MALECALL / Dear Sir:

LEATHER FRATERNITY

You won't believe what a friend of mine has gotten through the mail, so I am enclosing it. It is a newsletter from your Leather Fraternity with a short story about sex with seven year olds with a gruesome ending about the killing and disposing of the body of one of the boys.

This is really what we need with the press blaring away in Chicago and Boston and California about these kinds of murders. I thought shit about sex with even teenagers was taboo. What gives?

Chicago, IL

Thank you for calling this to our at- tention. We find it hard to believe also. The publication you are referring to is put out sporadically by Jeanne Barney, who has chosen to usurp the name LEATHER FRATERNITY. Our main irritation with Ms. Barney to date has been her constant badmouthing. While her newsletter has very little circulation, with this kind of content, it is indeed endangering those involved with it.

We are of the opinion that Ms. Barney or her associates are not advocating sex with children nor "snuff" activity, but that she merely used this opportunity to use material without payment, since it seems to be an excerpt from a book she

Needless to say, Ms. Barney has no connection whatever with the original LEATHER FRATERNITY nor DRUM-MER , and we certainly have no responsibility for the "newsletter" you enclosed.

DRUMMER RIDES AGAIN

As advertised in one of your recent issues towards the end of 1978 was telling your readers of an up and coming issue titled "GALA YEAR ISSUE

When do you expect this "GALA" issue to come out and will it be available in the bookstores or by special sub-

Looking forward to hearing from you with above requested information. So enjoy your publication - keep up the great work. Also, would greatly enjoy ever so much seeing more articles on foot fetish and more photos showing beautiful

W.B.L. N.Y.

Thanks for asking. This year our annual will be called "DRUMMER RIDES AGAIN" and should come out in time for our anniversary in June. There should be another article for you foot fanciers issue after this one. Ed.

HANGING HUNKS

You are the best - issue 26 very enjoyable . Why not feature a contemporary hunk in bondage? Too bad nobody ever gagged poor Lex to add to his misery. My only criticisms - not enough bondage and you don't print often enough. Ever think of making some S&M films for gays? It's a sadly neglected market. J.R.S.

N.Y.

PASS THE MINERAL OIL, PLEASE

I wouldn't necessarily want to be Mr. Drummer but I would like to pose with my dick up some man's ass. I would like to be striped nude with another guy sitting on my stiffer while I have my hands on his ass grabbing and squeezing. I don't have a photograph but I sort of look like the guy in Drummer issue 25 between pages 48 and 57. I am quiet, shy, but can be very serious and would like to pose nude for Drummer .

What is your answer?

D.D. L.A.

Ed. Great. Where is a pix?

PRIME BEEF

Few days ago I received your issue 26. As usual top quality. But I am writing you to say thanks for your punctuality, and to ask you if my subscription needs to be renewed? I don't want to miss your next issues.

In two months I will be 40 (sic) but thanks to your mag I keep myself in good shape (body and mind) and it will be nice if you can do something about us guys between 40 and 50, of course in your usual macho style. I don't want to take too much of your precious time so I slap you in your nice butt and I say Ciao.

T.M. SWITZERLAND

JOCKS, JOCKS, JOCKS

The cover on Issue 26 is more than I ever could have hoped for. This is a good start in covering jockstraps in each issue. Give us jockstraps, jockstraps, jockstraps and more jockstraps!

Also, could you quickly send me the address of Macho Jocks that it was said could be obtained through Drummer? I say quickly because I want to be sure to get a couple before they run out!

Signing off now, wearing a jockstrap a good buddy got good and raunchy for me.

M.O. MASS.

A MASSAGE EXPERIENCE

I would like to inform you that my new business is now operating at Dave's Villa Caprice in Palm Springs. "A Massage Experience" initially will be run by me, Richard Locke. I have graduated from the San Francisco Massage Institute and I am licensed by the County of Riverside, I have a student now and will conduct workshops in the future but the main emphasis will be on giving patrons a sensuous massage. A sensuous massage is simply, an experience in which the mind and body are nurtured in an envelope of pleasure. I hope you can use this information in a listing for your California Guide.

Richard Locke Desert Hot Springs, CA

TURNED ON AND UP

By the way, let me congratulate you for the fine "job" with "Drummer." It is the most read mag I found about men's play. Keep on turning the men on and be sure a lot of guys read "Drummer" here in Montreal. More stories like "Corporal in charge of taking care of Captain O'Malley" please. What a turn on man.

W.L. Montreal

No other magazine could compare with Drummer, Issue 25 is the greatest, Please keep up the good work.

DICK St. Louis, MO

SHAVED "CHEYENNE"

Glad you were able to find a good photo of Clint Walker. He was at his best on TV, I think. (One remembers those annual interviews in which he solemnly demanded natural food and a bigger salary.) The large screen merely showed that he had hair on his shoulders. Better to remember him as "Cheyenne" - the Ultimate Mesomorph, entirely in black-and -white, and hairless as the Elgin marbles.

F.S. Berkeley, CA

FADED FETISH

In your early issues you sent out a call for articles on various fetishes. I have not seen one on faded levis.

There are many people into a fetish for levis as seen by the thousands who wear them. The fact that many bars are labeled "Levis-leather" indicate a strong attraction to levis as well as leather. In most of these bars more than 90 percent are dressed in levis, some in leather jackets and boots. This is clear testimony of the interest in levis. A number of ads in the "Personal" columns of Advocate express an interest in meeting others into levis.

S.M. CA

LEX IS SEX

Thank you very much for the exciting article on Lex "Tarzan" Barker. I hope you will branch out by writing a photo biography of Lex Barker. There isn't a bio on Lex. You will make all his fans very happy if you will do it. Like you say a book about him needs plenty of photos.

W.A. HAWAII

FUCKIN' ASSHOLE!

I answered a slave's ad, No. 116 in your recent issue - the fucking asshole slave forgot to give his address in his reply. Please forward this again, Thanks, and keep up the good work man, it's one fucking hot magazine that really makes my sap rise.

THE LEATHER FRATERNITY

A short note of appreciation for the excellent service of the past seven or eight months since I last wrote. The letters have been forwarded to me quickly and the Drummer has been coming with a fair degree of regularity. Glad everything finally seems to have fallen in place out there.

Box 055

LONDON CALLING

The popular proprietor of London's famous Coulherne Bar has a new pub, the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, and his many loyal leather patrons are now crowding in there. It is near the Vauxhall Station, London S.W. You read it here first!

A.Jay S.F.

ASS WATCHER

Why not an article on "butt fetish" - large massive big asses on the following: football studs, sailors in skin tight whites, construction workers, body builders, cowboys in skin tight washed out levis, cops, USMC, RTS - requirements of these gorgeous face sitters: 6 footers (no less than 5'11", 185 lbs. to 210 lbs+). Example: great massive buns ass drawn by A.Jay! Love watching mens big asses in skin tight clothing - the bigger the ass the bigger the turn on!! Have fantasy about being an ass taster - yes a Rimmer! Down on knees just tasting lovely big "massive" he-man ass! Also am an "ass watcher." That Nebraska team: new Years Day and some beautiful, ripe, ass - two or three guys kept pulling their uniforms up! For that tight fit - "ass showing" showing" - made my mouth water throughout the game! (I'm sure those studs are aware of what they're doing - probably crave a good big stiff thick tonguing at that forbidden "bung hole!"

Great asses to watch: Robert Conrad, James Garner, Robert Fuller, Cornel Wild and YOUNGER: (stow yours book) John Wayne:, Ward Bond, Preston Foster, Bill Williams, Jeff Richard, Rich Boone, Rich Allen, etc.

Also, how about an article on Mous-taches , love them too! Big thick ones with a rugged man smoking a cigar; many rugged 6 ft. 250 lbs. men are well known clit chewers.

ASSMAN

How about these hunky buns, you rim <math>freaks! - Ed</math>.

MORE LETTERS ON PAGE 66

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PRUMMER SHOPPER THE DRUM

From One Of America's Leading Artist JAMES COLEMAN

18'x 24' Lithographic print. suitable for framing. Send 9.50 each, postage included Sorry no cod's Ca Res add 6%tax. Outside U.S. add 2 50 handling. Mail to:

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You must state you are 21+ 415 w north street

THE ARTWORK OF JOE JOHNSON Beautifully reproduced in a portfolio of eight 11" X 17" lithographs ready for framing. Catalogued in N.Y. as a $45 value, the complete set is being closed out at 24.95 plus $1 postage.

THE LEATHER EMPORIUM 1730 Divisadero / San Francisco 94115

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A DRUMMER One Handed, Friction-Fiction Winner. A Four Load Fantasy Trip! never could keep my mouth shut, Growin' up, I was a real smart-assed punk. Saw a lot of the ol' woodshed, too, My old man used to beat my bare ass raw with his belt, cussin' at me and tellin' me that I'd never be any good. Got thrown out of school every other month or so for bad-mouthin' a teacher. Know what I mean? Like, even then I said too much for my own good. Still do, Old habits are hard to break, I guess.

I live in a small town, too. That just makes it twice as bad, In a small town, everybody knows everybody, and what you say gets around quicker 'n a prairie fire. I'm lucky, bein' single and all, A real tomcat, Folks don't bother me much. I'm self-employed, too. Mechanic. My own boss, you might say. I like it that way. Most of the time.

My mouth still gets me in a heap of trouble, though. More "n I like to think about. Take last summer. There I sat, mindin' my own business, havin' a beer or two at the local waterin' hole. It was a weekday afternoon, if I recollect rightly. Not many folks around, I was fed up with work, y'know? Like, I just couldn't do it no more. So there I sat, sippin' suds and catchin' the soaps on the tube over the bar. God, what shit those housewives watch!

Anyway, there I am bein' a good boy for once, when in comes this cop in motorcycle gear. I mean - HOT DAMN! - this guy's dressed for the kill. White helmet and silvered glasses. Black leather jacket. Dark blue pants, the kind with the funny bulges on the hips and white stripes down the sides. High black boots. He stands in the doorway, pullin' off kid gloves finger by finger, lookin' around. I nearly choke on my beer. He snatches off his glasses, swaggers over to the bar, hops up on the stool beside me.

I know right off he ain't from around here. Like I said, in a small town, everybody knows everybody. And there sure as hell ain't a cop within cruisin' distance that looks as sharp as this dude. I forget all about the soaps. "Gimme a draft," he grunts, slappin' his gloves on the bar. The fat little bartender fetches a brew while I check 'im out, His pants are a little tighter 'n they oughtta be. Heavy black leather belt with night-stick on one side, holster on the other. It's occupied. A chrome pair of cuffs dangle down his ass. He whips off his helmet and lays it on the bar, too. I near enough fall on the floor when I see them jet-black curls.

The bartender comes back. The cop throws him a buck.

"Thanks."

I smile nice 'n friendly, "Y'ain't from 'round here, are ya?"

"What's it to you?"

I shrug, "Nothin', Just never seen ya here before."

He stares at me with steely-blue eyes, real unfriendly. Do I see him givin' me the once over? It's hard to tell with some guys whether they're cruisin' or not, y'know?

"Just chased some creep in a hopped-up dune buggy twenty miles down the interstate," he says. "Cocksucker thought he'd get away from me, too. But I showed him.

"What happened?"

"Caught him when he got off here. There was a train passing through. He had to stop," He sips his beer. Foam gathers on his thick black moustache. He wipes it off, "I turned him in to your local authorities."

"I thought cops weren't allowed to drink on the job," I say, teasin' just a bit, "I'm off duty now. I've earned my fucking pay for the day!" He turns away.

We just sit there a couple a minutes, not sayin' nothin'. He stares straight ahead, like he's tryin' to read the labels on the top-shelf liquor or somethin'. I do my best to strip him with my eyes. The bulge in his pants is nice. Real nice. Once I think I catch him eyein' me in the mirror. After a bit he hauls this thick cigar from his shirt pocket and lights up. His jacket squeaks nice'n sweet when he moves. I pretend not to notice, but the bastard seems to be tryin' his best to blow the smoke right in my face. I cough.

"What's the matter?" He grins, "Don't you smoke cigars?" I'm feelin' my beer by this time, y'know? And what the hell! The bartender's out of earshot. So I open my mouth a little too much.

"Naw. Not those kind, I only smoke big fat white ones,

Like y'got there between yer legs.

Well, you'da thought that dude was hit by a brick! He just glares at me, his eyes drillin' more holes in my head 'n a sawed off shotgun, I know right away that I've done it again, It's woodshed time.

'What did you say!?'' he growls.

"You heard me."

Thinkin' I've called his bluff, I grin. Well, quicker 'n a pissed-off bull, that cop knocks me off that barstool and has me belly-down on the floor. I don't even get a chance to fight back 'fore he gets them cuffs on my wrists real tight. I yelp. Hearin' all the commotion, the fat bartender runs around front,

"Hey, what's going on here?" he squeals. The cop pushes him aside, "You just mind your own busi- ness, Pop. I'm taking this punk in for questioning.

Nobody budges as he hauls me off the floor. I'm scared shit now. I feel sure my ass is gonna be grass. The cop grabs his helmet and stuff off the bar, chugs the rest of his beer, and shoves me toward the door. The two of us clomp outta there and onto the street. There's this big bike parked out front, A real mean-lookin' machine, All black and chrome. The cop pushes me over to it. "Get on, punk, Straddle that sucker and move back!"

I do as he says. He puts his gear back on, then swings into the saddle in front of me and revs 'er up. I can feel the deep vibes jigglin' my crotch. Damn! I'm startin' to get a hard-on. "Hang on, punk. Here we go!"

It ain't easy holdin' on to one of them things, what with your hands cuffed behind your back like that. I grab onto the seat behind me and hang on for dear life. The cop guns that machine and takes off,

We head out of town, to the west. I have no idea where we're goin', and I'm too scared of fallin' off to care much. As we ride along, I can't help but slide forward a little. My hard dick presses right up against the cop's ass. If he feels it, I'm thinkin', he sure as hell don't mind!

We zoom along for a good half-hour or so. I'm hidin' from the wind behind his broad, leather-covered back. He pays me no mind, but keeps on goin' to wherever it is he's takin' me. People in cars look at me kinda strange-like, y'know? But, hell! What could I do?

After a bit we leave the main drag and the cop hightails it up a windin' side road. I thought I knew this part of the state backwards, but this place I ain't never been to before. I know by the way the houses are gettin' few and far between that we ain't headed for no town, either.

