledgeable, Good-looking and exper- ienced with thick endowment. Seeks affec- tionate, unselfish, considerate partner. Box

1817

1612.

RICHMOND. S. Leo. 45. 6'1". 175. White. Brown hair, blue eyes. 8" cut. Harley rider, excele cop into high boots, breeches, cycle cop uniforms, L / L, truckers, horses, W / S, J / O, light S&M. Boot lover, Business necessi phone get mine, Box 400.

WASHINGTON

TACOMA, SM. Capricorn, 37, 6'2%", 190. White. 7". Novice wants to learn both roles from clean, knowledgeable partner. Owns Harley and prefers bike owner. No fems, fats. Box 185G2.

WISCONSIN

GLEN HAVEN. M. Leo. 51, 5'9", 160, White. 6". Knowledgeable, Serious, well-educated, ex- perienced M likes long, active sessions and will try almost anything with strong, imaginative, calm, trustworthy S who respects limits. Must be real man. Box 115.

KENOSHA, SM, Gemini, 45, 5'9", 145, White, 6%", Knowledgeable, Will satisfy wants and needs of unselfish, sensitive partner over 30. Pubic shaving important, Box 185W.

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

MANITOWOC. SM. Aquarius. 28, 5'7". 150. White. 7". Novice. Mean, bearded stud seeks available contacts to 24 with nice ass, at least 6' Nobody too involved in gay scene. Box 062K

MANITOWOC. SM. Leo. 32, 5'6", 140. White. 7%". Knowledgeable. Masculine dude into FF, W / S, orgies seeks cute, bearded, long-haired types. No one too pushy or over 45. Box 317L. MILWAUKEE. MA. Capricorn. 42. 6'4%". 210. White. 6". Knowledgeable. Fifteen years as a slave has taught him to enjoy both sides with intelligent partner 25-60. No fats. Box 294V85

NEW MUNSTER, M. Gemini, 38, 6'1". 175 White. 7". Knowledgeable. Married straight but will bend to will and desires of understanding partner to 45 who can appreciate the feelings of isolation of a gay Leatherman feelings of isolation of a gay Leatherman who's also married. Black, married a plus. Box 052F5.

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

AUSTRALIA

ZAST SYDNEY, N.S.W. M. Sagittarius. 33. 5'7". 134. White, 6½". Knowledgeable. Will do best to please Master, willing to try new ideas and scenes with pleasant, positive S to 35. No fats, disrespectful of limits. Visiting San Fran- cisco and Denver in October '77. Box 071.

LINDEN PARK, SOUTH AUSTRALIA. M. Cancer. 44, 6'. 160. White. 7". Knowledge-able. Seeks knowledgeable pertner. Age, endowment, etc. not important. Box 157W.

MELBOURNE, VICTORIA, A. Taurus, 36 MELBOURNE, VICTORIA, A. TBURS, 30. 58". 154. White. 7". Knowledgeable, Turned on by breeches, boots, leathers. Wants correspondence with breeched, booted leather guys. Cops a bonus. Box 062.

BELGIUM

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 con- sequences and whose final aims are mutual and refined pleasure. Seeks intelligent, good- looking, imaginative partner to 45 who will switch roles under right conditions. Travels frequently. No dirtiness, stupidity. Box 313.

CANADA

CALGARY, ALBERTA. SM. Cancer. 31. 5'8%". 135. White. 6%". Novice. Seeks clean, anally oriented partner in general area to 45. Thoughtful, versatile, respects limits. No fems, fats, heavy drinkers. Box 332.

EDMONTON, ALBERTA, S. Cancer, 30, 5'6", 130, White, 8½", 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 service and please Leather Master, 1nto 8&D, W&S. Black a real turn-on. No fems, fats. Box 0481…

VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA SM. Pisces, 57, 5'7", 135, White, 6", Completely inexperienced, Has endless staying power and wants partners 18-48 who appreciate their bodies. No real cruelty, role-playing, Canto- nese. Should be butchy and well-built, Box 475

WEST VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA. 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" 155. White. 6". Experienced. Bearded, masculine, lean and hard, into all scenes light and heavy, especially with husky and / or hairy partner. Scene more important than looks. 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 0668. 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. Slender or muscular guys 21-35 only. Box 080. 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 be licked and sucked constantly by boot-slaves on the big, sweaty, smelly feet of cycle cops, firemen, SS boot-Masters, bikers, spurred rodeo cowboys, fishermen, road and construction workers. Keep a slave plenty busy. Put his tongue and mouth to work on your Masterful 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. Bryx 181M. abuse. No Box 181M.

MONTREAL, QUEBEC. MS. Sagittarius. 26. 5'10". 165. White. Novice. Seeks Leathermaster who will slap, spank, pierce and humiliate. Blond preferred, to 35. No hustlers. Box 227K

Box 227K. MONTREAL, QUEBEC. M. Virgo. 44, 5'7'. 140. White. 7". Knowledgeable. Will satisfy his Master's sexual whims and fantasies. Breeches and boots a turn-on. No domestic slavery, drunks, liars. Box 313X.

MONTREAL, QUEBEC. S. Aries. 30, 5'11". 160. White. 9". Old hand. Will respect and expand limits of willing slave to 40 who likes 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 types Box 265

ENGLAND

ISLE OF MAN. M. Segittarius. 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 bondage, Box 152T.

LONDON. S. Aquarius. 47. 5'9". 175. White. 7". Old hand. Must be able to meet partner with similar enjoyment of the S&M experience. Occasionally travels to New York, Maryland, D.C., California. No scat. Box 149.

LONDON, M. Gemini, 40, 6', 150, White, 7%'', Knowledgeable, Seeks heavy rear action with masculine, well-endowed partner. No fats, scat. Box 297.

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's". 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, pre- ferably biker, to 35. Must like travelling. Box 028.

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 adaptable, wants honest contact who is really interested in leather and S&M Box. 1882.

UNCLASSIFIED

SAN CLEMENTE. M. Scorpio, 33, clean-cut, 5'6%", 144, white, 6%". Hairy novice, unin- hibited, submissive, masculine, open to most anything except bodily injury or excessive pain. No fats, scat, permanent, drunks. Inter- ested in light B&D, FF, ball work, being used. Box CA-348.

GRAND RAPIDS. SM, Pisces, 34, 5'10", 150, white, 7%", mesculine, versatile. Into S&M, water sports, sweaty worn jocks and briefs, Levis, cussing, beer, cigarettes. No fats, fems, drugs. Photo. Box CA-349.

W / M, 32, digs active, passive French and raunchy socks, shoes, feet, Let's blow and J / O. Box CA-342.

CHICAGO AREA. Hot action wanted. W / M, 6', 160, looking for all types of action, especially Greek and B&D. Also outdoor, group and public scenes. Send photo and phone to Box CA-333.

NEW YORK. M. Gemini, 21, 6', 186, 6''. Super-hot lanky bland slaveboy craves far-out immobility, total domination, kinky discipline / homiliation from ruthless ports 4' swith buck like, established from ruthless ports, rake CA-332.

