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Photos rum 'The Waster Controls' by Close-Up Productions

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Tied Up And Dirty

VIDEO REVIEWS BY CHRISTOPHER J. HOGAN

Men of Bound and Gagged

Audition (To Be A Bottom). Produced by Bob Wingate. Directed and edited by Joe Fitzpatrick and Peter B. Starring Chuck Taylor, Ryan Wagner and Greg Foster. Running time 87 minutes. To order write The Outbound Press, 89 5th Ave, Suite 803, New York, NY 10003.

While this video could use a snappier title, the one it has accurately describes its content. Three very cute, young guys, Chuck Taylor, Ryan Wagner, and Gregg Foster, are "auditioning" to be in future Bound and Gagged videos. "Men of Bound and Gagged: Audition (To Be A Bottom)." Produced by Bob Wingate. Directed and edited by Joe Fitzpatrick and Peter B. Starring Chuck Taylor, Ryan Wagner and Greg Foster. Running time 87 minutes. To order write The Outbound Press, 89 5th Ave, Suite 803, New York, NY 10003.

Of course, they must have already been screened at some point to be in this video, yet the audition does have an authentic feel to it. The three guys don't seem to know what orders the director / casting agent will give them next, and everything they do looks quite spontaneous.

The action begins with the

Taylor, Wagner, and Foster sitting on a couch explaining why they are auditioning to the be hard-core videos and their attraction to S / M and B&D. Eventually the director asks Wagner and Foster to undress Taylor. Once he is naked, Taylor licks Wagner's boots and gets his ass played with by Foster. Next, Foster and Wagner must race each other to see who can undress the most quickly. Wagner loses and is told that he will be punished for it later. The three take turns tying up each other's cock and balls and engage in some light vanilla sex. This first section is a bit slow, and the director starts nearly all of his commands with "Why don't you…" Still, it sets up the second part of the video very well.

The boys move to a room set up for more serious action. Here, they have a contest to see who can jack himself off first. Taylor wins. The other two must shove buttplugs into themselves. They are then handcuffed and gagged, and Taylor gives them each ten strokes with a paddle. Wagner and Foster are released to told to get back at Taylor by tying him up and gagging him. Once that is done, Wagner turns Foster into a puppy with a collar, leash, muz- zle and tail attached to his buttplug. Meanwhile, Taylor has managed to free himself but gets in trouble for yanking on his dick. Another buttplug is snapped onto Fosters muzzle which Foster then shoves up Taylor's ass. Wagner and Taylor then jack off Foster then put him in his cage to rest.

A restraining bench is brought in for the final sequence. Taylor is strapped to it first. Wagner paddles the gagged Taylor. Taylor clearly really loves to get his ass spanked and writhes in pain and pleasure the whole time. Taylor and Wagner then switch places. During the beginning of his paddling, Wagner is bound. but not gagged Eventually, he squirms too much, and the director orders Taylor to tie Wagner down. Taylor then delivers some serious punishment to Wagner. Foster is let out of his cage to join in the assault on Wagner. The film ends with both Foster and Taylor coming onto Wagner's abused bottom.

While "Men of Bound and Gagged: Audition (To Be a Bottom)" drags at points, it is overall a fun video. There is enough variety in the action to keep things interesting. All three guys have gone on to make more porn. Wagner is, in fact, one of the fastest rising bottoms in mainstream smut. It's fun to see them so fresh and full of energy. They also seem to get some of their buttons pushed in this video which hasn't always happened in their later work.

Dirty Stories

Directed by Chi Chi LaRue. Videography by John Rutherford. Starring Sam Crockett, Kyle Brandon, Cort Stevens, J.T. Sloan, Adam Wilde, Adam Rom, Mike Chavez, and Josh Held. Running time 72 minutes. To

order call 800 / 227-3717 (in California, call 415 / 431-7722).

Of all the mainstream studios, Mustang is the one that takes the most chances and lets its stuff wander a bit onto the raunchy side. "Dirty Stories" is an excellent example of how a little edge can really turn on the heat in a standard porn video. The concept of Dirty Stories is simple. J.T. Sloan plays a pornographic writer, and the first three scenes are what he imagines as he writes his dirty stories . In the final scene, Sloan's lover, Adam Rom, comes into his office to give him a little inspiration .