Another half-hour goes by. Then we turn off that road and onto a dirt track that just goes off into the woods. Shit, man! My fingers are gettin' numb from holdin' on. We bump and swerve along that trail for a good couple a miles, kickin' up a cloud of dust that would've blinded a nioose. Just when I think I can't hold on no more, we round a corner and there stands this cabin. Not much to look at, but cozy. The cop pulls us up alongside and shuts the engine cff.

"What's this?" I ask. "The jailhouse?" "Get off, cocksucker!"

I slide off the bike and stand there lookin' stupid. The cop opens one of those slanty little doors beside the cabin that leads down to the cellar from outside. He motions me toward the stone steps.

"Get your ass down there, Pronto!"

I oblige, still unsure of what's goin' on, but happy not to be in some rat-assed jail waitin' for a judge. The cop climbs down after me and pulls the door shut.

The cellar is dark and cool. Real dirt-smellin'. My friend here yanks on a cord. A single naked bulb lights the place up. I take a quick look around. Pretty normal cellar, if y'ask me. No

dungeon like I kinda expected. Furnace, water heater, some grey metal shelves stacked with tools, and junk everywhere. Over in one corner there's a blue mat and barbells. A regular mini-gym. The cop shoves me toward the mat. As I shuffle across the cement floor, the bastard trips me. I fall flat on my face, bangin' my cheek real hard. "Motherfucker!" I shout.

"Shut up, you piece of shit! And get over there!" The cop kicks me in the ass with his black boot. I crawl on my belly 'till I'm on the mat, "Now strip!"

"Ain't ya gonna undo the cuffs?" He kicks me again. "I said 'STRIP', damnit!"

I get the idea real quick, I sit up the best I can and shuck off my boots one by one, usin' the other foot to help. Then I squirm outta my pants. Lucky I'm wearin' my work pants today. They're kinda loose, I ain't got no underwear on either. The cop smiles at that. Now my socks. I try to shuck them off with my feet, too, but I'm gettin' nowhere fast. "Use your teeth, punk," the cop says.

Well, I look up at him, then down at them dirty, wool sweatsocks and think, Momma, you were right. I oughtta change 'em every day like you said. But that ain't gonna help me now! Bendin' over real far, I pretty near break my back catchin' hold of my toes with my teeth. Whew! My mouth tastes like the inside of a gym locker. But it works, I tug 'n tug 'til they come off, then toss 'em aside.

My shirt is more of a hassle, I wiggle around on my belly like a fuckin' snake 'til I bust all the goddamn buttons off. The cop stands over me, cussin' and kickin' me in the butt. Hell! I'm doin' my best! But there's no way I'm gonna get it off past those cuffs. When I work it down to my wrists in back, he grabs a huntin' knife from one of the metal shelves and hacks it off.

"This'll make a nice cum-rag," he says, tossin' it into the corner.

I get real mad, "You asshole. That was my best shirt!" "Shut up, punk!"

The cop shoves his boot into my chest and stomps me to the mat. I just lay there lookin' up at him, breathin' heavy what with his weight bearin' down on my lungs. I'm stark naked now, and I see him scan my body exposed to his plea- sure, I'm startin' to sweat a little. "That's better." His mouth wrinkles beneath that bushy moustache into a sneer. "Seems we got to teach you some manners, boy. You can start by cleaning these boots for me."

He lifts his foot off my chest, leavin' a dirty footprint between my tits. The boot comes back down on my face,

Seein' as I'm in no position to protest, I do it. I stick out my tongue and run it over the rough sole of his boot. It tastes like dirt and grease and God-only-knows what else. But I do it. He moves his foot around some so I can get my tongue in the crack by the heel. When I finish with that one, he makes me do the other, too.

"That's it, you fucking jerk. Clean those boots real good. And I'd better not find a speck of dirt on them when you're through, Or else,"

I don't bother askin' what the "or else" is. I can guess. It wouldn't be fun. When I've licked the bottoms clean, he makes me get up on my knees and clean the shiney black tops of them boots, too. All the way up his calves. The smell of the well-oiled leather and the smooth feel of it on my tongue start gettin' me roused. I can feel my cock stickin' out from between my legs. I'm sure he sees it too. When he's satisfied that I've done a good job, he pushes me away. Suddenly I don't feel so sassy anymore. "Now sit!" he orders.

I obey, but my heart ain't in it. The dude rolls a barbell up behind me. I feel the metal shaft pressin' hard and cold against the back of my ass. Shit! There must be three hundred pounds on that thing! It clanks and squeaks as he moves it into position . Then he undoes one cuff, passes it around the shaft of the weights, and clamps it back on me again. I can rest my hands on the mat. But I sure as hell can't get up. Not with all that iron holdin' me down. "Spread your legs, you turd!" the cop barks. "WIDE!"

I do. He grabs a long piece of nylon cord from a shelf and ties it 'round my nuts real tight, y'know? Like, I'm beginnin' to get a little worried now. But my cock - God love it - is standin' up real stiff 'n pretty. When he gets them fuckin' nuts of mine lassoed up tighter 'n a longhorn steer, he throws the other end of the cord over a rafter and hauls me up

Believe me, man. I make a noise!! As that bastard lifts me off the mat by my balls, I let out a how!! I struggle to lift myself up by my hands and feet. There I am, crab-style on his fuckin' gym mat, hoistin' myself up as far as I can and archin' my back so as not to lose the family jewels. I can't take my eyes off my poor nutsac, stretched and red, reachin' for the sky. And every time I lift myself a little higher to ease the pain, that fuckin' cop pulls on the rope so I gotta strain even more, "That's it, punk" he laughs. "Get yourself up there or

I'm gruntin' and sweatin' a river by now. Up on my fingers and tip-toes. My fuckin' nuts hurt like hell. The cop ties the rope off and leaves me swingin' there by my balls. He strips off his jacket and shirt. Real slow-like, y'know? He's watchin' me all the time. Standin' real close to my feet, too, so I can kick him right in the crotch if I want to. He's teasin' me, y'see. Ex-posin' himself like that. But I know better. Sure, I could kick the hell outta his cop-nuts and make him scream. But I'd probably lose mine if I tried. I decide it ain't worth de-ballin' myself just to see him double over.

He throws his jacket and shirt on the floor. I can see now he uses those fuckin' barbells for more 'n just tyin' folks down. I mean, SHEEIT MAN! The bastard's built like a Mac truck. Thick black fur covers his pecs, trailin' down his chisled belly and disappearin' below the belt. His fuckin' arms look like cables with knots tied in 'em. I see right then I was smart not to try to fight him back there in the bar. Don't get me wrong. I put up a hell of a good scrap. But even I know better 'n to tangle with guys like this. He woulda ripped my head right off!

Damn it, though! I have to admit that cop looks sexier 'n the Devil himself. And just about as dangerous. He reaches in a tool box and pulls out two spring clips like they use on the leashes of them German police dogs. They're big mothers. All shiney and silver. A short chain hooks 'em one to the other. He pinches my tits real rough between his leather fingers 'til they're hard and pointy. Then he snaps a clip on each one. I suck in air through my teeth as those cold metal fuckers bite into me. But for once I don't say nothin'. "That's right, punk," the cop says, "Just keep your trap shut. Start complaining, and I just might get mad.

I look him in the eyes. All I see is my own reflection in those silvery mirrors. I'm surprised to see fear in my face. I think, Buddy, this time you done bit off more 'n you can chew! The cop stands up nice 'n slow, unzips his pants, and hauls out the biggest uncut joint I've seen since my locker room days. He manhandles it, y'know? Pullin' and rubbin' it real rough. I watch that monster grow 'til it's almost hard. Then before I know what's happenin', the damn thing explodes in my face with a gush of hot piss.

"Damn you!" I cry, snortin' and chokin' as cop-piss splashes over my nose and mouth. Then he swings that fuckin' hose like the place was on fire, drenchin' me all over with his stinkin' juice.

"That's all you punks are good for," he growls, aimin' it back in my face. "Fuckin' toilets, all of you!" He grabs me by my hair and pulls 'til I cry out in pain. Seein' my mouth wide open, he shoves his spurtin' cock down my throat. "Drink it!"

He pisses harder. I gag a little, and he shakes my head by the hair. Soon I'm swallowin' that cop's funky piss like I was dyin' of thirst. It's salty and warm, and I feel my belly swellin' up as he fills me with piss. I look up, tears in my eyes. He's grinnin' from ear to ear as he watches me drink his golden cock-juice fresh from the spigot.

Jesus! That guy had a load that wouldn't stop. I thought I was donna' drown in his piss, when he suddenly lets me go and pulls out. "That's a good boy," he laughs, "Just keep up the good that's a good boy," he laughs, "Just keep up the good that the pulls the work and I may let you have some more later." He pulls the black night-stick from his belt and sticks it under his cock. Once more the piss gushes out, splashin' me and his own pants 'til a dark blue wet spot covers his crotch. He soaks the stick real good. There's a knot in my guts. I don't have to guess where that thing's gonna go. With his dick still drippin' piss on the cement floor, he stomps 'round between my legs and rams that son of a bitch up my butt.

"AAWWWW, CHRIST!!!" I yell. It feels like a fuckin' telephone pole, "YOU MOTHER FUCKER!!" "CAN IT!!"

I bite my lip and moan as he reams my ass real slow with his fuckin' night-stick. He moves it in and out for awhile. Then he holds it deep in my ass and twists it round and round. My cock is harder 'n hell by now. And my poor balls feel like they're gonna rip right off. But I hold on. When he's got me good 'n loose, the cop leaves the stick up my ass, tyin' it's leather thong 'round the base of my cock so it'll stay put, I wriggle my ass, tryin' to get rid of it. But no dice.

He comes back beside me, rubbin' my legs, belly, and chest lightly with his kid-skinned palms. He looks mighty pleased with himself and the fix he's got me in. I realize I've never been so aware of my body before. Signals of pain and plea- sure flood my brain from all over 'til I can't tell 'em apart. Tits, balls, asshole. The sharp taste of piss on my tongue. Muscles taut. I can tell he likes my body, too, the way he's lookin' at it and pawin' me all over.

"You limpdick son of a bitch!" I cuss. "I'll get you for this!"

He looks real mad now. He whips that .45 outta his holster and points it in my face.

"I said 'can it', punk!" Then grinnin' weird-like, he moves that death machine toward me real slow. I'm really scared shit now, y'know? Like, what if the guy's a psycho or some-thin' ?! He inches the barrel closer and closer 'til it touches my lips. "That thing's not got bullets in it, does it?" He grins. "Now, wouldn't you hate to find out." He sticks the barrel in my mouth. "Suck on it, punk. Suck my fucking gun!"

I touch the tip of it with my tongue. It tastes a little like oil and a little like gunpowder. "I SAID 'SUCK IT,' YOU PIECE OF SHIT!! NOW DO IT!!" He flicks off the fuckin' safety.

Man, you better believe I start suckin' on that metal dick like my life depends on it! His prick is stickin' outta his fly like a flagpole. I suck and suck on that thing 'til my jaw aches. Just when I think I can't do it no more, he pulls it out and lays it on the floor, I'm relieved, believe me! I don't take my eyes off him as he pulls his black leather belt from his pants. He yanks his bull-sized balls out, too, and lets 'em drop. Doublin' up the belt, he cracks it across his palm. He ach with that fuckin' strap. GODDAMN! THAT THING STINGS! He does it again, movin' down closer to my hard cock. I'm shakin' like crazy now, y'know? Like, I'm tryin' to hold myself up while he lays into me. Stomach, chest, tits, thighs. He hits 'em all, over and over. I know if I relax it won't hurt so much. But hell! I can't! My skin is on fire. He swings real low, smackin' that strap right across my stiff prick. I hear myself screamin'

'AÁWWWW, GODDAMN IT!! STOP!! PLEASE!!" He swats it again, and this time he gets a piece of my strung-up balls, too.

"SHIT, MAN!! STOP!! NO MORE!! PLEASE!!"

"Have you learned your lesson, punk?" CRACK! "AAAAGGGHH! YES! YES!! He lets up. "YES, WHAT?"

"YES, SIR!"

My chest is heavin' and my legs are shakin' like they're gonna give out any minute. He throws the belt down, straddles my neck, and lays those fat cop-balls on my face. The fur on his nuts sticks up my nose. I can smell the sour piss-soaked pants.

"Chew on 'em, punk," he orders. "Real hard." I suck 'em up like I was starvin'. He jacks himself off, his leather fist flailin' away like crazy. "Harder! Eat 'em up!"

I get it. He really wants it rough. I oblige, chompin' down on those hairy nuts to pay the bastard back for his hospitality. The cocksucker howls, but he keeps on friggin' his meat over my face, harder and harder. Goo drips outta the hole in the tip, y'know? Long and stringy. Some of it lands on my eyes. But I just keep chawin' down on his balls.

When I get 'em all slobbery and red, he pulls 'em out and

Okay, I chomp my teeth on that fuckpole real hard. The cop moans, I'm startin' to get off on this. Know what I mean? That warm prick sure tastes good! It's all red and wet, with big veins stickin' out all along it. I run my tongue up and down the underside, testin' his sweat and smellin' his funky crotch. Then I chew on the slick head of it, swallowin' the sticky sweet fuck-juice as it oozes down my throat. When it's wet enough, he pulls out and stomps around between my legs again.

"Now for the best part," he laughs.

Real rough, he yanks that night-stick outta my sore hole and lets it hang there. In goes his cock, It's hot, man! He grinds his fuckin' hips so as to ream my ass real good. Suddenly he reaches over me and grabs the chain between my tits. He pulls on it. Hard! I holler, but he just yanks some more,

Man, that cop starts fuckin' my hole like he ain't had a piece of ass for a year. And there's nothin' I can do. There I am, gettin' fucked royal by this muscle-bound cop, my balls tied to the ceilin' and my tits yanked up and down with each thrust of that hard, hot pole. Let me tell ya! I don't know what's happenin'! Like, I go crazy! I feel electric. Moanin' and cussin', my whole body flexes like a colled spring. My dick burns. SHIT, MAN! I'M GONNA COME!! I the gooey hole in the tip of my cock and groan. The cop

I can't stop myself. "AAWWWW, JESUS! FUCK ME, YOU GOD DAMN COP! FUCK IT! FUCK IT!! FUCK IT!!!"

I see my cock squirtin' scads of white spunk all over. Some of it hits me in the face. I scream again - real animal-like. But this time it's with pleasure. "That's it, you piece of shit! Come all over yourself." He yanks real hard on my tits. Another load shoots from my

"Yes, Sir!" I yell.