SAVANNAH. SM, Taurus, 45, 6'1", 185, 7 white, experienced. Into bodybuilding and contest quality bodies, posing, oil, shaving, toys, tits, role-playing fantasies, you-name-it. Limits respected. Sponsorship possible. Send photo. Box CA-347.

NYC, NASSAU SUFFOLK. Discreet service for cops, 20s to 40s by W / M, 33, 5'11", 160 lbs. French, Greek, etc. Groups OK. Box CA-345

HOLLYWOOD, M, 31, and 5, 40, seek three- ways. Want to share seven-year relationship with one or more. Eager to learn. No heavy drugs. Let's talk. Box CA-337

DALLAS, M, Libra, 26, 6°, 185, white, 6°'. Into everything bottom. Am very handsome and have a hot ass ready for everything to be tried in it. Seeking heavy rear action with well-endowed partner. Into FF. Box CA-339.

SLAVE TO SERVE with mind and body. Possible permanent relationship, Crawl, beg, discipline, punishment, whips, chains, humiliation. Take care of all my needs, houseboy! Photo required with letter and description. Box CA-330.

CENTRAL INDIANA - 34, W / M, 155 lbs. accepting applications from hot butts eager to raise ass to master for leather and cock warm-up . Box CR 154.

BIG BEAR — BUTCH, COCKY, HAIRY-AS- HELL — needs strong Master, wild and wicked, strict and sensitive to make me grovel. Verbal humiliation, bootwork, WS, S&M, creative genes, 62°, 190, brown-bearded intelligent novice seek

CACALIFORNIA AQUARIAN looking for hot, raunchy face-sitters who wear dirty Levis, briefs, jocks and Leather. Call (415) 661-4646 for tongue service.

ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA. S,Taurus, 36, 5'7", 135, white, 6", novice. Lean, smooth body wants hairy, experimental types to teach me. Must be well-built, 25-40, super-macho, wanting to be dominated and into fantasy trips. No heavy S&M. Photo a must. Box CA-338.

HOT SLAVE, 25, 5'10", 155, bearded, wants to be kidnapped, arrested, held captive and tortured by other hot, heavy-hung, mean, rough studs. Dig bondage, heavy tit, cock and bell torture, clamps, weights, catheters, piss, tit piercing, electricity. Want to be physically and mentally dominated and controlled, MARK, Box 4776, San Francisco, CA 94101, (415) 861-2296.

MEET GAY MEN NATIONWIDE through "Goldenrod." Personal ads placed by gays and bis with their wild photos. Many addresses. Catering to all your kinky ideas. Latest 64-page issue, S5 to Goldenrod, 152 West 42nd St., Room 418-

PITTSBURGH AREA MASTER, 40, MW, requires slaves any age — total body slave and take domination, humiliation. Have own equipment for hot, heavy scenes. Come serve your strict Master! B / D, W / S, F / F, etc. If interested write: Box 534, New Kensington, PA 15068

IS HE ALL TIED UP… OR WOULD YOU LIKE FOR HIM TO BE? Shackles, thumb restraints, tlave collars, plus an entire line of groovy clothing for the macho man. Sand a buck for our catalogue. Please state 21 or over. The Emportu

SLAVE — STRIPPED, SHACKLED, SHAVED, BELTED, BOOTED, PLUGGED and waiting for your orders. Leather, rubber, hoods, rings are real turn-ons. Will travel. Contact Slave, P.O. Box 9501, Seattle, WA 98110.

MAKE YOUR FANTASIES COME TRUE, W / M, 31, 6', 160 wants to explore his / your fantasies. No fats, W / S, scat. Chicago area preferred . Send photo and phone to Box CA-328.

LONELY LEVI-LEATHER BIKER, DRUM- MER lost your address. Please write The Leather Fraternity or Buddy, 416 Rio Verde St., Daly City, CA 94014.

RED-HOT LIPS and SUPER-TIGHT BUNS need action!!! Horny, inexperienced M needs horry white Stud Master to teach me all. Dig B&D, C / B, French, Greek, J / O, W / S, light S&M and seat. Send pix and desires to Jerry Buchanan, 1616

PITTSBURGH. MS, 30, 6'2", 160, 8". White. Slim novice seeks light S&M, spanking, bondage and domination by young (18-30) white, slim partner. Box CA-329.

WASHINGTON, VIRGINIA SUBURBS. 40s, THISTON, VIRGINIA SUBURBS. 40s, 511", 180, well-built. Seeks partners for bondage, working over, no heavy pain but realistic scenes. Either role. Will be prisoner, but not slave. Will writhe and strain, but not grovel. Tor

LET MY HANDS INVENT A NEW LANG-LET MY HANDS INVENT A NEW LANG- UAGE on your body by gentle caressing and erotic stimulation – nothing hurried or slap- dash. Dip veceriously into your own fantasis and experience your own plessure. The rugged husky bodies excite and pleasure. The rugged not important. No relationships or commit- ments. Talk or correspond to begin. Box CA-334.

FANTASY TRIPPING? Describe your favorite 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.

ACHTUNG S / M MALESI I'm into leather, rubber, heavy B&D, W / S, all tortures. Visiting Holland, England, Germany, NYC in April, Hong Kong and Australia in October. Let's meet for real action! Age, looks secondary; equipm

NOVICE SLAVE NEEDS MASTER. White, 31, 5'11". 155 lbs. Will obey, serve and worship patient, understandling Master who respects limits. Make me crowl, bag, endure golden showers, obey all desires. Prefer discreet, well-bull 73139.

SHAVEN HEADS TURN ME ONI W / M, 30, 5'11", bearded, hairy body, seeks good-look- ing masculine guys 25-40 with shaven heads. Enjoy light S&M and smoke-erotica. No fats, fems or abusive situations. Photos get same. Serious replies only. Box CA-341.

ADOPT ME AS YOUR UNCLE GEORGE to suck and lick your ass, dick and nuts. Use my face as a bike seat or saddle. All races, slim, muscular, bodybuilders, students, military, uniforms, truckers invited. Into jack-off and dirty talk. Call Uncle George in St. L

ENGLISHMAN. Gemini, young 40, 5'10", 154, needs mentor. Into Leather, denim. Not lealous of other relationships. Slave material but very versatile. Hard working. Domesticated. Will slave / serve / love genuine person. Travel a

MASTER, W / M, 6', 200 lbs, black hair end beard, Seeks total slave for possible relation-respect limits if agreeable to training. Must submit to whip for disobedience Will correspond with slaves, also. Send detailed letter

ILOCKERROOMI A / MAJOR / COLLEGE / LOCKERROOM / IS [×4+]

S.H.A.V.E., Shaved Heads and Varied Erotica. A national club is being formed for men into the shaving scene. For more information, write to Box 458, New York, NY 10036 or call (212) 924-7242 before 11 p.m.