The first two "fictional" scenes are when director Chi Chi LaRue manages to slip in some raunch. In the first, Adam Wilde bottoms for both Cort Stevens and Mike Chavez. (You may know Mike Chavez as Mike Lamas or Miguel Lopez. This boy can't seem to stick with one name.) Stevens and Chavez are strong tops, but Wilde can take everything they give him. Wilde gets both big dicks in his mouth at once, and later he is double-fucked. The second scene features Sam Crockett and Kyle Brandon. Crockett plays a cop who catches Brandon in the act of public uri-Crockett punishes nation. Brandon by forcing him into sexual submission. Most of what happens is pretty vanilla with one exception. Crockett prepares

Brandon's ass for his dick by loosening him up with a night-stick .

Sadly, the last two scenes in Dirty Stories are not as interesting as the first. The handsome Sloan stars in both. He is partnered with Josh Held in the third scene and Rom in fourth. Held is a great match for Sloan, and it's nice to see both of them fuck each other. Ultimately though, the scenes lack the edge of the earlier scenes and are unsatisfying . The folks at Mustang, especially LaRue and videographer John Rutherford, have proven they can produce porn scenes that push some boundaries. Let's hope next time they make a whole video that does the same.

RUMMER Raunch Index Possibly, But Not Necessarily Raunchy Raunchy Not Raunchy Rubber pants Khakis Leather chaps Rape fantasies Understood consent Spoken consent Fire torture Cigars No smoking Beating Spanking Cuddling Begging for more Pleading for it to stop Saying you love it A hairy body being shaved A hairy body A shaved body Fist fucking Double fucking Straight up fucking Mummification Handcuffs No restraints Pierced dicks Pierced ears Pierced nipples Lash marks Tan lines Razor burn Brands Unmarked skin Tattoos Priests Waiters Military men

SPOTLIGHT ON SPURS CINCINNATI

Leather life is alive and well in Downtown Cincinnati with the crowd at Spurs. Celebrating its fifteenth anniversary in August 1996, the bar has become a fixture of the Midwest fetish scene. Weekends get particularly hot in Ohio when owner Dale Dissinger and his crew host Levi-Leather Night on the first and last Saturday of every month. They proudly serve up recovery the next day with a "Bring Your Own" BBQ, out back on the patio. Grab a big slab of meat on Sunday afternoon and come down to the bar for their cookout. Five bucks gets you all the drinks and picnic trimmings you can pile on! You can always call ahead for a month's calendar of special events and community group meetings. Make a stop at Happy Hour to meet the locals for pool, darts and live DJ (Wednesdays ). Spur's host, John Moberly, invites you to join the crowd!

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Amsterdam is still Europe's most tolerant and liberal city. There has been a strong gay-rights movement here since the '60s and Amsterdam has the oldest leather scene in Europe. The first leather hotel and bar, The Argos, opened here in 1957. The bar is still in business. So for 39 years, Amsterdam has had a lot to offer to travelers who are part of the leather, SM, or fetish scene.

We've divided the information below into sections to make it easier for you to find what you're looking for. If you see Gay News, pick it up. This free gay paper will give you updated information about the local hot spots.

Like any major city, Amsterdam has its problems with petty theft. Even a native New Yorker will be impressed with the local pickpockets' skill. So don't carry your passport, return plane ticket, or all your cash or traveler's check with you, especially in the saunas or back room bars. Photocopy the front page of your passport and keep that with you in case you need identification . It will suffice for most purposes.

Fetish Gear

Taking a walk from the "Rembrandtsplein" (the Rembrandt Square) along one of Amsterdam's nicest canal's, the "Reguliersgracht" brings you to RoB Amsterdam (Weteringschans 253, tel. 6254686). RoB was founded in 1974 by Rob Meijer, a gifted leather craftsman who packages brilliantly designed, high quality leather in an art gallery devoted to male erotic art. This erotic atmosphere gave the shop legendary status and became a focus for leatherfolk from all over the world.