I feel his hot cream floodin' my guts, Damn! It feels great! Jets of boilin' cop-cum fill my ass. I go nuts. Hell! I ain't never come so much in my life!

When he's through dumpin' his load in my ass, he rubs his hands in my cum, spreadin' it all over my naked body. Then he sticks those leather fingers in my mouth and makes me lick all the sticky gism off 'em. I clean his hands real good, 'know? I'm lappin' my own cum off his fingers and lovin' it.

Finally, he pulls outta my ass and stands up. "Not bad, punk," he says, grinnin'. His dick is all swollen and sticky, and his balls are soaked with split cream. He grabs his shirt and jacket off the floor and throws 'em over his shoulder. He's breathin' real hard.

"Ain't ya gonna let me up now, Sir?" I ask, real polite. He just laughs. "Nope. Wouldn't want ya to wander off now, would I. You just stay put." He turns and leaves.

I don't recollect how long he leaves me there. It takes me a while just to stop shakin'. Jees! I ain't never had a scene like that before. My fuckin' cock is still hard even though I'm covered from head to crotch in my own cum. I hear the cop clompin' around upstairs. I manage little by little to inch that fuckin' barbell forward 'til the rope on my balls goes slack just a bit, But I still have to hold my ass up there in the air.

It gets dark, I remember that, I'm probably only alone down there a couple a hours, but it feels like a fuckin' week. Then I hear footsteps on the stairs again. The cop comes back, dressed and showered. He stands over me, and I can't help gettin' another hard-on just lookin' at the dude. Know what I mean?

"Well, punk," he says, foldin' those iron arms across his chest. "I've been thinking. You did a real bad thing back there in that bar. Propositioning an officer of the law!" He sighs real heavy and shakes his head. "So I've decided."

Decided what? I think, What's this bastard got in mind?! "Thirty days," he says, "or three hundred dollars." "What?!"

"You heard me. For makin' an obscene suggestion to a police officer, you get thirty days. Here. Or three hundred dollars if I take you in. What's it going to be?"

I just stared at that hunk in the uniform, standin' over me like that. Hell! What could I do? He licked his lips slightly, then grinned. I took the thirty days.

But that's another story.

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PHOTO ESSAY: DAVID SPARROW PHOTOGRAPHY TEXT: JACK FRITSCHER

STOUGH!

Swimmer's Body. Long, lean, hardmuscled. Water Jocks. Sunfreckled shoulders. Chest and arms built, lap after grinding lap, of backstroke, crawl, and butterfly. Clean chlorine smell of 'pits and crotch and sunstreaked hair.

Robed, they mill about the toes curling, hot for compe 28 young men on two coll- handing off their robes for into the flat blue water's ro

The feel of a buddy's cupped palm patting encouragement on a wet nylon rump.

The swimmer's jockstrap: lightweight cotton banded around muscular collegiate waist, strapped down around symmetrical moons of golden undergrad butt.

Grab-ass, towel-snapping naked horseplay in the showers.

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28 young men, splashing and dripping with sun.

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Cameras click, Telephoto touch, All their warm wet images, single-framed, for magical conjuring, late in the private one-handed night.

Chapter 15 Mr. Bay Area's Reward

At last … down on my knees in front of my master with his sweat pants around his ankles. Killer was naked except for the jock strap. I pressed my face against the rough elastic material and felt his dick begin to harden. I pulled away for a moment and just stared at his rugged body … drinking it in with my eyes. He'd been working out … pressing a three hundred pound barbell and the sweat glistened on his gladiator's body. A rivulet of sweat wended its way down the cleavage of his massive chest, detouring around his belly button and then following the thick blue-green vein that pulsed across his abdomen. Just before it touched his jock strap I stuck out my tongue, licking at the saltiness … at the sweat of my macho man.

Just looking at the Killer was like a punch in the guts. He was the personification, the epitome of the macho man. Killer had 225 pounds of rock hard muscle distributed over his six foot three frame. When he moved his right arm the black panther took a step forward on his bulging bicep. He had a more defined build than Arnold Schwarzenegger and his jet black curly hair contrasted with his white skin that was as smooth as a babies ass. He had large, sky blue eyes and a naive smile that almost made my heart stop beating.

You gonna stare at me all night, Georgie?" His voice was almost kind as he winked at me. It gave me a strange feeling, Killer being nice to me. I almost liked it.

Still on my knees on the gym floor I crawled behind Killer. I loved the way the two straps of his jock strap cut across his rock hard muscular ass. But most of all I loved the way his lower back dipped inward and then the two cheeks shot outward , defying gravity. To me it was the sign of the true athlete . I ran my tongue along the back of his leg … along his thick hamstring muscle until I could feel the hair around his asshole. This was something I'd wanted to do all my life. Just moving the jock strap slightly to the side I pushed my tongue into the funky sweatiness of his asshole. God, it was delicious! There was no doubt about it, Killer McKenna had the best tasting bunghole in captivity! Now Killer was bent over, grabbing his ankles, as I went to work on his ass. Reaching out my hand I felt the hardness of his dick still in the jock strap. I lapped away for a few minutes and finally turned him around, The head of his uncut dick was sticking out of the top of his jock strap … it was shiny, wet and red and oozing a translucent pre-gism.

Killer sat down on the bench his legs spread wide, He pulled at the jock strap. His dick popped out, banging against his navel and his large balls bounced on the exercise bench. And yet my eyes were not on his crotch. They riveted on his jock

"Go ahead, Georgie!" He was grinning from ear to ear. He grabbed the jock strap and wrapped it around my face. "I know you're a perverted mother fucker!" "Thank you, boss!" I moaned, as I drank in the wonderful macho smell of my master.

"Don't thank me … you earned it!" He leaned back on the incline exercise bench. "That's enough of that shit. Get to work on my too!" He waved his dick at me. Then he slapped the side of my face with it. "I got an ocean of come in it!

Killer didn't have to tell me twice. I devoured Killer's eleven inches of uncut dick. He had a big mushroom head and in just a few seconds I felt it expand in my mouth. Quickly I let it flop out of my mouth and my tongue began to lick his hairy balls. "You don't have to worry," Killer growled. "There's more than one load in there!"

"Oh, I didn't mean to . .

"I got at least six loads in there, babe!"

Killer didn't wait. He grabbed my head and rammed his eleven inches down my throat. His whole body shook spasmodically for about ten seconds … YAGGAMABAHHHSHIT!

The jets of jiz slammed into my mouth, burning my throat as I shot all over my blue jeans. Christ, his cum was delicious. Maybe it was because he was such a purist when it came to food . . everything organic … he never touched any junk food . . everything pure . . his cum tasted like the nectar of the gods . . damn . . I licked the last few drops, sucking at his pisshole. "You're a thirsty cocks

My heart jumped into my throat, "Right away, Boss!" I was surprised as hell. I took it for granted that Killer's old lady would be in his room waiting for a quick piece of ass before she finished reading about the latest ax murder or skid row killing in the National Enquirer and went to sleep. "Ah … where's your wife, sir?" I asked. "Took her home to her mother!" Killer said. "Lick my feet or a while." "Yes, master!"

He picked up a copy of Hustler and began to thumb through it. I quickly got out of my blue jeans and went to work on his feet. Christ, they were big. They had to be a size fourteen or even larger. It never failed … if a guy had big feet he had a big dick. I really got into his big toe … sucking it off. I was surprised it didn't come. "Mmmmmm … oh, sir, if only you had some hoots." only you had some boots … I … "Look in the closet."

There they were … rugged construction boots that were caked with mud.

"Put them on me," Killer ordered as he sat on the edge of the bed, still reading Hustler and his dick standing straight up. I knelt at his feet and somehow managed to get the heavy boots on his legs. It was difficult as his calves were so huge.

"Now use your tongue and lick 'em clean!" He reached for his pants and quickly took the thick black belt off them. It had a shiny new buckle, I don't know what I did wrong … maybe I stopped for a breath of air. The pain tore at my ass and my body jerked crazily upward, turning and twisting, trying to get away from the screaming pain that was ripping it apart. Killer was standing up. He grabbed me by the hair and threw me across the bed. "You dumb jerk," he screamed. "You can't even clean a lousy pair of boots. You're not worth a shit!

WHACK! [×3+] down across my unprotected bare ass. I screamed in horrible pain. I tried to twist away from Killer but he was too big and strong for me. I was no match for my master. "You wanted a night with Killer McKenna and you're gonna get it. Where in hell did you think I got my name, asshole?"

Killer didn't confine the blows to my ass. He was merciless . The belt whistled through the air … slamming down … on my legs…my chest…my back…my legs, everywhere. I couldn't help myself. "Oh, no sir, please, sir. I can't stand the pain. It's too much, sir! Please stop!"

"Shut the fuck up!" he screamed. "You fuckin' masochists are all alike. You do everything to turn me on … get me to beat your ass but when it gets right down ot it you can't take a few love taps. Well, you're going to get your fuckin' ass

I nodded my head, scared to open my mouth. And I was scared. Whatin hell had I gotten myself into? Did I want this this kind of real violence? Hell, what I really wanted from Killer was a game … a marvelous fantasy of Killer playing the master … yeah, that was all.

"Sir, I understand but …" I should not have opened my mouth. It was obvious he was not playing a game. My body jerked backwards … the pain twisted and exploded in my head as my body slammed against the bedroom wall. Then his fist buried itself in my stomach and I gasped for air … bending double in the fetal position. He lifted me with one hand and threw me on the bed. Then the feel of rope burning into my wrists and ankles and in a flash I was hog tied and helpless … totally at the mercy of Killer McKenna.

Grabbing me by the hair he shaved my face into his crotch. His heavy balls sagged against the side of my face. I was so angry at him I made no attempt to lick his balls or suck his

I couldn't quite believe my eyes as he reached for the phone and dialed. "C'mon, use your tongue … get it into my pisshole … c'mon!" His voice changed. "Oh, hi, Thunder. No, I wasn't talking to you. I'm talking to my slave who's giving me a blow job. Yeah … he's doing it right now while I'm talking to you … ah … what? I think his name is Georgie but you know me. I've got so many slaves. You know something? I should give them numbers. That way I won't get confused. Oh, yeah, it's the dude who won the Mr. Bay Area Contest … yeah, Mr. Bay Area himself is sucking my dick, Thunder. Just a second!" Now he was yelling at me. "Hey, jerk, stop scrap- ing my dick with your teeth! No, I'm talking to Georgie, Thunder, Look, why don't you line up a couple of your buddies and come on over. Sure … yeah … you can bring some whips … dildos and shit like that. I figured you might like to get even with Georgie … work over his ass … oh, that's tough … you can't … well, maybe some other time, huh? Oh, you'll call Tony Padua and see what he's up to? That's a great idea. Isn't he straight? Okay, if you say so … Tony Padua it is … yeah, right now Georgie has his tongue up my asshole, Thunder, he's lapping away like a dog … yeah … what? He's a good cocksucker and you can come over any time tonight if you want a good blow job … sure send your buddies … we can have a lot of laughs … yeah, see ya, Thunder. Bye!" He hung up.

Mechanically I moved my tongue from his asshole to the velvet head of his dick. Yeah, Killer had gone back on his word. Was he putting me on or was Tony Padua really coming over? I mean … what would happen? The guy was a real homophobe! And Killer had promised . . . this was supposed to be our night … just the two of us. My mind whirled back to all the dreams … all the wild and wonderful fantasies . . yeah, I had to admit some of them were romantic and now he was doing this to me … the worst possible humiliation … TONY PADUA. And he was giving him the right to beat my ass. Who in hell did Killer think he was? All I really wanted

Now I felt Killer's mushroom head begin to swell in my mouth. Now he eased his eleven inches down my throat. I choked a bit on the last three inches. After all, I wasn't a sword swallower and I still had my gag relfex.

"That's it, Georgie." His voice was soft, almost tender. "Suck that big, fat, juicy dick … c'mon … watch your

Then all hell broke loose, He grabbed the back of my head and fucked my face, "Take all of it you queer motherfucker!" he screamed, "Eat that cock!" He slammed it down my throat maybe five or six times and slam, bam, thank you ma'am, his hot gism gushed into my mouth like an oil well before it was capped. I didn't think he would ever stop shooting off and I was sure he had ripped out my throat with his dick. And then it was done. One second pounding away with his rock hard dick practically choking me to death and the next second his half hardon lying on my cheek, dribbling a few last drops. "Lick it clean, kid," he said quietly. I licked it clean.

"That's a good boy," he growled. "Now I'm gonna take a cat nap before Tony gets here!"

"Ah, sir!" I tried to clear the cum in my throat so I could talk clearly. "Would you untie me so I can get some circula- tion in my arms and legs?"

"Sure, Georgie, I didn't mean to hurt you! Just give me a second!" He moved to the dresser and came back with the adhesive tape. He jammed the dirty sock in my mouth and then slapped the adhesive tape over my lips. "That feel better, kid?" He laughed, turned over on his side, farted, and a moment later Killer McKenna was sound asleep.

Gritting my teeth I held back my tears. The pain from the rope was getting worse as it cut off my circulation. I must've dozed off after a while because when I jerked back into consciousness I was in a different position. I found myself spread-eagle on the bed, face down. But there was one added attraction . Four pillows were tucked under my stomach, pushing my ass high into the air … available and vulnerable. Yes, I was totally helpless.

I twisted my head as I heard a door slam. He was standing in the doorway. Yeah, he was short, about five feet six inches tall, but his proportions were classic, in the tradition of Franco Columbu. He had a dark, intense face with snapping eyes. His massive shoulders cut down to the tiny waist and then the heavy musculature of his legs, down to his blue jeans that held a heavy hunk of Italian salami. Yeah, there was no doubt about it. I was meeting him for the second time in 24 hours, Tony Padua, who I'd beaten in the Mr. Bay Area Contest … Tony Padua, the queer hating bodybuilder who I'd outfoxed.

Now Killer stood in the doorway. He wore the inevitable sweat pants. "The Crisco's on the end table, Tony!"

"I don't go for that shit!" Tony's voice was colder than ice. "Thunder said it was okay . . no bullshit! That you wanted someone to whip this dude's ass." "That's right," Killer grinned. "And the ass is in front of you!"

"I don't have to do nothin' else?"

Killer sat on the edge of the bed. He yanked the adhesive tape from my mouth and then took the saliva soaked sock out of my throat. "I want to hear you scream, Georgie. I'm going to be in the office. If it gives me a hard-on I might come back and knock off a quickie!" And then he was gone and I was alone with Tony.