DALLAS-FORT WORTH AREA. M, Libra. DALLAS-FORT WORTH AREA. M, Libra, 48, 61"; 175, white, 6". Educated, masculine, wants real uniformed motorcycle officer for police domination, training and discipline. Sincerely interested and eager to learn from and submi CA-322.

BRAND NEW! LARRY TOWNSEND'S LEA- THERMAN'S WORKBOOK NO. 6 with illus- series of classics, just off the press. Send 69:05 to ROBERT PAYEN, 7885 Santa Monica Bivd. No. 219, Box 112, West Hollywood, CA 90046. Complete your se

G / L, W / M (40s) pledges face, mouth, tongue to keep slim, white boss' toes and big head clean, Sir! Box 18, Brooklyn, NY 11230.

UP THE ASS IS A GASI FIST FUCKING SLING made of finest leather to hang you high Only $35.00 plus 10% shipping and 6° tax for California residents. Send an extra two bucks for our catelogue of finest leather mechandise. Ple 256 S. Robertson Blvd., Beverly Hills, CA 90211.

FORT LAUDERDALE, M, Scorplo, 27, white 5'9", 6", 170 lbs. Have oral / anal desires which need satisfaction. Into F / F, W / S, B / D, etc. No fats, fems, scat or mutilation. Box CA-323.

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

Phots of male high school SWIMMERS (30 semi-nude photos / S6) and WRESTLERS (20 action close-ups / S4). Order from Leland Wiegart, Jr., Box 2474-D, Rolling Hills Estates. CA 90274. (Photos are 8&W offset copies which vary in s

NEW YORK: M. Pisces. 27, 6°, 175. White. 7° Muscular. Seeks white leather Moster over 3° who is muscular, dominant and into total leather from head to foot. Must be into heav S&M, water sports, pain, it work and total domi

Hairy Chest Varieties illustrated in hirsute appreciation study. $1 plus stamp: C, Kraut. Box 570, Harrisburg, PA 17108 (23 S. 2nd St.) Use box number.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY EDWARDS, NJ, NYC. Eastern PA. Bodybuilders, musclemen, leathermen and slaves. Legitimate, discreet photographer will photograph you, for your use only in privacy of your place or mine. Write with details to Box CA-311.

DRAWINGS BY BUTCH Studs in action DHAWINGS BY BUTCH — Studis in action from a very talented California artist. His second set has just been issued; first set is studied available. Both are printed on high quality paper suitable for framing. Write for free

AUSTRALIAN MASTER, 33, wishes world wide correspondence and to receive photo- from bikers, cowboys, bodybuilders — Ms or Ss (if tattooed, great!) — into whipping, bond- age, F / F, W / S, enemas, scat, T / T and humilia- tion. Also into Levis, Leather, uniforms, c all types of boots, etc. Let yourself go and be frank and dirty when replying by air mail. Box CA-327.

BUTCH TIT SCENES. Hot bodybuilder, 30, muscular types into tits. Good body a must Box CA-350,

ANGELES SUMO WRESTLER TYPE tom-man would like construction-loggest discipline / training sessions. Box CA-305 ogger

WENLO PARK, SM. Cancer, 5'7", 140, white Bondage Master ropes slim guys. Sensuous Limits respected. Orientals welcome. Box 921, Menlo Park, CA 94025

DUNG, GOOD-LOOKING BOTTOM MAN, looking for heavy S&M scenes with ex-ball work, hot wax, catheters, m menthol Really on to forced domination punk-types, and military interrogation. Detailed and photo to Box 4776, San Francisco, on DOCUME. CA 94101

PACIFIC NORTHWEST!! M. Aquarius, cute, tan, 5'7" and 8" with a 9D, wide colders, slim ass covered with blond curly except smooth unscarred back) waiting BOOTS, fucking, leather and domination blood or shaving. Will travel, Box CA-114. waiting

SEARDED LEATHERMAN SEEKS SAME IN ontreal area. Also visits New York frequently. most scenes. 28, 5'8", 145 lbs., hirsute. to appreciated. 4587 Jeanne Mance; Mon-Quebec .

YOUNG SLIM SLAVE UNDER 26 SOUGHT handsome, level-headed Master, 40, for 55D, humiliation, obedience training. No eards or body hair. Correspondence wel- comed, Live-in possible. Send photo, E.M. Lennon, 315 Wayne Pl., Apt. 109, Oakland. CA 94006.

TATTOOS. If you have several tattoos and into other tattooed men, send photo show- oyour tattoos. Am 32, 5'7", 130 lbs. Any series OK. Live in New York, but can swell anywhere. JRB, 157 E. 3rd St., NYC 10009

DOMINANT, AGGRESSIVE MASTER WANTED to control attractive 35, 5'8", 155 a slave into submission, bondage, W / S and …? 10016

4H-Handsome, hot, humpy, horny, W / M. 34, 510", 140, dark moustache, like to hear from same. Into well-endowed dudes, most sense, want to try others, Chopper. Box 20177, Detroit, Michigan 48220.

GOLDEN SHOWERS: New Correspondence club for guys who dig W / S. Send name, age & S1 to: Tom Boire, 1874 Union St., San Francisco, CA 94123 for application.

DALLAS AREA BAD BOY, W / M 25 wants to receive corporal punishment with high school type wooden paddle, cane, strap or whip from other W / Ms to 30. Also will correspond with all on the subject. Box 45725, Dallas, TX 75245.

EXPERIENCED S&M MASTER accepting applications . Must be trim, under 40 as I am. Prefer experienced, but sincere novices con-nidered . sidered. Limits respected, but may be ex- panded. 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, 6'3", 183, 35, 6", White, Tight, firm as; good body. Tried both roles, prefer bot- built. Top-man must be well-built or body- builder. Color not important. Tall, dominant, respect my limits, not over 45. HLS, Jr., 147- 10 41 Ave., Flushing, NY 11355.

SOMETHING FOR EVERYONE, Hot Color Photo Fetish Setsl "SPANKING": red hot the / state / of [×6+] Punishment for Bad Student" - Spank tale wipix. No. 2: "My Night w / Porn Star" - True story. No. 3: "Ranchhand and His Slave" - R&D story. w//-iii. abby, viel, 3: Halbenhand and His Slave" — &b story wipix, No. 4: "Daddy's WS Slave" — wipix, No. 5: "Sheriff's Scat Slave" — wipix, No. 6: "Gwy Who Loved Black Men" — wipix, Stories Nos. 3, 4, & 5 are 3-part continuing

FT. LAUDERDALE, 6'1", 150, white, 27, Slave into B&D, mild S&M looking for Master. Please write, Sirl Box CA-346.

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.

ILOCKERROOMI Hidden movie camera used I COLKERNOUM I Indoes movie Camera used in a major college lockerroom! $19 — see hunky locks shower; take leaks, undress, was dangerous to film. Other hor films in $8 color camera to film. Other hor films in $8 color films

HOT … AND HOT OFF THE four pages of Roy Dean nudes … NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED … 16 in full color. sefthound book, 815" x 11", just BEFORE PUBLISHED . . 16 in full color. Quality softbound book, 8½" x 11", just $9.95 plus 60c sales tax for California resi- dents from The Emporium, 5466 Santa Monica Blvd., Los Angeles, California 90029.