RoB still prides itself in being one of the best leather tailors and if you'd like to have something custom made, be sure to visit them at the beginning of your trip. But apart from custom leather, custom latex, custom boots, custom whatever-you-want, the shop is packed with what is probably Europe's most extensive line of latex and leather goodies. RoB is also the European distributor for Close Up, Donnie Russo and EuroMen videos and in addition to that, has a large collection of European made SM videos. Don't forget that located at RoB is Desmodus, Inc.'s European headquarters. Questions about our magazines, advertising, etc.. may be directed here. You will be able to buy the latest copy of International Drummer at RoB as well as a great number of other magazines published in Europe and the USA.

RoB also has a catalog for its world-wide mail-order service and will soon open its own WEB-site. The RoB catalogue is also available to take home and browse through. If your trip is going to involve a stopover in London, you can visit the RoB London store there at 24 Wells Street (tel. 071 735 7893), off Oxford Street.

RoB's vast selection of latex clothing and other items are also manufactured at this location.

Master's Leathers (Warmoesstraat 32, tel. 6245573) used to be the Dutch branch of the London shop Expectations, before Tony Star and Bryan Derbyshire took over in 1992 and changed the name. The hotel and bar are now known as the Stablemaster, and the shop became Master Leathers. They are currently being supplied by the Clone Zone of Manchester and others.

Demask (Zeedjik 64, tel. 6205603) focuses on the straight fetish market, but is worth a look for items that you won't find Stateside. If you'd like to snag yourself a cherry straight boy, it's a good place to find out about the pansexual sex parties that take place regularly.

Robin and Rik (Runstraat 30, tel. 6278924) are two friends who make custom items for a clientele which includes straight bikers as well as leathermen. Their corner of the Prinsengracht is a nice area in Amsterdam for a stroll.

One of Amsterdam's newest businesses is Black Body (Lijnbaansgracht 292, tel. 6262553). This is Amsterdam's first shop specializing in rubber clothing. It stocks quality rubber from London's Detainer and has a wide range of hoods, waders, masks, T-shirts, body suits and accessories. For people into leather, Black Body also carries some leather items, new and second

VENTURES hand. In the Warmoesstraat, Amsterdam's most important leather street, you find Mr. B (Warmoesstratt 89, tel. 4220003), with a similar product range as RoB's. For quality leather rubber , some combat gear and several magazines you might check out Mr. B.

Biker Shops & Clubs

Rijnsport (Rijnstraat 44, tel. 6799485) or DeLeertent (Sarphatistraat 61, tel 6278090) are the shops for bikers. Rijnsport apparently knows how their customers feel about their gear. because they have a curtained alcove at the back of their shop. De Leertent carries Harley-Davidson and other highly popular brand names, while Rijnsport just offers quality stuff for protection on the road.

Amsterdam's representative club of the ECMC is the Motor Sportclub Amsterdam (MSA). The first Sunday of every month, they have a social gathering in cafe West Indie (De Ruyterkade 110). They also organize bike runs, You don't necessarily need to have your own bike to fit in. MSA is the only biker social club in Amsterdam and all are welcome to visit.

Peep Shows and Baths

Unlike most American cities, Amsterdam is still full of opportunities for backroom sex. Most of the porn shops also have cubicles for sex (called cabins here), and there are many gay saunas.

The Bronx (Kerkstraat 55) has been around for many years. They sell magazines, postcards, porn videos, sex toys, and some leather acces-sories . They have a cinema on the premises and a few private booths in which you can watch the porn star of your dreams put on a private performance.

Other interesting sex shops with a touch of leather are Alfa Blue (Nieuwendijk 26), Le Salon (Nieuwendijk 20-22), and Drakes (Damrak 61). Drakes has an upstairs cinema, and there are also private booths on the same floor. So does Le Salon, which has been trying to get a leather night going on Fridays. If you like some celluloid accompaniment to your sex, you should also check out B1 (Reguliersbreestraat 4), which has two cinemas and an incredibly cruisy darkroom on the top floor; Man To Man (Spuistraat 21), and Adonis (Warmoesstraat 92, opposite The Argos). For 11 guilders, you can come and go at Adonis until midnight, as long as you keep your ticket for proof of payment. Rush hours for cinemas are during lunch hour (12-2 p.m.) and at night between 5-8 p.m.