And now I was at the mercy of Tony Padua, Mercy? What a laugh. I knew he wouldn't give me any as I studied his face. His lips were pulled back in a strange sadistic grin … his muscular arm went up and SW . . OOOOO … SH … S … W…OOSH…a strange kind of whistle and the thongs tore into my vulnerable ass…l couldn't help myself… "AGGGGHHHHSHIT…KILLER! KILLER!" I screamed.

Christ, Tony was going at it hard … hard and brutal from the first swing … he was after blood … not like the experienced S who started off easy … who started with caressing gentle love taps and slowly built it up until the pain was barely noticeable and suddenly it was accelerated into heavy duty whipping that was a turn on.

NO TONY TORE AT MY ASS AND I THOUGHT I WOULD DIE FROM THE PAIN, "Killer! helpme! Helpme!" I screamed again, desperate, Crazily I wondered if Killer would enter on a white charger. I bit so hard into my lip I could feel the blood and then I saw it on the sheet. Then there was a momentary stop from the excruciating pain that was tearing my ass to ribbons. I just had enough time for a deep breath and then there was a different sound.

SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK!

In a mad frenzy Tony had ripped off his belt and was letting me have it … the belt buckle was tearing into my ass. Somehow I twisted my head over my shoulder … rivulets of blood coursing down to the crack and then SMACK! WHACK! … the belt unmerciful against my passive flesh … it turned fiery red to purple at the edges and then … yes … black and blue and on FIRE!

Then another mad frenzy overtook Tony Padua. He dropped the heavy belt to the floor as he looked down at his swollen crotch. "I got a fuckin' hardon! What am I… some kind of a queer?" He tore at his blue jeans and still the mon-

ster between his legs was rock hard in his shorts. He tore at them, ripping them off his body and the monster flopped out, evidently having a mind of its own. TONY MOANED, ALMOST CRIED… SHIT… FUCK … HIS MUSCULAR BODY JERKED FORWARD AND THEN BACKWARD, HIS FACE CONTORTED IN PAIN AND PASSION, TONY TRIED TO GRAB HIS FAT PIECE OF SALAMI TO SOMEHOW STOP IT FROM WHAT IT WAS GOING TO DO BUT THERE WAS NO WAY… IT HAD TO DO IT … THE RED HOT GISM SPLATTERED ALL OVER MY BACK, MY NECK AND THEN FINALLY DRIBBLED DOWN TO MY ASS AND TONY HADN'T EVEN TOUCHED HIS DICK

MMMMMM mmmmmm shit / fuck / gaghhhhhhhhhh. GOBS AND GOBS OF TONY'S CUM … SLITHERING INTO THE CRACK OF MY ASS … still dribbling … still coming … and then Tony slapped his cock with his hand as if he were punishing it for what it did. BUT STILL IT WAS

HARD … HARD AS A ROCK.

Then I heard a noise and Killer stood in the doorway.

"God damn, Tony!" he grinned. "You really get your jollies

Tony's mouth was wide open. He was in a state of shock. "I

"Touch what?"

"My dick. It shot off … just like that!" He snapped his fingers. "I guess you found out the same way I did!" Killer laughed

Again Killer laughed. "You still got a hardon, Tony!" "Ah … so what?"

"So where do you want to put it … up his ass or down his throat?" quickly untying my ankles and then my wrists. I sat up, grabbing at my burning wrists, the tears streaming down my face. "Thanks, Boss," I mumbled. "I don't think I could take any more.

I didn't finish the sentence. As Tony grabbed my head I saw his face for a second. His eyes were like laser beams and his mouth was twisted in a kind of strange desire. It was as if all the adrenelin of his life was concentrated in this one moment and I knew it would be impossible to resist. At this moment Tony Padua was the strongest man in the world as he jammed my face down onto his huge Italian salami.

SUCK THAT FUCKIN' DICK YOU QUEER MOTHER FUCKER . . TAKE IT ALL THE WAY DOWN TO MY FUCK BALLS … YOU MOTHER FUCKIN' DEGENERATE BASTARD … EAT IT … GO AHEAD … SUCK IT … SUCK IT HARD … LICK THE HEAD … OH, MY GOD … I CAN'T BELIEVE IT … YOU'RE THE GREATEST FUCKIN' COCKSUCKER IN THE WORLD … SUCK MY … SHIT … FUCK … I … YAGAMASHA … WAH … CRAP! ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

Within two minutes Tony Padua had come twice. He yanked it out of my mouth and then pulled his blue jeans up over his muscular butt as he shoved the still hard salami into his pants. Without another word he started out the door. "Your cat o' nine tails!" Killer said mockingly. "Oh, yeah." Tony whirled around guiltily, grabbed the whip and disappeared. I heard later that Tony Padua bought a Harley Davidson and had a string of slaves to rival Killer McKenna … well … almost rival him.

And now I was alone with my master. "How d'ya feel, kid?" He sat on the edge of the bed.

I wasn't sure if I'd heard Killer correctly. "What did you say, Boss?" He bent down, inspecting my ass. "He cut you up pretty bad!" What he did next blew my mind. He bent down and began to kiss the black and blue marks very gently. "Does that feel better?"

I didn't know how to react. Was this just the prelude for another cruelty. Would Killer suddenly bite a piece of flesh from my tortured ass … was he getting ready to jam his fist deep into my guts? I didn't know. "Yeah … ah … it feels wonderful!"

"Don't move, Georgie, I'll be right back!"

A moment later he was back and very gently he rubbed the salve into my torn up ass. His huge hands were so gentle . . so tender. I couldn't quite believe what was happening but I felt my dick stiffen to incredible rock hard proportions.

When he finished with my ass he actually took me in his arms. My heart was beating wildly. Was Killer going to kiss me?

His voice was low, intimate. "You feel better, kid?"

"I feel great!" I didn't bother to say BOSS or SIR and he didn't beat the shit out of me.

"Hey, how about giving me another blow job. I'm horny as hell!

"Oh, yes … sure … "

"I've only shot my load twice tonight, kid!"

My heart pounded crazily as I slipped to my knees next to the bed and put his velvet topped dick into my mouth. God, it was delicious, "Mmmmmmmmmmm". "Work on my balls and ass for a while, babe!" He lifted his legs, spreading them wide open for me.

I was nuts about Killer's ass. It was the posterior of the typical football player … two mounds of solid muscle that somehow defied gravity. I knew there was one way to tell if a guy had a terrific body … if he were really in condition . . take a good look at his ass. I pushed the cheeks aside and buried my face in the crack. Then I grabbed his legs and pushed them upward so I could get at the hole better managed to shove my face into it … then my nose and Killer groaned. Continuing to spread his cheeks wide I kept at it … lapping it like a dog … on and on and on … with one hand I felt his dick … it was dripping.

the / state / of [×14+] GUTS… FUCK KILLER…

All the thoughts made me quiver with desire and I knew I had to figure out a way. Now Killer was lying on his side with his left leg pulled up toward his chest so his gorgeous asshole was available for my tongue. I gently pushed him over on his belly. All he did was grunt. I think he was half asleep although his dick was hard and drippy. "I'm going to give you an old fashioned trip around the world, Boss!"

I started with his feet, those big beautiful feet with the huge toes. Again I went down on his big toe and then my tongue moved to his Achilles heel and his hamstring muscles. I licked up the back of his thighs and then up to his ass … yes I was getting closer and I could hardly breathe with the excitement , I worked on his bunghole for a while and then . . and then … onward and upward … along the crook of his back … upward … upward to the back of his neck … all the time my body pressed against his body … lying on top of Killer … licking the back of his neck … and not a word out of Killer … not a word as my dick pressed between the cheeks of his football player ass as I continued to lick his neck and shoulders. Killer didn't move a muscle. Would he kill me if I moved slightly and pushed my dick toward his hole? I knew his ass was wide open as I'd licked it for over an hour. I knew it was ready … wide open for my dick … if only I had the nerve … and if he didn't kill me when he realized what I was going to do.

I moved my body slightly and now the head of my dick touched Killer's bunghole. Gently, ever so gently I pushed forward and I felt the head of my dick push at his relaxed spinc-ter muscle. Still not a sound, not a movement from my master. I wondered if he'd fallen asleep. I listened for his even breathing . What would he do if he knew his slave was trying to fuck his gorgeous ass?

I couldn't help myself. The temptation was too great, I pushed forward … just barely and … and … THE HEAD OF MY DICK SLIPPED IN … INTO KIL-LER'S ASS!

Then Killer's voice, quiet, a whisper but it was an electric shock that tore through my body. "TAKE IT REAL EASY, GEORGIE! ONLY HAD THIS DONE ONCE BEFORE! MY D.I. IN MARINE BOOT CAMP."

It was too much for me. I shot my load up his ass with just the head of my dick inside of him. I felt like an idiot. Here I was … finally with the supreme thrill of my life and

I'd shot off. Biting down on my lip it took all my will power but I didn't move my position. I didn't push at Killer's asshole but just let it spurt inside his hot ass. He didn't move although he must've known I'd shot my load in him. It seemed that Killer knew exactly when I finished coming. He moved his leg and pushed his ass backwards and toward my dick and LO AND BEHOLD it slipped another two inches up his almost virgin asshole. Yeah, my own gism was lubricating Killer's bunghole!

After a moment my arm went around him and I felt his cock. Christ, I'd always thought Killer had a monster dick but what I had my hand wrapped around seemed to have swelled out of proportion and he was dribbling like crazy. And then the realization grabbed at my guts and I felt a wild excitement

IN THE TRAINED BY AND THE A WING SEASON THE TAWN CALLER WAS HAVING THE TIME OF HIS LIFE WHAT HAY DICK UP HIS ASS! AND YET IT WAS ONLY PART WAY IN. I GAVE A SHOVE AND MY DICK WENT INTO HIS LOVEPIT EVEN FURTHER AND HIS COCK

What the hell, I couldn't help myself, I just let go … I

BOOM! [×3+]

TOUCHDOWN!

… and Killer now was on all fours and I was slamming my meat into him dog fashion. "Fuck, Fuck! Fuck!" It was Kil- ler's muffled voice that was buried in a pillow. "Fuck that ass Georgie! Go, fuck it hard! Let me have your dick … all the way … to the hilt … fuck it … fuck it … fuck it!" YAGGHSHITWOPBAMSLAMDAMN CRAP

A geyser spurting forever … eternity … off and off and off and off and it would never end … the ecstasy … the wonder of it all … the beauty … prism of rainbow … love and all that shit … it was … HEAVEN … upside down … inside out … vou name it … we did it … KILLER MC KENNA WITH HIS LEGS UP IN THE AIR … SHOOTIN MANY TIMES AND THE NOBBING AGAINST EACH OTHER . SUCKING . LOVING . COMING TO-GETHER . . THE DAWN BREAKING AND STILL GOING AT IT . . ON THE WALLS . . ON THE FLOOR … WHO KNEW WHERE? WHO CARED WHERE OR WHAT OR HOW . . THE SHARING … THE SHOWING … THE EXPRESSION OF OUR LOVE … YEAH … KILLER AND ME … THE EXPRESSION OF OUR LOVE … QUITE SIMPLE, AFTER ALL … ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS ADMIT IT … SHOW IT HARD!

Yeah, Sunday morning … Killer made a fluffy ham omelet with English muffins … I did the dishes … later in the office he pushed the papers toward me. "Sign here," he said.

I signed and he signed and then he took me in his arms. "The gym belongs to both of us now," he said. "Fifty-fifty. That's the way it is!"

Sunday continued an orgy of sex. We used the wrestling mat. He pinned me down in some crazy position and then fucked my ass silly and when I'd pin him (I think he let me) I fucked his ass.

And yeah. I moved out of the locker room. It was a beautiful king size bed. As we went to bed that night Killer took me in his arms. "You know something, Georgie?" he said. "What, Killer?"

"I love you." He actually said the words, "And I love you," I answered.

After he kissed me he winked at me. "By the way, I guess I forgot to tell you this but the slaves … ten of them … they

"Remember? I am no longer one of them!"

He laughed, "You're still the greatest cocksucker in town!" I laughed back, "And you're the best fuck in town!"

He turned off the light and two seconds later both of us the / end / … [×4+]

J 7 3

D

By Frank O'Rourke

t must have been five thirty when I awoke from a dreamless sleep. I lay on my back, my cock stood up demanding attention, but it was more important that I do some thinking about my situation. Things had gone at such an accelerated pace yesterday afternoon, I hadn't had a chance to

assess my new and unexpected position.

Above me I could see the depression in the mattress. There my master slept. As my thoughts turned to him, my cock jerked to attention causing a tent-like protrusion in the blanket . Did Chuck have any feelings for me, or was he just ex-<br>ploiting me for his own ends … like those cigarettes he made off of my body. No amount of speculation would bring me a satisfactory answer. I realized that I would have to ride the tide of this churning, violent current and see where my relationship would bring me.

My bladder was pleading for relief, so I got up in the chill cell and relieved myself. Unthinkingly, I flushed the toilet which caused Chuck to stir. As I walked around the double<br>decker bunk to get back into bed, I saw him lying there look-

ing at me.

"How did you sleep, boy?" Chuck asked. "Fine, uh, sir." I still found it hard to call him that.

"How did you sleep, boy?" Chuck asked. "Fine, uh, sir." I still found it hard to call him that.

Looking at his wrist watch, Chuck said, "We've got an hour and a half before we get up, so how about getting up here and

the cockhead.

fixing me up.

My piss hard had gone down, but it leapt to attention again in expectation as I put my foot on my bunk and hopped up on Chuck's bed. He opened the sheet and blanket to let me in. Moving against the farther wall, he allowed me to lay on my back and shifted on top of me. Our groins pressed against each other in a thrusting motion. I could feel that his cock was rock hard.

Grasping my head in his hands, he pressed his lips on mine and his tongue searched the interior of my mouth. I sucked on it and entered his mouth with my questing tongue. His teeth rasped my probing tongue and he nipped on it but not enough to draw blood. The pressure of his kisses began to bruise my mouth, but I wanted him so badly he could have done anything he wanted to me without any objection from me.

Unexpectedly, Chuck abandoned my mouth and took my left tit in his mouth. His tongue swirled around the corona while the tip teased the hardening point, I wanted to grasp the back of hhis head and make him swallow the tit, but I didn't dare. All I could do was toss my head from side to side ecstatically. A new dimension was coming to pass, I felt his teeth abrading the tit as he ran it between his tongue and the teeth. It was still heightening the pleasure. I don't know when he abandoned the tongue and only his teeth were chewing away at the nipple, but it was becoming agonizing since I never had had anyone saw away at my tits. Amazingly, my cock had remained rock hard and I found myself grinding my dripping cock head against his hard stomach. As he worked on one tit with his mouth the other one was being pulled, twisted and pinched by his vise-like fingers.