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 Cellar, 256 Robertson Blvd., Beverly Hills, California

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, NYC, NY 10011 (100 Bank, 5A).

MT. VERNON, SM. Virgo, 35, 6'3", 165 White, Novice, Sensitive, Will rim - give / take - 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 relationship , 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 scat. 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, tattoed, Aquarian. lock-exchange Jock-exchange, correspondence welcome. Box 751, New York City 10022.

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

TEN DOLLARS WILL BUY YOU ONE OF my photographs in my genuine jockeys, along with the stained shorts, soiled to your specifi- cations. Photo alone worth the price. P.O. Box 4832, Main P.O., San Francisco, CA 94103

BODYBUILDERS - Pump your muscle my weight room. Chicago (312) 935-5283.

KEY WEST PARTNERS eager to put out wel- come 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! Men's jockey 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, good-looking, will service dominant but gentle police and genuine rugged studs. No drugs, police and genu phonies, freaks. Discretion assured and ex-phonies . pected. Box CA-317.

LEATHER-B&D-S&M-for the leatherman. Custom-crafted items available only by mail order. Cook 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 … OH WUGES LIKE HIM TO BE? Shackles, thumb restraints, slave collars, plus an entire line of groovy cloth-lave macho man. Send a buck for one of the macho man. ing for the macho man, Send a buck for our catalogue, please state 21 or over. The Emporium, 5466 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood, California, 90029.

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.

PAIN AND PLEASURE Box CA-336

THE STORY OF OIII Sold into slavery as a boy, his manhood was spent as a slave!!! This incredible book is a brand new, rewritten, re-edited , magnificently illustrated limited edition 8016d, hagainleathy illustrated limited earlier, 84"x11" on heavy book stock. Slick cover with all original illustrations by Olaf. Written by the incomparable ROBERT PAYNE. Low $7.95 price increases soon, so rush your orde Angeles, California 90029.

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

TIT SPIKES. If you or your slave is into tits, then you must add a set of nickel-plated Tit Spikes to your toy chest. For heavy action, but no cuts or marks. Send $3.50 plus $1 shipping and handling to T.S.F., 1800 Market St., No. D126, San Francisco, CA 94102.

JOB OFFER: White, live-in sert wanted by SANE, ultra-straight, white professional (38, 6'1", 190 lbs.). Must be presentable to the real world and welcome CONSTRUCTIVE authority . No heavy scenes! Prefer serious college student (will consider relocating right person). 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 3960, 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 who are into S&M. Exchange photos. Box CA-152.

NY: 42, 6', 155, seeks slaves 30:45 and Army uniformed Masters over 45 with rural homes in Peekskill or Poughkeepsie area or nearby southwest Connecticut. No drugs, drunks, marrieds. Box CA-110

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

EROTIC, CLASSICAL MALE NUDE STA- TUES, Hand-cast, kiln-fired, Free info; FEATS OF CLAY, 1855 Magazine St., Dept. D, New Orleans, LA 70130.

of / the / chicagon [×4+] other mature hunks. Object, sex and fun. Possible one-on-one or buddy. No S&M, dope, teenagers. Will answer photo replies only. Box CA-160

R WAY-OUT SCENES 4 YOU? Can't find Mr. H 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, WS, seat, leather, rubber, phone freaks, J / O stories, pix. Free ads for 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 mirror trips, heavy W / S, kinks, Must be herdbodfed like me, 22-45. Am good-looking, 36, 5'9%", 155. Write with photol Ray CA.3'03. Box CA-303.

HAIRY CHEST VARIETIES illustrated in hirsute appreciation study. $1 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, piercing, W / S,. No fats, fems, 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\%". A good-looking novice eager to meet very muscular guys to 35. Into exhibition and body shaving (either way). Accepts limitations No fats. Slender, well-muscled guys preferred. 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- est international S&M club to: Our World Enterprises, 508 Greenwood, Evanston, IL 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. W / s, rimming, smoke, 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 newest internation S&M club to: Our World En- terprises, 508 Greenwood, Evanston, IL 60201.

CALIF. Strong, husky, white M, 47, 5'9" N. 175, bearded, uncut, seeks strong white S with far-out ideas and few inhibitions into heavy far-out ideas and few immutions into newy dungeon scene. Nated, booted guard who drinks, smokes, enjoys inflicting punishment without mercy. Rough fuck, Fr, WS, whips, irons, ashtry, CBT piercing, catheters, nut stretch. N doing as he pleases. Box CA-302

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, B&D, Box CA-131.

CHICAGO. M. Taurus. 36, 6'2". 190 lbs. White. 8". Knowledgeable slave. Hot, good- looking, dedicated, honest, blond bodybuilder seeks permanent relationship only of slave seems permanent rearronamp only of slave training with hot, muscular, attractive, leather/ levi Master, mid-20s to mid-30s, ready to settle down, Will relocate. No limits and no role- switching. No fats, drunks, J / O writer

WASH, DC SCAT / PISS: You are 6' plus, hung 8" plus, leather. I am 5'9", 7%", 42c, 32w & want to eat hards & drink. Put my dinner up the chute & make me est. T.B., Box 11004, Wash, DC 20008.

1 / 0 MASCULINE GOOD LOOKS TITS. long J / O scenes with heavy tit work. If into your tits turn you on and you are well hung write P.O. Box 7185 North End Station, Detroit, Mich. 48002.

5'8" DETROIT 3 / D 48 - 162 lbs, W / M Masc. Experienced. Lots of toys. Prefer you U / 40. No fats, fems. Into: heavy bondage, grass, poppers, jocks, loin cloths, leather tights, levis, rubber, enemas, FF, dildoes, sky dive. No piss or scat. Can go either way. Send photo, Bob McTaggart, 17332 Bentler, Apt. 304, Detroit, Mich. 48219.

PECS O'TOOLE — REPORT TO THE D.I. 278 — 11th St. at Folsom, S.F., CA 94103. On the double!! The cell is waiting!

THE GAY RECEIVER — penpal club ex- clusively for gays. Make friends nearby or far away. $2.00. Alan Tuck Associates, POB 1532-D, Union, NJ 07083.

JOCKS FOR SALE. Hot, hairy, leather stud has some choice, ripe jockstraps for your collection. All are well broken-in, and have been thru many heavy scenes. All are in good condition. Perfect for mouth gags, Sant in heavy

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

Male LEATHERS

PLAINSMAN

The rawhide look from MALE HIDES' "Great Westerner" line gives way to the sleek rugged look of the Plains-rider . Tapered cut bar vest - thigh clinging chaps for the hot fast ride - designed with tapered leg, full inseam zipper laced or snap waist band - custom made in rust brown leather.