If you still haven't gotten enough, more daytime sauna sex is available at Thermos (Raamstraat 33, daytime). They also have an excellent restaurant.

Coffee Shops

The bars don't open here until two in the afternoon , but the coffee shops are open if you need a buzz. Many of these businesses sell refreshments which are not available over the counter in this country. Ask for a menu. It will list brand names and prices per gram. There are two great places on the same street, Downtown (Reguliersdwarsstraat 31) and The Outside (Reguliersdwarsstraat 6). Downtown is famous for their apple pie and their spacious summer terrace. The Seventh Heaven (Spuis-traat 7) is also recommended.

Mandate Coffee Shop (Prinsengracht 715) also sells porn videos and has a small gallery. It is part of Amsterdam's only strictly gay gym.

Leather Bars

If you're champing at the bit, Spijkebar (Kerstraat 4) opens one hour before the other leather bars. This popular establishment has a pool table, pinball machines, and seems to be the home bar for the English-speaking gay community here. The upstairs darkroom is always busy. One of the two television screens above the bar shows erotic videos; the other features cartoons.

The Web (St. Jacobsstraat 6) and Cukoo's Nest (Nieuwe Zijds Kolk 6) are more or less neighbors. Both are great places to visit, with creative darkrooms. The Web has an upstairs darkroom with one slingroom and six private cabins. For impromptu orgies there is a big leather mattress. When the weather is good enough this bar has one of Amsterdam's most attractive offerings: a roof garden, check it out! They serve snacks in the late afternoon and host a big buffet every last Sunday of the month. The Cuckoo's Nest is even more cruisy since it has enlarged its basement playground , aptly named the Cellar. With over 17 cabins, of which two are equipped with slings, a watersport section and video, this darkroom must be one of the world's most spectacular.

The Monopole Amstel 60, opens at 4 p.m.) and The Company (Amstel 106) used to be more leather-focused. Nowadays, they attract a more diverse, but still butch, crowd. The Company has a well-manned darkroom upstairs. The booths are arranged in a square and connected by glory holes. But there's still one day in the year when every leatherman in Amsterdam hangs out in this particular part of the Amstel. That's Queensday (April 30), so named not because it's a gay pride day, but because the Dutch commemorate their royal family. Although Amsterdam is the capital city, strangely enough, it's not where the government is based, nor is it where the royal family of Queen Beatrix resides.

Part of the Stablemaster Hotel (Warmoesstraat 23, tel. 6250148, open 8 p.m.) is an intimate bar. They host large JO parties on Friday and Saturday nights, with pumping demonstrations. Club Jaecques (Warmoesstraat 93, across the street from Adonis, open 8 p.m.) is also known for its erotic action. They host a variety of SM- related clubs, such as Horse and Knight for men into big dicks and Nude Club Adam for men into nudity. The patrons are open and very friendly, especially on the second floor. Play rooms are located on the first floor. They have a sling room and St. Andrew's cross, and occasionally hot parties.

Next to Club Jaecques is one of the most popular leather bar in Amsterdam, and maybe in all of Europe, The Argos (Warmoesstraat 95, open 9 p.m.). This huge split-level bar with its great downstairs darkroom attracts a large crowd eager for action. On Wednesday nights, they hold a lottery with prizes from Mr. B.

Across the street is the Eagle (Warmoesstraat 90, open 11 p.m.) The Eagle used to be situated at Warmoesstraat 86, but it has expanded into a more spacious location. The old Eagle is now open on Fridays and Saturdays only and named

Dirty Dicks. Dirty Dicks is Amsterdam's' sleazepit for real yellow and brown adventures. The new Eagle has a big darkroom downstairs and a poolroom upstairs. It get busier after 1 a.m.

The owners of the Cockring

(Warmoesstraat 96) don't like to classify their club as a leather bar, but since there hasn't been a fetish-oriented dance club, leathermen who want to move to the beat are more or less forced to hang out in this popular club. There's great music downstairs. However, the Cockring has something most bars in this town do not -- a coat check!