I could not control an act of aggression on my part, reached down between and grasped his roaring shaft in my hands. Releasing it, I laved the palm of my hand with my tongue until it was sopping with saliva and returned to my master's cock, I rubbed the spittle over the circumcized cockhead , bringing a groan from Chuck's tit-engorged lips. His own pre-cum added to the lubrication. I knew that if I kept this up

finish eating and shaving.

too long, he would drop his load into my hand.

Chuck had no intention of letting this happen. He pushed me next to the wall and stretched out on his back.

under the covers and work on my cock with your mouth."

As I moved under the covers, they moved down with me but Chuck pulled them back up to his chest. My mouth found his navel and I flicked my tongue caressingly into sweaty and cum-filled cavity. I savored the salty taste, but I was after more promising material, so I continued my downward exploration . His lush pubic hair brushed my lips as my hand grasped the heavily veined shaft of his cock. I laved his cock-<br>head with my tongue. Moving down to his gigantic balls, I<br>again rubbed the moist head of his cock. In the close confines of the bed my senses were assailed with the musk of Chuck's maleness. The flesh of his balls heightened my own sexual sensibility until I thought I would not be able to bear it any-more . I nipped at the leathery sac which produced a responsive urgency. Chuck grasped my head between his hands, forcing it away from his balls toward the demanding cock-

yard near the handball court.

head. I tried to tease the head with my tongue, but Chuck would have nothing of that, he impaled me with his prong. The head swiftly drove its way past the glottus and into my throat, I had unconsciously sensed what was coming and had taken a deep breath. Chuck held his sword in my throat, my nose buried in the pubic hair. Unable to breathe, I struggled against the steel grip with no hope of breaking loose. I felt tears coursing down my cheeks as my head swirled. I knew that I was fast losing consciousness. Chuck must have sensed it, because he pushed my head up until his cockhead left my throat and rested in my mouth. I gasped for breath, even though there was little air under the blankets.

After my lungs had filled, I began sucking on Chuck's cock as if it was the most important single action in my life, as it probably was. I caused my teeth to barely abrade the rim of the head, tantalizing it. The head entered my throat and I tried to grasp the large head with my throat muscles, massag-<br>ing the head. As I did it, his muscular thighs held my head for a moment. My hands grasped the balls and I could feel them tighten which presaged an orgasm, so I sucked more furiously.<br>In one great discharge come filled my mouth, I swallowed the bitter-sweet load, determined not to lose a single drop. This was a feat in itself since spurt after spurt fountained out of

I felt the cock softening in my mouth, but Chuck held my head in place. I knew then what was about to happen and I knew that I could not prevent it. Slowly, at first, a stream of<br>hot piss began to pour into my mouth. I tried to cut off the acrid taste by ignoring it and gulping down the stream. Chuck controlled the flow so none of the piss would dribble out of my mouth on to his bed. It was then that Chuck let out a tremendous fart which almost suffocated me. I could feel Chuck's body tremble with laughter, as he held me under the covers.

After a few moments, Chuck tossed the covers back and<br>pulled me up to his side. I lay with my head in the crook of his arm. My tongue flicked in the pungent moist armpit, as Chuck rested, his hand kneaded the cheeks of my ass, searching for my hole. Abruptly, as if he realized that he might be weakening toward me, he shoved me away. "Get back down on your bunk and catch a bit of sleep. We aren't going to breakfast; one of the guys will bring us egg sandwiches and<br>coffee in the clothing shack,"

My cock was still hard as I eased myself out of his bed onto the cold, concrete floor. I sought the warmth of my bunk, ly-

ing on my stomach while I fucked the coarse sheets.

"Knock it off, asshole," growled Chuck as he looked at me over the edge of the bunk, "I told you last night, you get your gun off when I tell you. Understand?"

"Yes, si

open doorway to the cell. He was fully dressed and he had a wrapped sandwich and a styrofoam cup of steaming coffee in his hands. "Here, eat these and meet me in the shack. There's still hot water in the bucket so shave. I've got your clothes in the shack. Just come down with a towel around you.

The sandwich was still hot and tasted good. I hurried to

At the shack Chuck was putting the laundry bags into a wheeled cart.

wheeled cart. "Take a shower. Use this hose on the spigot to wash out your asshole. Hustle it."

After I had finished cleaning up, Chuck gave me a pair of levislevis which were pretty tight and a shirt a size too small

We rolled the cart out of the cellhouse into the yard. The yard was filled with men who had no jobs and they hung<br>around playing dominoes, handball, softball, or just walking and talking. I could see that many of them were eyeing me<br>curiously. I felt that everyone must know what happened to<br>me last night, but I figured, "Fuck them!"<br>After exchanging the dirty towels and socks for clean ones

in the laundry, Chuck told me to take the cart with the clean laundry back to the cellhouse shack and to meet him on the

As I was returning to the yard, the young bull, Long, stopped me in the doorway, "How are you getting along with Lambert?" "Fine, sir."

BETWEEN HIS PARTED THIGHS, I WANT TO BREATHE IN MAN-SCENT LIKE POPPERS. I WANT TO TAKE ALL THE MASTER'S PAIN WHILE ON MY KNEES IN A POOL OF HIS PISS, GAGGED WITH HIS THICK NINE INCHES.

I could tell that he didn't believe me. He looked directly at me and I found this disconcerting. Long was six feet tall and had the lean body of an athlete. This was the first time that I really appraised him as a man, rather than as the enemy. For<br>a prison guard, he seemed to be a pretty good screw, but I wished that he would keep his nose out of my business.

"I hope so, sir."

"Believe me, you will."

"Well, like I told you yesterday, if you need me for anything, just let me know," Long said with a friendly grin.

I nodded in response and headed out of the cellhouse. As I passed the domino tables, I saw Tillie watching a game in progress. I didn't even pause, because I had come to hate that<br>nellie cocksucker. Tillie spotted me and grinned owlishly, but

I looked the other way.

On the other side of the cellhouse by the recreation shack, Chuck was watching two guys playing handball. By his side a dude with a shaved head was carrying on a one-sided conversation , the guy must have been in his mid-twenties, a little shorter than Chuck, but well-built. As I walked up to Chuck's other side, the man looked at me and I was struck by the most beautiful pair of blue eyes I had ever seen.

he perched on the edge of the desk. I unbuttoned my shirt, pulled it out of my pants and re-

At first Chuck ignored me while the other guy looked at me curiously. "It's all right, Jerry, he's with me. How many guys did you say you had lined up for this afternoon's game?" "About five or six," the guy responded with

game on the handball court. "I'm Jerry," the guy said as he proferred his hand. His hand was hard and calloused, which probably came from lifting iron.

"No, sir." I barely murmured.

I smiled my response and stood there quietly.

"You just get here?" asked Jerry.

I nodded my head. I didn't know how I was supposed to act toward others since Chuck had not defined my position as

far as his friends are concerned.

Clear out of the blue, Chuck said, "This is my slave, man, so don't worry about this piece of shit." Turning to me, he clarified things for me in a brutal fashion. "Jerry and I met some years back on Folsom Street in the City. Right now, he's been without a slave since his last one was transferred to Vacaville.

Now, Jerry began leering at me as he surveyed me with<br>more than passing interest, "Did you know Chuck before you got here?

"No, sir." The "sir" seemed to be proper with this dude. I guess if he was a master, he should be addressed as one.

"Say, man, how about letting me have a little action with him? Since my kid left, I really ain't had a work out with any-<br>one. Tillie's hauled my ashes for me, but, man, she's like a fucking toilet, it relieves you but it sure as shit doesn't satisfy

toys in my hobby shop locker, why don't you just take what

you want," "Toys," I wondered what that meant, Surely they couldn't be playing with toys, but I could see that Chuck was interested as he took the key. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Fuck, no, man, I might even be able to use them."

Turning to me, Chuck explained, "Jerry works in the chapel as a clerk. We're going to hold a poker game over there. this afternoon during the movie. His boss is off for the day." He lowered his voice, "you go with him and you do whatever he tells you to." He started to walk off. "I'll see you over in the Chapel in a couple of hours."

As Chuck walked off, Jerry said, "Let's go take a leak be-<br>fore we head for the chapel,"

The latrine was behind the athletic shack next to the weight lifting area. As I stood by the long open urinal, I realized that I had an urgent need to piss. My cock was half hard, either from expectancy or the need to piss. I watched as Jerry wheeled out his long fat cock. I had trouble starting but Jerry

should be punished?

started to piss in a long heavy stream. He grinned at me, as I unabashedly stared at his dong. My own piss started and Jerry directed his flow into mine.

As Jerry finished, he squeezed off the last drops and shook it toward me, "Think you can handle this?"

The heavy wooden doors of the chapel were locked. Jerry pulled a key from his pocket and opened it, letting me precede him into the dary hallway. He locked the door behind us and unlocked the chaplain's office door. He led me into the back room of the two-roomed office. This was the chaplain's personal office. There was a desk with two chairs. One side of the wall had cabinets and book shelves. The floor was of cold linoleum.

The room was dusky because the window shades were

"O.K., let's see what you've got. Strip," Jerry ordered as

"O.K., let's see what you've got. Strip," Jerry ordered as

moved it. Folding it, I put it on a shelf. Next came by hightop shoes and socks. Jerry's eyes followed every move as his hands<br>kneaded his crotch. I unloosened the web belt from its brass buckle and unbuttoned the levis. They were so tight I had to

skin them off, "I take it that you haven't been into the scene very long,"

"Speak up when I talk to you," he directed, "Well, Chuck has just started your training, so I'll continue it." He got up from the edge of the desk. I could see his cock was hard as it pressed against his left thigh, "Get on your knees and grip<br>your hands together behind you,"

I knelt on the hard linoleum floor. Just naturally, I bowed my head in what I would discover was the classical pose of abjection. My cock stood out, demanding release. I had not come since the night before and Ifgured this tough dude<br>wasn't about to let me come. Mentally, I shrugged my shoul-

ders. "Get down and lick my boots, asshole. They ain't been cleaned since my kid left."

Different strokes for different folks, I thought. If this turns him on, well … I halfheartedly started licking the toe of his<br>boot and could taste the dust. "Put a little more enthusiasm<br>into it, or I'll bust your ass." I worked up more saliva and took long swipes. The smell of leather filled my nostrils and I found that I really dug it. My cock rose between my thighs, not en-<br>tirely because of the leather, but from the fact that I was<br>actually being put down. Here I was stark naked, on my knees with my hands entwined behind me, licking the boots of this hunky dude!

In the quiet of the room I could hear cloth against flesh, Jerry was taking off his shirt, "O.K., get up." I had to use my hands to help me off of the floor. When I got to my feet, Jerry was looking at me with fire in his eyes. His hand rose and he slapped me across the face with a force that caused me to<br>reel into the nearby corner. "I didn't tell you to take your hands from behind you, motherfucker." The fury of the attack frightened me. I looked at his powerful arms and hairy chest

"I'm sorry, sir," I managed to murmur, hoping to quell waht I saw as a maniacal response to my thoughtless breach of

"Chuck must be easy on you, but for the time being you're mine and I'm going to punish you." He walked over to me and seized my cock and balls and twisted them until I thought he would tear them off. Could I take him, I wondered , but, then, did I want to knock his cocky block off? Funny thing, the pain of his twisting and squeezing was turning me on more and more.

Releasing me, he asked in a quiet voice, "Do you think you

SIT DOWN ON THE TOILET, I NEED A QUICK BLOW JOB BEFORE WE GO TO EAT.

"Yes, sir," I whispered.

"Louder, turd, I can't hear you." "Yes, sir," I shouted.

"Not so fucking loud, cum-bag, do you want to bring the heat and get us busted?" Jerry shoved me toward the chaplain's desk. "Bend over, stretch your arms out and grab the

other end of the desk."

Jerry removed the wide leather belt from his levis. The belt had probably been made at the hobby shop since web<br>belts were issued by the prison. Standing at the end of the desk facing me, I could see the best doubled in his hand, but my eyes were more attracted to the heavy cock that was bound in the confines of his pants. My mouth began to salivate as I eved this instrument.

Bending over Jerry caused the belt to caress the flesh on my back, bringing it sensuously down the crack of my ass. I spread my legs so I could feel its texture against my craving hole. Immediately the broad, supple belt slashed across the cheeks of my ass in a pain-searing blow. "I didn't tell you to move." The blow had been so unexpected and vicious that it brought tears to my eyes. Again it began its sensuous course over my body. Jerry redoubled it and forced the end into my mouth. I could taste the leather and I licked it in the narrow confines of my mouth.

small orifice.

You've got ten strokes coming. I don't futsy around when I punish a slave. I don't want to hear a sound from you until its

over and then I expect you to thank me. Understand?" "Yes, sir." I gripped the edge of the desk with my hands because I knew that Jerry was not the kind to play games.

The first stroke came right on top of the earlier one and caused my eyes to sting. Blow after blow fell across my back, ass and thighs. I could tell that he was skillfully avoiding my kidneys. While the blows on the back and thighs were sharp and stinging, his full force was being exerted on my ass. As the last stroke fell, I was sure that one more blow to my ass would have caused me to go into orbit, I wasn't too sure I could have taken another whack there.

and buttoned them up.

'What do you say? "Thank you, sir.

Standing by my head, he unbuttoned his levis and pulled out his heavy cock and balls. I flicked my tongue at the pro-ferred head which earned me another slap across my face, "You do what you're told. With me you don't take the initiative ."

I stared at the heavily veined shaft. It was a bit longer than my own but its circumference was almost as big as my wrist. Jesus, I thought, if he sticks that up my ass, he'll tear me apart. Pre-come was forming in the slit of the head like a viscuous dew drop. Where the beating had dried my salivary glands, the sight of his juice was bringing these glands into

full play. "Wash the head with your tongue and catch all the come. I

My tongue seized the juicy head, flicking the knob with a furor which brought a moan from Jerry's lips. He leaned forward and plunged the shaft into my mouth and into my<br>throat. I gagged because my throat found it hard to accommodate such a huge invasion. Jerry actually had to squeeze it in. This had obviously happened to him before because after he brought it back into my mouth, he made no effort to re-<br>peat it. My swirling tongue felt the clearly defined veins,

tracing their course along the shaft,

From behind some old and worn hymnals on a shelf by his side, Jerry extracated a large unlabeled jar. Laying the jar's cover on the desk, I could see it was filled to the rim by some gelatinous substance. Jerry dropped his levis around his ankles and went behind me. Again the belt swished behind me and<br>the few blows fell on my already burning ass. I didn't mind it as much this time because my whole being was centered on his cock and whether I would be able to take it. Jerry laid the belt on the desk by my side. I felt his probing fingers at my ass-<br>hole. His grease-loaded thumb entered my sphincter as it dispersed the grease and sought the walnut-shaped prostate. My cock hardened between my belly and the hard surface of the desk.

treat him with respect."

go to eat.'