Vest $40.00 Chaps $95.00

Visa (Bank Americard) and Master Charge accepted. Inc card no. & exp. date. Measuring chart and instructions sent on request. IL residents add 5% local tax.

PITTSBURGH AREA MASTER, 40, W / M, requires slave any age - total body slave and take domination, humiliation. Have own equipment for hot, heavy scenes. Come serve your strict Master! B / D, W / S, FF, etc. If interested, write: Box 534, New Kensington, PA 15068, (412) 274-8354.

SLAVE NEEDS MASTER, LARRY, Box 348, Wayzata, MN 55391, (612) 473-0904.

THE CAGE AND CHAIR IN ISSUE 17 are my idea of how a slave should be trained. Unfortunately I have never met anyone with equipment to do it. I am badly in need of caging, bondage & humiliation so that I can become a real slave and not just be playing the part for a night. Live in New York, but get to coast and Chicago at least once a year. Jack (212) 858-6014.

I NEED W / S - give or get - call anytime, day or night, until you reach me. Jay, 6'3", 36 years old, blond, hot, horny. (213)876-6137.

UP THE ASS IS A GAS! FIST FUCKING SLING made of finest leather to hang you high! Only $35.00 plus 10% shipping and 6% tax for California residents. Send an extra two bucks for our catalogue of finest leather merchandise. Please state 21 or over. The Cellar, 256 S. Robertson Blvd., Beverly Hills, California 90211.

WANTED: SLAVE - B&D and light S&M. Submit photo, details & phone to: Mark, Box 5788, Chicago, IL 60680.

Vacancy. One Master. Two slaves. Western Canada. (604) 921-7721. Anytime.

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.

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

NOVICE M SEEKS MASTER. Sexy, attractive Scorpio, 31, 5'11", 145 lbs., wants hot, attractive, dominant to break me into B&D submission , Levis, boots, other scenes. Have wild imagination … do you? Phone, photo to Post Office Box 5252, FDR Station, New York, New York 10022.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY EDWARDS, NJ, NYC, Eastern PA. Body builders, musclemen, leather-men and slaves. Legitimate, discreet photographer will photograph you, for your use only, in privacy of your place or mine. Write with phone number for details to Box CA-311.

ASIAN, mid-20s, nice-looking, slim build, interested in light S&M. Seeks Caucasian Master near own age. Must be Greek active, have nice build. For more details, send photo and phone number to P.O. Box 22284, San Francisco, CA 94122.

WANTED - SLAVE into humiliation and related subjects. Must be discreet W / M with hairy body, no hang-ups. Only letters with photo answered. Pacific NW area. Box CA-312.

NEW ORLEANS. Slim, attractive, 24-year-old W / M, new to bondage, seeks firm, imaginative but understanding Master. Write JPR, P.O. Box 2682, New Orleans, LA 70176.

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, NYC, NY 10011 (100 Bank, 5A).

BOULDER: S, Taurus, 35, 5'10", 150, white, 61 / 2". Seeks slim M for service, bondage, jocks, leather, Levis. Limits respected. Box CA-301

FACE SITTERS / STUDENT (23) ADDICTED asslicker, wants hard, raunchy men (esp. bearded) who love their asses and want them worshipped. Sit your big, beautiful ass on my face and let me please you, sir! G.L. McKinney, Apt. 1004, 4500 Jane St., Downsview, Ontario, Canada M3N 2K6.

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 asshole. Have poppers, toys, dog collar. Box 290X.

D.C. HUNG W / M, 26, wants to receive Greek, FF, enemas, animals. Box CA-313.

OKLAHOMA CITY - 31, white, 155 lbs. Novice slave seeks complete domination by hunky, masculine, hairy-chested Master to 45. Teach me humiliation, begging, pissing, ass-licking , handcuffing, to serve. Photos. LDP 117 S.W. 74th, No.F, OKC, OK 73139.

FT. LAUDERDALE. Levi, leather, knowledge- able. Two white (31 and 41). No fems, fats, scat, blacks, blood, heavy drugs. Box CA-314.

BOSTON. M, Leo, 40, 5'7", 150. Novice. Eager to learn from and serve selfish, arrogant Master who will accept limitations. Box CA- 315.

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

DOMINANT, AGGRESSIVE MASTER wants slave to 45. Your ass must require whipping. You must need to suck my big, hairy balls and my asshole. If you need discipline, B&D and fantasy / plain by a 39, 6'2", butch Master, write Box CA-324.

VERY PERSONAL LETTERS.Correspond with young blond satyr who's hunky, hot and hung, but most of all, eager to please. No mimeographed trash. This butch hellion is live! To start this very special continual correspondence, just send $5 to Kyle, Box 50336, Washington, D.C. 20004 (1742 G St.). I can do it for you!

CENTRAL INDIANA <math>-</math> 34, W / M, 155 lbs., accepting applications from hot butts eager to raise ass to Master for leather and cock warm-up. Box CA-154.

J / O YOUR GAME? JOIN US! Our Club is a group of good-looking young guys (18-40) who are into J / O. Send us your photo and a SASE for details. Get into something good! P.O. Box 534, White Plains, NY 10602

I NEED W / S - give or get - call anytime, day or night, until you reach me. Jay, 6'3", 36 years old, blond, hot, horny. (213) 876-6137.

DIG PIERCING? Get the PFI Quarterly, the piercing fan's newsletter. $8 a year ($10 foreign) brings you 4 issues of art, articles and ads PLUS your own FREE listing. Subscribe now from: GAUNTLET ENT., Box 3950, Dept. 12, Beverly Hills, CA 90212 (850 N. San Vicente, LA 90069).

, Dept. 12, Beverly Hills, CA 90212 (850 N. San Vicente, LA 90069).

? Views The Flicks

The Choirboys

On several levels, The Choirboys is not to be missed.

For those of you who have been too long in the dungeon, this is the "inside" view of big-city policemen first revealed in that Joe Wambaugh novel. The term "choirboys" comes from their want to stage periodic drunken revels which they call "choir practice," complete with booze, babes, and horseplay, to relieve the strain caused by what they have to take from criminals, the taxpayers, and their own superior officers.

This Lorimar / Arione Production (for Universal) stars, in the traditionally alphabetical order, Charles Durning, Louis Gossett, Jr., Perry King, Clyde Kusatsu, Stephen Macht, Tim McIntire, Randy Quaid, Chuck Sacci, Don Stroud, James Woods, and Burt Young — so one for everybody. It has been directed by the estimable Robert Aldrich from a screenplay (which Wambaugh hates) by Christopher Knopf.

Flesh and fury abound: one cop is caught in flagrante delicto, others skinny dip. Perry King, a masochist, submits himself to a b & d whore and is caught in the passive act of being whipped by her (so ashamed is he by the exposure that he commits suicide). There is also an interesting revelation of police entrapment methodology, the "pervert patrol," in a men's restroom. On the other hand, a sympathetic view of homosexuality is provided in the treatment and performance of Michael Wills.