The famous Anco Hotel (Oudezijds Voorburgwal 55, tel. 6205275) reopened their bar a couple of years ago and they still have their fabulous darkroom.

If closing time comes around and you still haven't met Mr. Right Away, don't forget you can head for the night sauna also called Thermos (Kerkstraat 58).

Amsterdam offers regular leather parties to residents and visitors. COC (Rozenstraat 14), Sandman (POB 11950), Trash Club (Rozengracht 70), The Grip and Factory (both from Gala, POB 15815) are only a few of those regulars. The Rubber Sex Group (POB 12913) meets lovers of rubber and wet sex every last Friday of the month.

Hotels

Three of Amsterdam's many gay hotel's cater exclusively to leathermen. Book well in advance to make sure you can get accommodations! They are Anco Hotel (Oudezijds Voorburgwal 55, tel. 6205275), Stablemaster (Warmoesstraat 23, tel. 6250148) and Centre Apartments Amsterdam (Heintje Hoekssteeg 27, tel. 6272503). The Anco Hotel is clean and comfortable , and offers a continental breakfast for a reasonable price. They also have a very low dorm rate. There's a small, very friendly bar in the Stablemaster lobby. The Stablemaster also hosts JO parties every Friday and Saturday nights with a small entrance fee. Centre Apartments has fair-priced studios and apartments just around the corner from all the leather bars.

Other gay hotels are Aero Hotel (Kerkstraat

49, tel. 6227728), Orfeo Hotel (Leidse-kruisstraat 14, tel. 6231347), UNIQUE (Kerkstraat 37, tel. 6244785), and West End (Kerkstraat 42, tel. 6248074).

Most hotels breakfast serve between 9 a.m. and noon. Call to check your hotel's schedule.

Body Modifications

If you won't already have enough trouble getting through the metal detector at Amsterdam Airport Schipol on your way home, you can certainly get yourself a set of tit rings or a Prince Albert here. Body Manipulations (Oude Hoogstraat 31, tel. 6384639) offers piercing, branding, and scarification. Mr. Roland (Kloveniersburgwal 135, tel. 6257812) does tattooing and piercing. Mr. B. (tel 4330003) offers a piercing service by Hasu, regular tattoo-artists as well as Detlef, a massage specialist. RoB Amsterdam (tel. 6254686) has re-installed a piercing studio, run by Henk-Jan.

Transportation

Most of you will arrive in Holland by plane. The cheapest was to get to the city center from Schipol airport is to take the train. It costs about 6 guilders and 50 cents, and the trip takes about 20 minutes. Make sure you take one of the trains that goes to Amsterdam CS (CS mean Central Station). It costs 25 guilders to take the KLM shuttle; a taxi will cost you about 55 guilders.

This is a lovely city to walk around in, and most neighborhoods are quite safe. You can rent a bicycle, take a water taxi or a canal boat, or paddle around the canals in a canalbike.

For those in more of a hurry, the tram is ideal for getting around the city, especially on rainy afternoons and nights when you don't want to walk. Line 1, 2, 4, 5, 9, 11, 13, 16, 17, 24, and 25 all start from CS and will eventually return to this square. Lines 3, 6, 7, 10, 12, and 14 cross the city from east to west. Inspectors regularly go through the trams to check for valid tickets. Some people try to beat the system, but our advice is to pay. You can buy tickets from the conductor in the back of the tram or at a vending machine in front of CS. Tickets are called

Strippenkaarten. Get the one that has 15 strip-pen . Amsterdam is divided into zones. The center and quite a bit of the city beyond it is one zone.

The buses and the metro (from CS to Amsterdam Southeast, also know as Bijlmer) use the same Strippenkaarten.

Condoms

Amsterdam's laissez-faire attitude toward sex has allowed a network of public dungeons and darkrooms to flourish. You normally won't get free condoms here. You can buy rubbers in all of the bars. Try the Safe Sex kits. You get one condom and a small packet of lubricant for a guilder and seventy-five cents. Pharmacies may not carry the brand or size you're looking for, so it's a good idea to pack plenty of your favorite lube and latex so you'll be well-prepared for the hedonistic nightlife.