The head of Jerry's cock centered on my asshole and began its slow penetration. "Loosen up, mother fucker, I don't really want to tear your ass up, but I will if you don't cooperate." Uncontrollably, I fought against the i though Chuck had loosened me up with his assault the night before, I just couldn't take this pole. Backing off, Jerry growled, "Get on your fucking back on the desk. I'm going to get into you, you can bet on it."

I got up from across the desk and lay back on its hard

wooden surface. Jerry had me throw my legs over his shoul-<br>ders as he repositioned himself. He pulled my ass just a bit over the edge of the desk. The cockhead re-entered my ass with a bit more ease than it had before. The pain shot up my spinal cord to my brain as the cock went further and further. Jerry grunted at the effort of shoving the huge tool into the

Beads of sweat covered both of our bodies as I felt his groin slam against the cheeks of my ass. He's got it all in, I thought in disbelief. As he began his strokes, the pain lessened and I began to get into the action by rolling my ass, trying to meet<br>his thrusts. "Yeah, baby, feel a man's cock in you. You're so<br>fucking tight. I ain't never had such a tight piece of ass." His strokes were long, so that his cock would slip out of my hole. It was painful as he jabbed to re-enter my hot, wet chamber. He slapped at the cheeks of my ass repeatedly as the tempo built up. I knew that he was about to come and I lifted my ass to meet each thrust. Just as he began shooting his load, his cock again became disengaged and the chaplain's shiny desk got the full brunt of his come. It spurted all over my back and onto the desk's surface,

Pulling away from me quickly, Jerry jerked me off of the desk and onto my knees. He shoved his dribbling cock into my mouth and milked the remaining come into my mouth. I sucked hard and felt the cock getting softer in my Shoving my mouth away from his cock, he pulled up his pants

"Look at what you did," he said, pointing at the come-<br>encrusted desktop. "Clean up as much as you can with your mouth." I started slurping and licking away at the come, but I was unable to get it all because it was leaving a whitish, dull film on the surface. "I'll get the rest of it later, since I have to polish it this afternoon."

Jerry stood in front of me and began playing with my<br>still-hard cock. "Lay back on the desk," he instructed. I laid stretched out along its length as Jerry began to take my cock into his mouth. As he began to swallow it, I felt the heat of his mouth and the incredible pressure of sucking, I knew that<br>I would not be able to hold off long, Jerry's blunt fingers sought and squeezed my hard nipples as his mouth applied a<br>suction grip to my shaft. I felt dizzy from the onslaught and<br>my balls tightened in their sac. My ass tightened on my prostate as my balls boiled in their serach for release. As my come began its course, I tried to hold it back but great jets spurted into Jerry's mouth. Jerry sucked every drop into his mouth until I flinched from the abuse of my super-sensitive cockhead .

Releasing my cock, Jerry bent over and kissed me. He dumped my come into my mouth, mumbling, "Swallow it."<br>From the amount he deposited in my mouth, it felt like I hadn't come in a month of Sundays. I gulped the sweet

tasting load, just barely able to taste it. "Get up and get dressed, baby," said Jerry. "You were great," he continued, "I sure want more of you."

After I had dressed, Jerry let me out of the chapel and I returned to the cell for a nap. Just before lunch, Chuck<br>awakened me for lunch. "I got us some toys to play with to-<br>night. I put them down in the clothing shack. How did you

I got up from the bunk and washed my hands and face. When I turned back to Chuck, he was standing behind me with his cock jutting out of the fly of his pants.

"Sit down on the toilet. I need a quick blow job before we

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Hungrily, I started sucking on his cock, I was to learn in the days to come that Chuck was one of those people who could come easily four and five times a night without any real effort. I had no sooner started then a burst of come filled my<br>mouth. As it softened in my mouth, I kept my mouth still, expecting a load of piss to follow, but Chuck jerked it out, saying, "Not this time, baby."

During lunch, Chuck had little to say, but I could tell that he was looking at me speculatively. I had no idea what he was thinking, so I ate my bologna sandwich and drank my soup.

"Take care of the man," Chuck ordered.

We filed out of the cellhouse into the yard. As we passed the outer steeled gate, Officer Long brushed against me as he came into the cellhouse. He eved me curiously, but I thought no more of it as we passed through the crowd of men, waiting for the most part to return to their jobs while those without jobs bunched into a group to go back to the dining room to see the weekend movie.

"Do you want to take in the movie this afternoon?" "That's up to you, sir," I answered. "Are you going?" "No, I'll go tomorrow."

furiously at the heavy cock.

I really didn't want to go without him and I felt sure that

he sensed it, "There's a poker game in the chapel this afternoon and I'm

running it, so I've got to be there to cut the pot,

Again speculation glinted in his eyes, I wondered what he was thinking about, but I knew better than to ask. We were walking toward the chapel, maybe he would want me to watch the game.

'Maybe, I can help you."

"Maybe, you can, but not the way you think. I run my own

games, but you might make me a bit of money on the side." "How's that," I stopped because I expected him to get

angry at my question, "Sir?"

Ignoring my breach of the slave-master relationship, he said, "Well, there'll be four or five other guys there and a lot of tension in the chapel as the game goes on. You might be able to release a hit of that tension."

to release a bit of that tension." "How's that," I was repeating myself but I couldn't help it, "Don't act so fucking dumb," snarled Chuck.

"I - I don't know what you mean, sir." "Come on," he ordered gruffly as he spotted Jerry standing

on the chapel steps, Quickly, we entered the door which Jerry locked after us.

"I brought us a little entertainment for the afternoon's game," "Great," grinned Jerry. "Man, I want to thank you for this morning. He's a great lay, I wouldn't mind getting some more

of that." "Hey, we're buddies. He's yours to use whenever you want

I felt like a piece of inanimate meat as these two dudes discussed me as if I wasn't even there. Neither one asked me if it was alright. They assumed that I had no say in the matter and I guess I didn't.

"He sure as hell beats Tillie the Toilet, Man, I think I'd

rather whip my mule than stick it into Tillie again." "Well, I've been thinking of making him available to the

rather whip my mule than stick it into Tillie again." "Well, I've been thinking of making him available to the guys who want to use his mouth and ass this afternoon at the game.

"Fuck you, man," Chuck laughed. "This is strictly cash on<br>the barrellhead. No cigarettes, no slave."

"Yeah, that'd be great. Once the word got out among our friends we won't have any trouble getting players for next week's game."

week's game."

"I already thought of that."

I knew they were serious and my cock stirred in my pants. I

and your head bowed.

hoped they were as good as these two. "The guys won't be getting here for another fifteen minutes . The work details have to get out and the show guys into the dining room.

Looking at me, Chuck ordered peremptorily, "Strip

naked,

As I took off my shirt, Chuck sat on the edge of the chaplain's desk while Jerry sprawled in the chaplain's swivel chair. Each man lit up a cigarette while they watched me remove my clothing.

'You ever fisted him," asked Jerry.

"No, but I plan to as soon as I get him broken into my cock. Did you get that monster of yours into him this morn-

ing?" "Yeah, man. It's the tightest piece of ass I ever had." "You ever been fisted, boy," asked Chuck as I folded my

"Fisted, sir?" my voice expressed my puzzlement at the expression.

In a tone of exasperation, Chuck asked, "Yeah, you ever had a goddam fist up your ass?

He must be putting me on, I thought, but I said, "No, isr." "I knew it," piped up Jerry. "I think you got yourself a virgin.

Chuckling, Chuck retorted, "He won't be for very long." Jerry was stroking his hardening cock with the palm of his hand.

I knelt in front of the seated Jerry and unloosened his belt. As I opened his fly, I could feel the throbbing cock demanding release from the binding cloth. I reached in and freed the heavy cock and balls. Jerry stretched his legs out on each side<br>of me. I looked up at him and he said, "Start sucking it."

Moistening my lips, I plunged my gaping jaws down on the shaft. My thrust got the head into my throat and I found I was better able to control my gag-reflex. I started sucking

"How about three packs of cigarettes for a blow job and five for his ass?

"That sounds fair. How much is it going to cost me?"<br>Laughing, Chuck said, "It's free to you, anytime you want it."

"Why don't you rent him out to some of the guys into S&M for the night?'

"Well, I thought of it, but I'm not sure he's ready for that

"Suck my balls," Jerry directed my head toward his heavy, "Suck my balls," Jerry directed my head toward his heavy, hairy balls. I licked at them as I listened to their conversation. "I sure would like to be the first to fist him."

"Forget it, man, That's going to be my pleasure. If he's

ever double-fisted, then it'll be you and me."

"Alright, buddy." He grabbed my hair and moved my mouth from his balls to his leaking cock. "I ain't double fucked anyone in years, maybe, next Friday we could both of

us get our cocks up his ass at the same time." "Why not." There was a codded rap to the front door of the chapel. "Sounds like our first player is here."

I started to move away from the cock, but Jerry fore-<br>stalled me. "Keep on, baby, I'm about ready to come."<br>My back was to the office door and I sensed that Chuck

had returned with some other people, Embarrassed or not, I concentrated on the cock in my mouth, because I wanted

these new guys to know just how good I was. "Man, what've we got here," said a husky voice.

"Hey, hey, I sure would like some of that," said another. "This is this afternoon's treat," said Chuck. "Three packs for a head job and five for his fine brown." "What's he, a freelancer?" asked the first voice. "He's my f

"With any luck from the cards this afternoon, I'm going to fill him up with load after load of come. How about some credit?'

"Fuck you, man," Chuck laughed. "This is strictly cash on<br>the barrellhead. No cigarettes, no slave."

Just as Jerry poured his semen down my throat, there was another knock on the outside door, Jerry grabbed my head<br>and pumped his seed into my mouth while I swallowed load after load. As I got off of the cock, Chuck entered the room with three other guys.

"Stand in the corner," directed Chuck, "hands behind you

What must have been a giant of a man approached me and he grabbed my tit and twisted it, I found myself staring at the middle button of his shirt. Grabbing my shoulders he turned me to the wall. His rough hand passed over my back, down my spine and caressed the cheeks of my ass. I felt like a horse as<br>he ran his hand over my flanks. Turning me back like a puppet, he gripped my hard cock in his hand. "Five for his butt hole, three for his mouth, how much to get this off,

he said, gesturing with my cock.

Laughing, Chuck said, "Two packs, anyway you want to get it off,"

"How much for some heavy S&M," asked a short black-

haired dude leaning against the doorway.

'I'll break anyone's back who damages my property. He's here to strictly service cock or have his cock used.

I was relieved to hear those words. The short dude looked

mean and I was sure that he was aching to really hurt me.

"Man," a guy whom I remembered from the weight-lifting yard that morning asked, "how much is it going to cost to get my ass rimmed, cause I dearly love to have my ass sucked?" "Not a cent more. I haven't trained him for sc

sports are O.K."

"Well, let's go into the chapel and get the game started,"

said Jerry.

said jerry.

The six men filed out of the room while Chuck stayed behind. "The guys will pay you. Put the cigarettes in the bottom drawer of the desk." His voice hardened as he continued, "You don't put out until you've be you sitting on the furniture unless a trick tells you to. If you got to take a piss, use the wastebasket." As he walked out, he admonished me, "Don't shame me, or you'll be goddam sor-

"I'll do my best, sir. "Yeah, you will, baby."

ry."Yes, sir."

As the afternoon progressed, I wondered if anyone had much time to play poker, since one after the other came in to either get their cocks sucked or to butt fuck me. The big dude made no pretence about wanting me to do him, since he made three visits to suck me off. By the time the afternoon was over, my jaws and ass ached, but I felt fulfilled as well as filled.

going to have some fun tonight,

Before they left, they all came into the office to express their satisfaction with me. Chuck ordered me to lie on the linoleum spreadeagle and all of the men took their cocks from their pants and began to piss on me. Some aimed their stream toward my hardening cock and balls, while others directed their piss to my chest and armpits whereas Jerry and Chuck filled my mouth with a steady stream. As they finished pissing, they began to file out of the chapel.

"Good, I got a guy from the kitchen to bring us a thermos of coffee and a couple of sandwiches each."

After the players had left, Chuck grinned at Jerry as he said, "Man, this has been the best afternoon yet. We made a<br>couple of hundred bucks in canteen. They couldn't keep their mind off the kid. The dudes played with one hand full

supper.

of cards while the other one stroked away at their cocks." "Whooee, look at all these packs of butts," whistled Jerry as he looked into the lower desk drawer. "There must be 60

or 70 packs here.'

"Man, I've got me a goldmine."

"Go into the chaplain's private bathroom and take a shower," said Jerry, "We'll let the floor dry off and you can mop and polish it in the morning.

mop and polish it in the morning.

The hot shower felt just great. Physically, I felt depleted from the repeated assaults. As I began to rinse off, the plastic curtain opened and Jerry and Chuck got in with me. The two

myself to do it.

curtain opened and Jerry and Chuck got in with the The two men were naked and they began to wet their bodies down. "Scrub us down," ordered Chuck. I took the soap and began to wash my master, afterwards I did the same for

cock down my throat. The two men quickly established a tempo which indicated to me that they had done this before.<br>Probably, with Tillie the Toilet, I thought. Jerry started stroking away at my cock, I didn't believe that I could come again, but the thought of two hunky dudes pounding away at my mouth and ass together turned me on.

"Yeah, but.

I felt myself coming as Chuck unloaded in my mouth. As I shot off, my ass gripped Jerry's cock in a death-grip and he unloaded into me while his hands released my cock and

"But, sir.

squeezed my hip.

As I straightened up, Chuck took me into his arms and planted a deep kiss on my mouth. His tongue darted into my mouth. I could feel Jerry press behind me. I was being crushed between these two men in a passionate embrace. What a way to die, I thought.

paper sack from behind the bunk

After we had returned to our cell, Chuck and I stripped off and slept until after supper. Jerry woke us before lockup so

we wouldn't miss the count.