So, you can enjoy it for its kinkier scenes, for its confirmation of what you've always felt to be the truth about you've aways ten' to be in third about antagonistic men in blue whose salaries we all help pay, or just for 119 minutes of slam-bang, foul-mouthed entertainment. While A.F.I. may never consider it among "the 50 best," you but I'm not about to tell you why.

Ed Franklin

Semi-Tough

Semi-Tough unfortunately reveals the same ambivalence that flawed two of director Michael Ritchie's former films, Smile and Downhill Racer. Ritchie is a guy who cares, who wants to make serious statements about man's condition, but who keeps choosing properties with such intrinsically frivolous entertainment values that they tend to be in direct conflict wth his basic purpose.

The film under consideration here is a textbook example. Based on Dan Jenkins' episodic novel, this "David Merrick Presentation," released by United Artists, is an action-comedy with Burt Reynolds and Kris Kristofferson as two pro football roommate jocks sharing digs – but, unaccountably, not sexual favors — with Jill Clayburgh. It's your classic Gable-Tracy-Loy triangle, updated with some of the bluest language since Slapshot.

This is not a football movie: only 10

minutes of the film take place on the gridiron. It is, rather, a send-up of the outrageous indignities athletes endure in order to psych themselves up for a game: faith healers, est practitioners, pyramid power enthusiasts, and physical therapists (the scene in which venerable Lotte Lenya "pelfs" Reynolds virtually into a bloody pulp at her Institute of Muscular Harmony is especially recommended to DRUMMER readers).

Lots and lots of fun and flesh here, with serious statements re the nefarious shennigans inherent to professional sports in the U.S. of A. pretty much lost in the huddle. Reynolds' role is tailor-made to his now overly-familiar macho caricature, while Kristofferson is restrained by a much less showy part. Keep your eye on that Jill Clayburgh, however. She's the closest thing we've had to a Carole Lombard in a long, long time.

- Ed Franklin

The Gauntlet

The only thing that really distinguishes Clint Eastwood's loner detective Ben Shockley in the Gauntlet from his other recent outings as Harry Callahan and Josey Wales is the fact that he's a couple of years older. Warners, under competi- pressures, has also shelled out a cool million bucks for "special effects," most of it expended on the attack and destruction finale that leads Eastwood on a 60 mph dash in an armored bus through the streets of Phoenix - the "gauntlet" of the title, a deadly obstacle course to survival .

Eastwood has been set up by a corrupt superior as a patsy, you see, theoretically to deliver the key prosecution witness in a mob trial, but actually to be wasted. In the violent course of events, our hero is beat up, tied up, and shot up; still, bloody but unbowed, he does survive the supposedly impregnable gauntlet and confound the bad guys (among whom, inci- dentally, is a viciously stereotypical trio of bikers).

It takes a slightly indulgent Eastwood fan to put up with this predigested crap.

- Ed Franklin

The Hot One

Here, at last, is a straight porno flick that can be recommended without qualification to the gay moviegoer. Its production values cinematography, sets, costumes, lighting - are uniformly slick and professional, and the acting is on almost the same high level. This latter accomplishment is especially surprising in view of the fact that all the cast members are so damnably attractive.

Scheduled for release in January, this Lantz and Heiser Production, shot in San Francisco, claims to be "a true story only the names have been changed." If that is so, we all should be as lucky as Valerie (of the initialed title role) in the variety and expertise of casual sex part- ners. She has John Leslie and Paul Thomas as mature-type knockouts, Michael Orion as a Sailor will appeal to those who go for the boy-next-door, there is the hairy-chested construction worker who does an erotic strip tease, blonds, brunettes, blacks — even a maso- chist (Ray Wells) who insists on being spanked.

The thin plot centers on stunning Annette Haven as an affluently bored suburbanite who takes to working in a whore-house to pass away her empty afternoons a subtitle might be "Diary of a Had Housewife." This provides the springboard for a great variety of hot sex scenes, both male and female masturbation , three-ways, the obligatory black-white Lesbian encounter, and a suck-and-fuck party-orgy featuring some of the best asses and cocks this reviewer has ever seen.

If there are any flaws, they are the predictably percussive score, interludes of labored dialog sandwiched between the sex sequences, and some occasionally awkward editing. Nevertheless, <math>V-The</math> Hot One is precisely what the title im-plies , and the surprise ending itself is almost worth the price of admission (when did you last enjoy a really hearty laugh at a porno pic?). Producer-writer-director Robert McCallum (pseudonym for a well-known Hollywood cameraman) has come up with a winner.

Do yourself a favor, don't be turned off by its heterosexual orientation, and see it!

- Ed Franklin

Short Eyes

Hollywood's morbid fascination with the profitability of prison flicks peaked in the thirties, featuring a standard brew of lovably unreconstructable cons, patient blond doxies, hard-nosed screws, martyr- prone Chaplains, and ineffectual Wardens. We all remember a young James Cagney hanging in chains from the bars of his cell, or Pat O'Brien stoically sacrificing himself to halt a riot. Recent forays into the genre have emphasized sentimentality at the expense of verisimilitude. Until, that is, the new Film League Inc. release of a Harris-Fox production, Short Eyes, directed with unrelenting power by Robert Young from a script which Miguel Pinero adapted from his own quasi-autobiographical play (Pinero endured five years at Sing Sing for armed robbery and is currently under indict- ment for "other crimes"). Those involved have employed a documentary approach, shooting on location in the New York City Tombs, which is unsettlingly right on target.

The storyline is tenuous, at best, but

DRUMMER 67

A STATE OF

By Mykel Board

The media call it "Punk Rock" and to me punking always meant fucking: (I got my curiosity through The New York Times.) So I figured to check it out. I mean with every story came the heavy- duty pix of safety pins, razor blades, and black leather. That kinda junk interests me, you know? CBS News even showed "punk dancing" which to me looked like a lot of fighting, punchin ker Street sty and headed to the bottom of the Bowery, stepping over for crissakes winos cadging tourists for bottles of Tawny Port.

Somewhere in the middle of all this lower New York garbage, TIME tells me lies CBGB's, the hole-in-the-wall capital lies CBGB's, the hole-in-the-wall capital of Punk Rock. CBGB stands for "Country Blue Grass Blues." Shit. Those initials long ago lost their meaning. CBGB's is closer now to heeby-lecibies which is what you'll get if you k stumbled in through the gloom over loose floorboards juggled by roaches, plopped my ass into a wobbly chair made in a correctional facility for terminal assholes, and tried to see the goodam stage. Outside , Mount Retchmore sounded like all four faces doing an upchuck quartet. Inside, this place was really quiet with morgue anticipation.

Tonight. On stage. Live. Sort of. Was appearing the punk rock group: SUI-CIDE.

Looking around, I saw Weirdos. I mean young, young, young Weirdos. Usta be people didn't get weird till maybe twenty-five or thirty. These babies was born weird. Half of them, not old enough to grow a moustache, looked cloned out of what was left of Janes Dean. They had deadwhite faces made up over black leather jackets. Fuck. Gimme an empty table. Quick. To my right sat Fan Tan Fanny. One fan came out of her crotch and spread out over her tiny chest. The second fan came out of her ass and reached up and across her pale shoulders where the two fans joined, baring her mortuary sides. Her small dead breasts dangled forward as she leaned to light her Camel from the table candle.