Because many of the play areas are not well-lit , be alert. Don't assume that your partner(s) will use condoms. Fortunately, in Amsterdam it's easy to wave good-bye to somebody who refuses to take precautions. Where you're sure to find somebody else just as another five minutes.

Amsterdam Leather Pride

For the first time in history, Holland's capital will celebrate an Amsterdam Leather Pride. Amsterdam's Leather Pride takes place from October 25, 1996 until November 3, 1996. There will be eight parties, a three-night pub crawl, a leather market, jack off and sauna parties, including the Mr. Drummer Europe contest '96. New York city's The Lure is also hosting a Pork party which includes an after cocktail party cruise. On the opening night (October 25, 1996) COC will host a Hot Leather Party on behalf of the Dutch Buddy Project, one of the two chari-ties Amsterdam Leather Pride will raise money for. The other charity is Countdown on Spanner Campaign. One November 1, 1996 a 72-hour hot and steamy weekend starts in the ARENA, a former nunnery, where Drummer magazine will host two major parties and select the new Mr. Drummer Europe '96. Tickets for the Arena fun includes two-night accommodations (plus dinner and breakfast) and entrance to the parties and contest. Prices range between NLG 270,00 (ca. $160) and NLG 360,00 ($210). For information and bookings call: +31 20 6276467 or fax: +31 20 6273220.

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DRUMMER COVER STORY

Daddies, Boys, Where to begin? by Simon Sheppard

Artwork by Thom Magister

The terms "daddy" and "boy" cover a lot of ground. My same-age boyfriend and I call each other "daddy" during moments of intense sexual surrender. A young guy I picked up on Castro Street was my son during an elaborate verbal incest fantasy we spun out during a long afternoon of sex which otherwise remained vanilla (give or take a spanking or two). A nationally-known gay artist who had a heavily abusive childhood called me "daddy" while I punched him till tears came to his eyes. A pal of mine was legally adopted by his older boyfriend / daddy. And on and on - there are as many modes of daddy / boy play as there are…wait for it…daddies and boys. Even editor Pat Califia's excellent porn anthology "Doing It for Daddy" didn't exhaust the possibilities. The roles of daddy and boy

And, I realize, I'm no big expert. I'm just another middle -aged faggot who loves being called "Daddy" while my often-but-not-always-much-younger boy-trick is on his knees, on my dick, in my ropes, whatever. So all I can do at this point is provide some notes.

All I can do is suggest some reasons for the appeal of daddy / boy, for its growing currency as a modality of desire among only middle-aged geezers not in understandable

(Yeah, I know there are "boys" in their fifties out there, as well as "daddies" barely old enough to vote, and more power to 'em. But I tend toward a more traditional age / role approach.) The obvious place to start is with the com- plexly ambivalent relationships most faggots have with their own fathers. The first porn story I ever sold was a daddy / boy tale which made verbatim use of some of my erotic childhood memories. Now, my own biological father is in many ways a stereotypical straight guy; a graceless emotional klutz, an armored personality seriously out of touch with himself. time he tells me he loves me, I wince. And he looks like I might look if I allowed myself to get seriously out of shape, an unwelcome visible reminder that the rest of my life will be a downhill slide. But deep down, I want to be able to say "I love you, Dad," and mean every word.

And from a cheap post-Freudian viewpoint, Dad is both the first man we desire and the first man we betray. We want a dick just like the dick that hangs from dear old Dad. But in order to suck that dick, we become forever estranged from what Dad actually is, i.e. presumably straight. It's easy to see how even the most cursory of daddy / boy scenes, even the use of the words, gets us in touch with some pretty deep shit.

So from this vantage point, daddy / boy is a sexual scene which, more explicitly than most, plays with the basic building blocks of who we are and how we got that way. When I become "Daddy," I try to be the Daddy I wish

I had: affectionate, demanding, worthy of respect.