I was able to discern a change in Chuck's attitude toward me. He was warmer and there was almost a sense of camaraderie between us, but I could not aand would not forget that I was his slave. My servitude gave me my first sense of really be-

play with the other toys.

longing, maybe not the casual belonging of the straight world, but a more physical and spiritual sense of being. I would always be grateful to Chuck, no matter what happened to us, for showing me where I really belonged — under the heel of a good master!

Again, Chuck kept me naked in the clothing shack, but I had gotten used to my status. The guys who had used me that afternoon came by to exchange their socks and towels and they expressed their pleasure in me to Chuck which made me<br>happy. Other guys who knew Chuck asked if they could get

into next week's game, looked at me significantly.

During one of the breaks, Chuck grinned, "I may have to run two games at the same time, I figure ten to fitteen guys'll show up next Friday. Think you can handle them all

As I took the evening shower, I saw Jerry and Chuck talking in the shack. By the time I got back, Jerry had returned to his cell. As I wiped off and put on a pair of levis, Chuck said, "Tomorrow night, you sleep over in Jerry's cell, Tillie's his cell partner and she'll be staying with me."

I felt a wave of jealousy which took my breath away. I knew better than to argue, I felt miserable. He really preferred that whore to me, I thought. Chuck turned away from<br>me and went to the back of the shack where he extracated a

large paper sack. "These are the toys I picked up in the Hobby Shop. We're

Toys! What the fuck were toys, I wondered. I was so upset about Tillie being in my bed the next night that I didn't have the energy to ask any questions, not that Chuck would have given me any answers.

After we got back to the cell, I stripped naked while Chuck stretched out on my bunk. "Are you hungry?" "Yes, sir."

As I stood combing my hair in the back of the cell, a tall, lanky hillbilly stopped outside of the cell and handed Chuck a thermos bottle and some wrapped sandwiches.

"O.K., mother fucker, come on over here and suck for our

The lanky dude's hand shook as he unbuttoned his fly and wheeled out his long thin cock. As I crouched at the bars, I could smell his dirty crotch and had to control my gag reflex. My stomach churned within me while my cock shrank up against my belly. I looked at Chuck whose head lay against<br>the bars with pleading eyes. "Suck it, or I'll whip you simple," he growled.

grabbed the head between my lips and began to gingerly suck the long cock. Almost immediately, a burst of come erupted into my mouth. The guy's cock hadn't even got hard. I debated whether or not to swallow it, but I couldn't bring

I got up and went to the back of the cell, I managed to spit the load into the toilet bowl.

"Hey, man, that ain't no blow job," the hillbilly protested, "Did you get your rocks off, man," asked Chuck.

"Yeah, but, nothing, asshole. You got your rocks and I got

the chow. Now, hit it before I make you suck the kid's cock."

Quickly, the guy left the front of the cell, muttering under his breath. Chuck just lay on the bunk laughing. "Come on over here, baby, and eat." As we ate our

the chow. Now, hit it before I make you suck the kid's cock."

Quickly, the guy left the front of the cell, muttering under his breath. Chuck just lay on the bunk laughing. "Come on over here, baby, and eat." As we ate our You swallow all of them unless I tell you otherwise.'

Patiently, Chuck explained, "A guy gets his cock sucked, he expects to have his come swallowed, it's part of the trip. So, you swallow every load you get."

After we had finished eating, Chuck told me to get the

Taking the bag on his chest, he reached in and pulled up a piece of leather and lacing, I could see that it was some sort of a hood, only there were no eyepieces, nor holes for the ears. Holes for the nostrils and a slitted mouthpiece were the only access areas.

"This is for you, baby. Once I get it on you, you'll get to

to be continued …

DRUMMER views the Flicks

The Deer Hunter, whose title sounds purposefully reminiscent of James Feni-more Cooper with his macho heroes always moving on to new frontiers, un- reels more like a slick TV miniseries than a tight widescreen movie. The small-town sequences are pure Robert Altman. The spectacular Saigon / Vietnam scenes are of the epic quality of David (Zhivago) Lean meeting David O. Selznick for the Burning of Atlanta; in fact, the VA hospital scenes make the railroad hospital scene in Gone With the Wind seem like antiseptic child's play.

The acting, the directing, the cine- matography are all splendid. The editing is effective but is deballed by the script that indulges itself in excessively long sequences (the wedding reception) and in unexplained coincidences and in poorly developed characterizations.

Why are these guys friends? Why do they hunt? Why the continual Russian

Roulette? Why is one bullet pure and two bullets pussy? Why do they keep crossing coincidental paths in Nam? Why is the wedding reception flat-out documentary without either satire or commentary ? Why do things fall apart?

Stevie's mother, the SM NAZI Com- mandant Shirley Stoller in Lina Wert- mueller's Seven Beauties, directly asks this central question, before her son Stevie's wedding: "Why do things fall apart?" Even her Pennsylvania priest can't answer that one.

The Deer Hunter displays men as men. So fuck the heavy analysis. Get righte- ously ripped and take each bit for what it is. Brawlers, boozers, bowlers: an array

The Deer Hunter boasts the best cigar-smokers any movie has ever featured as atmosphere actors in the wedding-

Americans was so devastating to the viewers next to me that I suggested if they couldn't stop disturbing everybody with their puling and puking, if they couldn't handle it, they ought to fuck off and leave. They did. One wonders how they handled the reality of the war itself a mere four years ago.

Pigeons always come home to roost, and the Great Vietnam War Movie Descent is now on us: The Boys in Company C; Go Tell the Spartans; and the best so far: Nick Nolte, Michael Moriarity, and Tuesday Weld in the ballbreaking Who'll Stop the Rain? If Nolte killed you as Tom dying in Rich Man, Poor Man, you ain't seen nothing till the final railroad-tracks scene of Rain. Yet to come is the highly-touted, long-awaited Francis Ford Coppola's Apocalypse Now.

All these movies seem like pieces that fit into the puzzle of whatever that war was and what that war did to us. Its grisly reality telecast live on the small screens of ABC / NBC / CBS was nothing compared to what this breed of new young filmmakers, now a bit distanced in time and space from the battles and the last falling days of Saigon, is careful,

calculated, and conscientious enough to show us. Their widescreen Technicolor violence is purposeful, even in bloody close-up, to the end of exposing once and for all to our smallscreen eyes what our hearts and minds have long known: that this war was the epitome of man's inhumanity to man; that nothing ever has been more American than America's uncalled -for involvement in shit hitting a fan that was never meant to be our concern , and certainly not our trauma.

The Deer Hunter is a long and serious meditation; its factory workers, soldiers, hunters, and mayhem are quite suitable for DRUMMER men. Its three hours is so long, you should take your lunch. And maybe, like the fools next to me, be prepared to lose it. Unlike them, don't leave. While The Deer Hunter somehow fails as a whole, its glorious parts make it totally worth your seeing the film the very night it premieres at a theater near or not-so-near you.

Besides, in the powerful, wordless opening of the truck-and-bar-and-billiards sequences, the group of deerhunters absently singing and getting off on the jukebox's period song, "Can't Take My Eyes off of You — I Love You, Baby," is as mesmerizing as their own hypnotized, unexplained involvement in the war itself.

And then there's that last, final, incredible , incomprehensible scene . .

You won't be able to take your eyes off The Deer Hunter.

Jack Fritscher

WHEN YOU GONNA END, RED RYDER?

Moving art from one medium to another is always a dangerous thing. Something usually gets lost in the transition. STAR WARS as movie-on-television will not be the same as STAR WARS as movie-in-theater. The finest poetry about an art object will never really duplicate the original work. An outstanding play does not mean an outstanding film. And so on.

Well, enough of these McLuhanisms. To the meat of this review: pot shots at YOU COMIN' BÁCK, RED WHEN RYDER.

It's not a bad film; it's just not a good film. Because a story succeeds in one medium is no assurance of success in another . (Remember theory, paragraph one?)

An acclaimed play by Mark Medoff, the adapted-for-celluloid RYDER will not be the most incredible moment of your life as billboard gype would have us be- lieve. RYDER is first a play; second, a film, and the transition from stage to film has been rough riding. Kind of makes you want to get off your horse and leave, the theater, that is, It's 1968. We're in a small diner in New Mexico. A hippie guntoter is terrorizing a small contingency of diner drop-ins: a disgruntled teenager (Peter Firth); a chubby waitress (Stephanie Faracy); a concert-violinist and her husband / manager (Lee Grant and Hal Lin- den); a crippled old man (Pat Hingle). Such disaster movie casting, lumped together in this contrived scenario, might have made it on a stage. But film's a different experience and we know the scene is an artificial contrivance, one that just doesn't work.

Too often we're painfully aware that we are watching a play that's been filmed. Theater-acting is different from film acting because film and theater, as media, are different in the way they are created, experienced, and appreciated. Theater acting before a 35mm movie camera produces ludicrous footage. Moreover, theater-acting reminds the audience that just because it might have been a great play is no guarantee that it will be a great film, record, TV series, or even comic book.

Understandably, RYDER's settings do not change considerably. The camera has been given carte blanche to move freely, The result: some very interesting, evocative , and creative camera movement. The problem: sometimes enough is enough is enough.

A fluid camera is not an end in itself. When we are more conscious of what the camera is doing, than what the camera is seeing, then something's wrong. Unfortunately , something's wrong a lot in RYDER,

More pot shots. The film needs 30-45 minutes cut from it. Like his camera movement, director Milton Katselas also doesn't know when to stop. When hippie

CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE

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RED RIDER terrorist, accompanied by a woman (played by Candy Clark), arrive at the U.S.-Mexican border and announces that he is importing two bottles of rum and a good stash of cocaine into the U.S., our hope is that the guard will wave them and their joke onto the next scene, thereby sparing them and us. Instead the film diverges to dwell on the search, with special emphasis given to the doctor's pleasure-investigation up Marjoe's ass- hole for that stash of coacine. (Note: if you get off watching doctors stick medical implements up men's asses, then perhaps , you too, wouldn't have cut this scene.)

Marjoe's diatribes against his diner hostages are silly and exaggerated, out of place in film even though they might have worked on stage. Then there's a bedroom scene where we linger much too long while concert violinist and husband work at their "Thrill is Gone" sex life. Cut, cut, cut. Enough is enough.

But enough, too, of these pot shots, even though Ryder deserves them. As an artistic whole, RYDER fails. But that failure is no reason to shun the film entirely. The film has its saving moments, as well as its saving acting. As the chubby wait- ress from Nowheresville, New Mexico, Stehpanie Faracy is worth the price of admission. She brings subtlety and expression to a role that could have easily been pure stereotype. She is the tragic-comic figure of the film, evoking a smile and a tear at the same time. As the other teenager, Peter Firth, is excellent. The re- mainder of the cast, including star and former evangelist Marjoe, is usually tolerable , sometimes annoying, and occcasion-ally downright bad.

A few scenes, however, will dwell in your memory and be difficult to remove. For instance: Ryder's mother is getting old. Makeup can no longer salvage her wrinkled skin. In the evenings she cruises the local pickup bar. It's a sad scene: her desperate looks for love, her hopeful anticipation of hooking a handsome man, 10 years younger, and her final success. Here Katselas does some sensitive directing , leaving us with a taste of emptiness and unfulfillment even after she scores a warm body for the evening. Reminds you a bit of your local gay bar.

There's a point in RYDER where hippie Marjoe makes his hostages act out a sick scenario he has devised. This maniac is malignant and cruel and delights in reminding his diner guests about the personal ugliness each has tried to forget in his life. No punches held here.

No soft blows.

You would expect the violence of the film to bother you, irritate you, devastate you. It doesn't, Reason: the director is out of pace. The tempo's wrong and he's not moving right. He doesn't know when to start, and certainly never knows when to stop. Moments that begin to look good on the screen collapse into contrivance as he drags them on. You will yawn at what was intended to be violence and possibly pack up and send off a pair of scissors to the director for his next film, if there is one.

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TOUGH SHIT

STOP THE CAMERAS!

NEW YORK - Customer complaints have prodded Saks Fifth Avenue into removing part of a sensuous window display for the Fernando Sanchez lingerie line.

The display in question featured a manneguin in red with black leopard spot nightwear and black What stockings. fishnet was termed offensive, however, and promptly removed, was a background film featuring the model the mannequin was sculpted from.

The film showed the model in the Sanchez outfit on a motorcycle with a man dressed in leather, Other shots included those of their feet and knees for the supposed purpose of focusing on cowboy boots.

But the Hell's Angels ultramili-taristic look of the men's clothes, combined with the lean and mean look on the male's face, made some customers question what Saks was hinting at: Fashion or sado-masochism ?

Of course, it was fashion. Designer Sanchez is well known for his sensual lingerie while men's fashions emanating from Paris by the likes of Claude Montana are known for their leathery punk rock roots, according to Robert Benzio, vp-corporate visual director of merchandise presentation at Saks.

"Unfortunately some of our more sedate public found this offensive ," noted Mr. Benzio, who added that the display drew tremendous crowds.

Not all who stopped at Saks or called the store, however, were disturbed by the fashion message.

Mr. Benzio, who thought the audio-visual was done tastefully and in keeping with what Mr. San-chez sells, said that the younger "public and the men loved it."

The film was shot, he said, in slow motion with the female model's hair swinging around. "It was very sensual, not at all hard core. But after talking it over with our president, Robert Suslow, we decided to remove it rather than to distress anyone."

Advertising Age

FUZZY, WAS HEZ

MIAMI - A 33-year-old Miami fireman has been assigned a desk job because he won't part with the thick patch of hair on his chest.

All firemen on active duty are required to undergo a stress test, but Jerry Saslaw refused when he learned his chest would have to be shaved.

Taking the test would have meant parting with eight small circles of hair, so they would not interfere with EKG machine wires connected to the skin.

Saslaw said he had decided to go along with the department rule requiring the stress test, but that was before he met a 27-year-old stewardess who is quite fond of the hair on his chest.

"She told me, 'Your chest really turns me on. I've never dated a man with a hairy chest before,' Saslaw said.

That was the clincher for the firefighter who has been recommended for a commendation for his "brave and tenacious attack" during a fire aboard a freighter.

"How could I shave my chest after that? I really like her," he said. "I've had hair on my chest since I was 14. I only recently found out that hairy chests were a turn-on to women.'