She was no apprentice nymphomaniac. The guy behind me was no guy to have behind me. He was a burnt-out twenty-two , 6'2", and 300 of the ugliest pounds this side of Totie Fields' left leg. His footlong beard, parted in the middle, spread out to two sticky points. His recently shaved head was covered with light green bristle. His left ear was pierced. The lobe stretched, like something out of National Geographic, halfway down his neck. Through the hole in his lobe he had stuck a big, corked test tube. Inside the test tube crawled two live cockroaches.

Suddenly the stage was lit. The faint houselights dimmed to blackness. A deafening hum spewed from the speakers on either side of the floor. Then a disembodied voice announced: "Ladies and Gentlemen: SUICIDE."

As the lights dimmed again, something dark settled in at my table. In the candle-light, I saw he was young and leathered. Our eyes met. Some fucking enchanted graphing life from the distributions of the life from the life evening. His face had the tough hollow Jim Morrison look. He took out a Gaul- lois. I struck a match. He moved his face to the flame. The cigaret dangled. He inhaled and sort of grunted thanks. I dropped the lit match into his leather crotch. Our knees touched under the table. he opened a little cut which soon began to drip blood.

He deserved it.

"These guys suck," I said.

"Mr. Gaullois" next to me smiled and snorted his agreement. I checked him out again. He looked at me as if he were asking for the something I knew I had. The music was too loud to make nor- mal conversation.

On stage, Allan and Marty Suicide were laying out their opening number. Marty Suicide wore a blue ski jacket and stretch pants. He stood stage-rear moving his hands without any particular effect up and down on a synthesizer. He made elevator Muzak sound like the "Hal- lelujah Chorus."

Allan Suicide's leather jacket was torn to shreds. How the fuck can anyone tear up a leather jacket? His black Korvette's $1.98 wig slipped to his stencilled eye- brows as he struggled to look EVIL. "Ninety-six tears!" he shouted, then hit himself in the side of the face with the POW! [×3+] Slamming himself in the side of his face,

TOM OF FINLAND came to town! I first saw his work in 1952 at the Universal Bookstand on Las Palmas via AMG Physique Pictorial, Bob Misner's magazine . For too many years that was THE magazine; in curious ways DRUMMER is its heir. Well, TOM OF FINLAND really does exist. He is a hot, healthy old fart, about 60 and together. His active fantasy art has turned me (and the rest of gay men) on for as long as I can remember .TOM autographed my new cast. His latest work is very evolutionary, his style is unique. Lowell Ward and Herb Miller sponsored the event at EONS GALLERY. This gallery is near the Stud Bar and also the Club Baths in Los Angeles, sort of near Silverlake. The hunky HAPPY HUSTLER MICHAEL KEARNS was in attendance floating around with his "come take me" smile. BUDDAH MAE and entourage, terrific artist JAKAL (he did the new FFA poster), ROBERT OPEL (the Oscar streaker and local artist / anarchist), L

A STAR, JEANNIE BARNEY looked terrific in a black vampira kind of thing, TROY PERRY of religioso fame and sidekick politico DAVID GLASCOCK couldn't be missed, ETIENNE the artist grabbed my ass and told me he gives the best head in the world, that I question since my own JOEY YALE is the acknowledged best cocksucker (at least the MB club has his name on a special plaque of honor), JOHN EMBRY (publishing Honcho) asked me for my new column (here it is John), his DRUMMER has doubled in circulation and the new ALTERNATE is a smash at the stands, DON BEAVERS one of LA's HOT BOTTOMS had his tongue drooling at the artworks (and a few humpy studs), IN TOUCH editor ROGER MARGASON was socializing new talent, ERIC MAT- LAN of HOUSE OF MILAN fame, DIRK DEETER ad rep for the ADVO- CATE, CHARLIE AIRWAVES (camera in hand … and just out of jail), CHAR-LES FARBER noted film critic, BARRY DILLER (chairman of the board of

OF / TOWN [×6+] TOM OF FINLAND fans. I got a lot of questions about my leg being in a cast … what really happened they asked, … and felt I was being repetitious and too "technical" so I went to MARINE HEAVEN the city of OCEANSIDE. Got there early in the afternoon, not much happening, talked to a lot of marines and found they all are wondering why they joined and why isn't there a war for them to fight. The afternoon I spent in the local porno house watching "FANNY HILL." Walked into the dark large Walked into the dark, large theatre and the vibes knocked me out! 50 hot, young marines jacking off watching the flick. I groped my way to the top row and let my eyes feast on all that fresh meat. They were so turned on and horny, but still marines, sitting with a seat between each other as they pulled out their throbbing cocks and ran their hands over them. Realizing there was no way to get down on some of that I took out my amyl and jacked off looking at a dark theatre full of panting marines. Later, I cruised the pier, not much happening, the head under the pier was unusually quiet. Went up to that bar "THE DRIFTWOOD" overlooking the pier and there met the 3 hottest marine bikers I have ever seen. Each in a black leather jacket, I played DOLLY PAR- TON'S "HERE YOU COME AGAIN" and started a conversation. BILLY is 18 and looks and acts crazy, MOOSE is huge and looks like he has the DICK OF DEATH, and GARRIT turned me on the most. Sort of the ringleader, his ambition is to be a steel truck driver working in FONTANA (site of the KAISER works) … straight as a board they cruise a lot. A long drunken evening leads us to the live western band bar on Hill St. I am trying to appear straight as I make a pass at GARRIT. Anyway, things work out such the / control / of [×3+] buddy said, "you take that fucker, and no sound out of you" … his buddy let out a tear of pain but said nothing as the hot needle dug into his flesh). I got down on GARRIT's throbbing cock while he was reclined on his chopped HARLEY and knew I was in heaven when his load shot down my throat. That was until MOOSE grabbed my shoulder (I don't know where he came from since we had split a whilte ago) and spun me around on my knees yelling "you're next FRED," … well his fist hit my eye with great energy and I soon was stomped royally in that alley. I broke my leg as I fell, but MOOSE can take credit for various

Afterwards I had to drive home in my stick shift '55 Chevy truck. THAT was frightening, driving for 3 hours on those freeways with a broken leg and almost blacking out. It is funny. I think I liked it. The guys were so hot, and I felt such an - almost SATORI - like rush after- wards.

MEN'S BARSCENE MEN'S B

WESTERN / LEATHER [×13+]

THE POST

Although Philadelphia is often considered the third most active leather scene in the country after New York and the Coast, and that is the principal category of The Post's trade, the staff and manage- ment are active in Philly's entire gay community movement which, of course, is not limited to just the L / L set. Most members of Philadelphia's enormously successful "Roast Anita Bryant Com- mittee" worked at The Post. They have also been instrumental in forming the Community Alliance of Philadelphia, a successful gay businessmen's group in Philadelphia's Center City; and the bar management openly supports and encourages the local and very active Gay Community Center.

The 4-sided front bar of The Post is noteworthy for its stucco walls and carved wooden canopy, supported by foot-thick carved wooden posts. The back bar is even more rustic, with exposed brick walls, accented by toys bearing an S&M theme and the banners of the clubs whose home is The Post. In between the two bars is the game room with a constantly-used pool table, rest rooms and the kitchen. The Post is open seven days a week: Mon.-Sat. from 12 noon until 2 a.m.; Sundays from 1 p.m. to 2 a.m. Lunch is served from noon until 4 p.m., dinner from 6 p.m., and Sunday brunch from 1 p.m.

After visiting The Post bar in the lovely old colonial city of Philadelphia, it's easy to see why that city – the 4th largest in the U.S. – is commonly known as "The City of Brotherly Love." Old the city may be, but it's as young as tomorrow in its ambience and attitude towards the L / L scene.

The management and staff at The Post have made a concerted effort over the past three years to establish a warm and friendly atmosphere, where everyone feels welcome, whether from out-of- town or local. The bar is located right in "Center City" Philadelphia at 1705 Chancellor Street, between the principal shopping thoroughfares of Chestnut and Locust Streets.

Within a year after its opening, The Post had just about cornered the local L / L club scene in Philadelphia. Here, the men don't play games, but mean just what their hip-pocket handkerchiefs and other signs indicate (bone up on your color code). It is the home of the VAN-GUARDS M.C., one of the oldest (9 years) clubs in the East, and one of the country's largest (80+ regular and active associate members). Most of the barten- ders are VANGUARDS. Additionally, the bar houses the banner of the locally- notorious "Pig M.C.," which has a highly restrictive membership, awarded only to those who have proven - time after time - that they are "worthy" of the "Pig" colors. Hundreds of pigs decorate The Post bar, as the proprietor, Oscar O. ("Ozzie") Schwartz, is a member of "Pig

MEN'S BARS

WESTERN / LEATHER [×3+]

M.C." and collects miniatures of the domestic animal.

Since opening, The Post has branched out by having one out-of-town club sponsor a club bar night each month, usually the last Saturday night of the month, wherein the club members man the bar and raise money for their club activities. In addition to local groups, at least 30 clubs - most of them from the Eastern U.S. - have "hosted The Post," including clubs from Boston, Connecti- cut, New York City, Long Island, Roches-ter , Bucks County (Pa.), Washington, D.C., Harrisburg (Pa.), Baltimore, and Virginia, with some clubs from further afield, such as Cleveland, Detroit and Toronto. No wonder there is usually a goodly number of out-of-town leather- men mingling among the regulars at The Post.

While the bar openly caters to the macho crowd, its customers are not limited strictly to those in the club or leather scene, and there is no enforced dress code (although very liffle fluff patronizes The Post). The dress is casual, however, and almost universally L / L; but it is not unusual to see the same customer in total leather one night and a tie and jacket at cocktail hour the next afternoon. The local press has called The Post "the roughest, toughest saloon this side of Arizona," which isn't far from the truth, but the big hunky bar-keeps have no trouble with any patron who may begin feeling a little too frisky.

TM

T-SHIRT FANTASIES

Silk screen printed on 100% cotton T-shirts in French style (pictured here) or American style (regular sleeve). Available in blue, green, white or yellow; small, medium, large or extra-large. $6.95 each or 4 shirts for $24.00

These designs are also available on plush 16"x24" trick towels in blue, green, white or yellow for $5.95 each, or 4 towels for $20.00

Please add 50c per item for postage & handling.

MEN'S BARSCENE MEN'S BA

WESTERN / LEATHER [×13+]

North Long Beach's Mike's Corral is not like the ordinary Los Angeles area bar. As with other long time bars, it has its ups and downs. As the oldest leather bar in the Long Beach area, it has become an institution. Featur

Text and Photos by Gary Barnhill

/IIKE'S CORRAL

BARSCENE MENIS WESTERN / LEATHER / MACHO [×3+] To the best of DRUMMER's knowledge, all of the following establishments are alive and living and catering to the Levi / Leather / Macho Male.

Arizona

Phoenix

California

Iron Spur

Long Beach

Los Angeles / Hollywood

Out Cast

Los Angeles / Valley

Palo Alto

Sacramento

San Bernardino

Connecticut

New Milford

District of Columbia

Florida

Ft. Lauderdale

Georgia

Atlanta

Hawaii

8th & HOWARD, SAN FRANCISCO dd 10% postage & handling. Calif. residents add sales tax. Major credit cards: give acct. no., exp. date & signatur Leather Forever, 1738 Polk Street, San Francisco, California 94109 Phone orders accepted: call (415) 885-5 Add 10% postage & handling.

HOT! The camera work of WAKEFIELD POOLE recreates ROGER'S live stage performances — New York — San Francisco -Los Angeles! ARE YOU READY FOR ROGER IN YOUR HOME?

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Sutro Bathhouse INTRODUCTORY OFFER

1015 Folsom, San Francisco Membership and two admissions (regular price $3600)

Now only $15 with this coupon (expires April 30)

NORTH CAROLINA

CHARLOTTE Original Brass Rail … 105 W. Morehead RALEIGH The Capital Corral … 313 W. Hargett

OHIO CLEVELAND LEATHER STALLION . 2203 St. Claire Ave. COLUMBUS The Loft . . 622 S. High St. (above The Grotto)

Tradewinds II …

OREGON PORTLAND

Dahl & Penne …

PENNSYLVANIA PHILADELPHIA

Cell Block … 206 So. Camac 247 / Corral … 247 S. 17th St. Post … 1705 Chancelor Westbury Bar … 271 So. 15th St.

PITTSBURGH

TEXAS AUSTIN

Bon Soir … 4527 Cole … Boot Camp … Tex's Ranch …

651 Club … 651 So. Jennings HOUSTON

… Barn . 1011 Bell Exile … Inside Outside Country … 1322 Westheimer Levi's … Mary's … 1022 Westheimer Silver Bullet Saloon … 1005 California

VIRGINIA

NORFOLK … Ritz Bar …

Male Box … Sheppard & Idlewood

WASHINGTON

JOHNNY'S HANDLEBAR … 2018 1st Ave. MARSHALL'S OFFICE … 1224 Howell

WISCONSIN

… Man Hole …

WRECK ROOM … 266 E. Erie

WYOMING

1620 Saloon … East 16th St. (Plain's Hotel Bldg.)

CANADA MONTREAL

| Bud's

Barracks, Ltd. (baths) … 56 Widmer St. Parkside Tavern … 530 Yonge St. St. Charles Tavern …

VANCOUVER

Play Pen South … 1369 Richards St.

LONG BEACH MIKES CORRAL

(213)423-9968 North Long Beach 2020 East Artesia

OL G COAST

501 N. Clark st. Chicago, Ill.