But they are not a turn-on for the Fire Department

Despite Saslaw's claims that he is in perfect physical shape, runs 20 miles a week, bench presses 300 pounds and can even "catch a speeding bullet in my teeth," Depu- ty Fire Chief Ed Proli gave the order to transfer him to a desk job.

'We'll miss him, but he cannot be different than 600 other men,

Proli said, "He's the only man who refused to take the stress test.'

Saslaw is expected to present his case to the firemen's union March 1.

United Press

I BECAME SUSPICIOUS WHEN I FOUND A KOTEX IN HIS SHAV-ING KIT

MEMPHIS, TENN. - A teenage girl is suing for annulment of her marriage because her "husband" turned out to be a woman.

The Chancery Court suit filed by the 17-year-old girl last week charges that she was deceived by her 19-year-old "husband" and asks that the marriage be voided.

A Memphis minister who counseled the couple for ten hours before marrying them in an elaborate church ceremony last year said the discovery came as a complete shock.

"I'm a certified sex therapist," said the minister who asked that his name be withheld, "I'm not that easily fooled." But he said the bridegroom — who was "nearly a twin of David Cassidy," a teenage movie idol - looked and acted like a man.

After the wedding, the girl said her "husband" told her that he was deformed because of a football injury and refused to undress in front of her, the minister said.

About four months after the marriage, the girl began having second thoughts when she heard her husband's parents refer to him by a girl's name when she was out of the room, the minister said.

United Press

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If anything in DRUMMER is out of the closet, certainly it's our TOUGH CUSTOMERS section. IF YA DO IT, BE PROUD OF IT! This is almost the Eighties , doncha know!

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Editor

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Here is the photo and if you want to put a caption you can use HOT HORNY AND HUNG, Also if you want you can use my address if anyone is interested in getting in contact with me. Box 410, 166 West 21st Street, New York, NY 10011.

ARTIE HABER

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(Calif, residents add 6% sales tax)

DRUMBEATS CONTINUED FROM PAGE 52

CONTACT

HOT & HORNEY? Let us put you in touch with the guys you want to meet! All types! Nationwide. Free information. Friends Unlimited, Box 3961-CE, N. Hollywood, CA 91609.

THE QUARTERS CONFINES Specialized training resulting in certified slaves. Custody services and Advanced Training available. THE QUARTERS ACADEMY Uniforms as an attitude. Drills, maneuvers, bivouscs and security. THE QUARTERS ELITE Command and Support personnel. Proper requests to: THE QUARTERS Box 3119, S.F., CA 94119 Official Business (415) 861-6275

DISCIPLIN-TRODUCTIONS! Meet men into S&M, B&D. Send S1. for questionnaire to: Box 712, Dept. Q. New York, NY 10011. (100 Bank-SA)

PHOTO EXCHANGE Amateur photographer would like to exchange photos with others. 5x7 or larger. No polaroids or Xerox. Sample and interests gets same. Box 229.

BOOKS / PERIODICALS

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LATE ARRIVALS

INTERCHAIN International club for men into leather, levis, uniforms and body-building. For information, write: Box 410, 166 West 21st St., New York, NY 10011.

TITLES WANTED Am looking for editions of James Barr's QUANTREFOIL and AN OCCASIONAL MAN, also a gay occasional Man, also a gay novel called SAM, author unknown, and a gay porn novel titled DOWN BOY, author unknown. Send con- dition, edition, and price to Box 1000.

BODYBUILDER Young butch white bodybuilder, 6', seeks butch, hung Blacks, Latins, very hot Whites. MW, Downstairs, 166 W, 21st St., New York, NY 10011.

HANDSOME STUDENT Seeks philanthropists to complete doctorate. Am 25, Box 32.

BONDAGE BUDDY Seeks same for mutual fun. Open to discipline, moderate to heavy S&M, leather / levi sex, piercing and WS. W / m, 39, 6'1", moonchild, knowledgeable, Box 31.

W / m, 26, 5'10'4", 170 lbs., with hot mouth and ass. To worship, obey, serve masculine, muscular, under- standing Master. Box 33.

BUTCH OF CALIFORNIA Drawings of men in action for men of action. For information, write: Box 410, 166 West 21st Street, New York, NY 10011.

UTICA, NY, White, 44, 5'11", fat 9", new to area, good top man, occasional bottom, mild S&M, very masculine and straight looking, want to meet people in area. Not into bars. Over 40 oday if slim, Blacks, Hispanics, humpy whites, truckdrivers travelling through. Have own place. Box 30.

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TRAINING NEEDED W / m, 33, 5'8", 158 lbs., medium build, 6" cut, novice M seeks understanding Master to bring out ability to serve. Willing, obedient. Not into scat or public humiliation. Hope for tall, white man over 20. Box 80.

SANJUAN All dudes interested in W / S, Leather, levis, fucking, rimming, spanking, animals, fantasy, phone: (809) 722- 3631. Will be visiting Miami and New York during May '79.

BERLIN, SM, 33, 6'2", white 7' uncut, experienced, tending toward S role, but can switch for right guy. Travels to the USA several times a year. Want to meet / correspond with interesting men into leather, levis, uniforms and toys. Also want to meet guys with game rooms in L.A., S.F. areas. Write detailed letter with photos. Age and endowment not important , but no fems, fats, please. Box 134. (Please include overseas airmail postage with replies to this ad).

WEST GERMANY Dutch guy, 30, blonde, 6'2", hairy, long legs, coming to the States in April and September, wants to meet and correspond with Black Master. Into licking, sucking, w / s, getting fucked, etc. Box 106. (Include over- seas airmail postage with replies to getting this ad).

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THE 1979 INTERNATIONAL MR LEATHER CONTEST

CHICAGO ILLINOIS, U.S.A. MAY 18,19 & 20

A WEEKEND YOU WONT WANT TO MISS

Parties, shows, and special events, as some of the world's hottest men, representing leather bars and clubs across America & Europe, compete for over $5,000.00 worth of prizes, including a new motorcycle . The legendary artist, Tom of Finland, will be on hand as one of the many distinguished judges.

Entire Weekend Package, including:

Banquet & Pre-Judging show (Sat. Nite)

■ International Mr. Leather Contest (Sun. Nite)

■ Free drink tickets for Chicago's top bars

Official Contest T-Shirt, designed by Etienne

Sunday Brunch

Discount certificates, free merchandise, & passes to many of the city's leading shops, bookstores, bath houses, etc.

Admission to all the special shows, receptions. beer-busts, etc. planned as part of this gala weekend

… $25.00 All for only …

Banquet and Pre-Judging Show ONLY Saturday Night, May 19… $15.00

International Mr. Leather Contest & Show ONLY

Sunday Night, May 20 … $10.00

Send in your reservations now, while tickets are still available. the Gold Coast 501 n. clark chicago

The heavy metal shutter clashes down at nine o'clock every night. The noise reverberates through the middle class residential neighborhood where uptown couples sit watching television, oblivious to the crashing sound, not knowing that it tells the rest of the West Side that it's time: Half Breed is happening. The shutter blocks the views of the well dressed professionals. It keeps them from seeing inside, to the dark and masculine bar. The symbol on the metal, the HB in a circle, lets the traveler from Chelsea, the pilgrim from the East Village , the visitor from out of town know that this is the place. The mark of Half Breed draws them in and keeps them.

And you're here for the first time. Right at nine o'clock. Waiting for Half Breed to start. You suck on the beer, neryous. You're not used to these bars: dark stained wood, men in leather and levis, cans of crisco. You're not sure you should be here; you're not sure if you're ready for a place like this.

But, now, you're watching the first ritual. The one that starts the night off right at nine! You're standing with the others watching the bartender. Every night he comes in, maybe the most beautiful man in the city, you think. You've heard about this; you've heard about his entrance and the men that stand around the bar waiting for him. The beautiful body with ridges of muscle so sharp they take away your breath. The light covering of hair showing out the top of his shirt. The cowboy hat. And you're hooked right off, you walk into the bar and the first time you see him, you fall for it. And you stand there just like the rest of them, watching as he shucks his coat and takes out the ice cream. How can a bartender eating ice cream turn you on? Or the rest of them? The others who stand around every night in a leather / levi bar and watch his tongue come out and slurp up the cold cum-like custard.

There's a coating on his tongue as it lashes out and whips the cream up into his mouth.

The man is gorgeous. His presence is makking you sweat. You feel like a fool getting all hot and bothered about a bar- tender; it's only nine; but you wonder about him. You wonder about the kind of man he really is. What kind of man stands there and shows off his cock and ass that way, every night? What kind of man makes eating ice cream look like a pagan rite? What kind of man - and suddenly you notice it for the first time — the wide belt of leather stretched across his chest, parting the dark black hair of this almost perfect body - and you really do wonder - what kind of man wears leather against his skin? Not just for show, but to feel it tightly wrapped around his own body? What kind of man are you, going to meet at Half Breed?

You look around, trying to keep from getting too obvious about watching him. Your eyes take in the whole place. It's larger than the other gay bars on the

West Side. There's more room; even when it gets crowded, you know you'll be able to walk around and move easily. You're glad for that. Glad you'll be able to maneuver in case they start anything you can't handle. You're worried about that: what they might start. You've heard about the party; the one everyone talked about for weeks afterwards. You heard what happened to that guy. How they brought him up here to Half Breed; him and his black Master; and tied him up on a stage. How they actually did it to him: they took that red-hot iron and touched it right to his naked flesh. What have you gotten yourself into? Coming to a bar that lets people be branded.

But, that's really why you are here, isn't it? Wasn't the story about the Branding Party what finally made you show up; come here looking for a place where you could find a real man? Not some disco fairy; but one who knew what to do with you and your fantasies? Isn't that why you showed up at Half Breed? Isn't that why you're standing here sweating up a storm, trying to avoid the eyes of a bartender who would wrap his body in cold black leather?

You can't help but wonder what it would be like, can you? What would it be like to be bound and gagged in front of all these men, standing around? What would it feel like to have some ebony slavemaster leave a brand on you? You get hard. You try to think of other things.

The bar is deceptive in some ways. It's different than the leather bars downtown : more western and levi; leather, for sure, but more cowboys than anywhere else you've been. Like that bartender with his big, out-sized straw hat perched on top of the leather swathed chest. And, while you certainly do know that there's a sense of danger here; a sense of heavy masculinity that you can't deny, the feeling is friendly in its own way. This place is more like a bar in California than one in New York, People talk more; there are more men here who know one another than they do in the Village places you've been.

But, you're here waiting - for what? You can't deal with a branding iron, you know that, but what are you looking for in a place like Half-Breed? What is the promise that brings you here?

You're here because of that back room, why don't you admit it? You know all about it. The downstairs back-room that people talk about almost as much as the Branding Party. You've tried them a few times, haven't you? But not in a place like this, not somewhere that flannel shirted men strut around waiting for someone like you,

You try to get your mind off it again. You look around some more. You almost can't believe what a neighborhood number the bar does: parties twice a month; a restaurant open every night. You smile at the idea of people actually eating food here; you know that's not what you're interested in eating, don't you?

Pleasant place. You make a mistake. You relax. Just a neighborhood bar, But you should have known better. You should have known that you can't relax in a place like Half Breed. He catches you off guard. You weren't looking for a stare like that. But there it is. There's the other bartender, bigger, just as muscled, but taller than the first one. The expression has no innocence to cut its hard edge. The stare is no warm welcome. You can actually feel his eyes sizing you up. Seeing your half hard cock filling up your crotch.

His expression doesn't leave your body for a long time. In one flash one man has taken you to the pit of your fantasies and fears like no one has been able to do in months. How did he do that? How did he make you feel like you were owned by him? Not a free soul, but a body enthralled, already, wordlessly, to his passion.

You shouldn't have come here. You're not ready for Half Breed, you think, But, isn't it too late?

You stand around for a long time. You try to focus on other people, but even standing huddled in a corner, even while he opens beers and mixes drinks for all the other customers, that heavy man's eyes keep you in your place. You watch the others going down the stairs and you know the backroom is waiting for you. You want to go down there, but you don't dare. Not with him watching you that way.

And finally, it's time. He comes around to the front of the bar with a beer can in his hand. He's still keeping you in his gaze. Why won't he smile? Why does he keep everything so tense? Then he turns and goes to the back of the bar and follows the sign down the stairway. And you know you're supposed to follow him. You know that's why you came to Half Breed.

And you do. The grip of fear closes in on your stomach. Wondering if you're ready for this place. Wondering what's going to happen. Down the stairs you go. The room is much larger than you would have expected. Cleaner, cooler. There are plenty of men down here, but like upstairs they have space to maneuver in. There are a couple small rooms off the john. You're glad he's not in one of those dark cubby holes - or you think you are.

You go into the largest room, and he's there, with his arms crossed on his chest, There are others walking around, trying to get close to him, but you know he's waiting for you. And it's time. Time to do what you've wanted for years but never had courage to do. Time to go over to this man's man and -

You fall on your knees in front of him. You don't even touch him, You just stay there and wait. Then he undoes the buttons on his fly and takes out his thick meat and leaves it half hard there in front of you. "Suck it." You've been waiting for this. Waiting for this feeling of taking that man's cock in your mouth and sliding your face up and down the shaft, Waiting for those rough hands to come down and open your shirt, pull up your shirt and start tugging on those under-used tits of yours. Waiting for some man to start shoving this way, almost making you gag on the size and length. Waiting for those growled orders to take more, to hurry, to swallow, to worship.

And he does it, He shoots that man-load right down your throat, you suck greedily, taking in the salty liquid. He's still tugging on your nipples; they're getting sore now. You don't care, your own prick is pushing out of your pants, you beat it, listening to him tell you what you are, who you are, what you're going to do for him. That's right, boy, slave, asshole, cocksucker, asswipe, all those things and more, toilet, piece of

And you're done. Your cum is spread over the floor, and he tells you to be there during his next break. Two more hours. He's not done with you yet. And you're hot. You're so hot you could pass out. But, he's left you there, on your knees in the backroom and gone up the stairs to work. A pair of leather coated legs are coming your way. You're going to get more. Another taste of cock ramming down your throat. And you're going to be there when your man returns

You'll be there waiting for him and whatever he has to give you.

Face it, boy, you've got the mark of Half Breed all over you now - they're not going to have to brand you, it's written all over your face.

Half-Breed, the hottest bar uptown in New York is at 68th Street and Amster-dam . Open seven nights a week.

E E R

7459 Hollywood Blvd., 467-08 Erruser and Prain for an HOURS: 7 par - 2 an Monday these Failed France Failed, Scrandoy, & 1 AFTERHOURS: Friday, Scrandoy, & 1

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