And hot. Like gay men everywhere, I've had to become my own father figure. When I play Daddy, I get to try my best. And my boys get to construct a new, improved model of their manhood. One which may include, paradoxically , a certain amount of punishment for the forbidden desire which brought them to me in the first place. It may sound pretentious, but it's true: when we play daddy / boy, we touch the deepest roots of our selfhood. Before I shoot down a boy's throat, I love to tell him I'm feeding him the baby batter which created him. And when I spank him, I tell him it's "for his own good." Because it is.

One reason daddy / boy sex is so fascinating is because it's so much like real life. Only more so. Even the most abusive-seeming of scenes can be touched by mutual affection and respect. And even the most unequivocal declarations of love are informed and transformed by power relationships. (Oh, Foucault!)

A nagging question: by replaying these tapes, by remixing them, do we make ourselves freer, happier? Or do we simply reinforce the most neurotic, dysfunctional parts of our lives? When I beat that artist till he begged me, not to stop, but to beat him more and more until he couldn't help but shoot his load, I mean, what was happening there? Catharsis? Or really sick shit? But then, what's happening during any sex, particularly homo-sex? Christ, I don't know; I said these were going to be notes.

And why daddy / boy now? What accounts for its increasing visibility and popularity? Why did the last guy I had phone sex with start calling me "Daddy" before we even exchanged ages? (He was nineteen years younger, which would make it just about right.)

Several reasons come to mind. My generation is the Stonewall generation, the first bunch of queer men to believe not only that we have a right to homo-sex, but a right to homo-sex for the rest of our lives. Just as we get old enough to seriously lose status in the ultra-commodified gay community, boom, we go off and invent this daddy role for ourselves which allows us to remain objects of desire. Meanwhile, young gay men have, for the last decade-plus, been watching their queer elders drop like flies. Becoming a "boy" allows young guys to search for mentors, to feel a continuity with a "community" which seems ever on the brink of vanishing yet is somehow able to renew itself. And it holds out the promise that coming out does not doom one to extinction - sexually, emotionally , literally - at thirty-five. If I were a young queer, I'd be pissed off because the daddy-generation , riddled with virus, seems to be deserting the kids. Daddy / boy allows the younger men to hang onto us, in some sense to forgive us, and to carve out a space into which, with any luck, they'll one day mature.

Daddy / boy also gives younger bottom boys a commodity which remains a dirty little secret: power from below. This is particularly true in dominance / submission or SM scenes. No matter how submissive a young guy may be, no matter how helpless within a scene, he always has an ace up his harness: he's younger. You don't have to go to the gym to be "younger," you don't have to be smart or strong or even be good sex. You just have to be born at the "right" time. No matter what, that power remains real within the scenes we play out. At its best, that reserve of power allows a bottom to give himself permission to let go, to play deeper and harder. At its worst, it makes twinkies think they can jack some old geezer around, and that the geezer will think, "Oh well, that's what a predatory old troll like me deserves," rather than, "What a rude little asshole. Oh well, it's his loss." Yes, Dad gets good and tired of phone calls that aren't returned, promises that aren't kept, plans that come to naught. In other words, the usual bullshit associated with self-absorbed, heartless kids. On the other hand, daddy-hood can work to empower daddy tops, who become transformed from importunate old guys after young butt into something like the godhead. And there's nothing better for one's self-image than realizing that you are indeed smarter, more mature, experienced, talented - hell, that you're a better human being than you were when you were young. So it can work both ways.

Daddy / boy also represents, in a way, the return of traditional gender. Out in the main-stream , the drag queen is king, and acceptance awaits those whose transgressions reinforce fag-as-woman-trapped-in-a-man's-body expectations. Homos with hyper-male signifiers pose more of a threat to heterosexuals, which is why you're more likely to see RuPaul than Mr. Drummer when you turn on your TV. Likewise, in the gay men's community, the Hot Commodity these days is identifiably male but not T00 butch. We like hairless bodies, we don't like pattern baldness. We like lithe bodies that are just barely post-adolescent, not guys with beer guts. When you open up you International Male catalog, all you see is beardless pretty boys. Even in leather drag, they retain their aura of androgyny. After a decade of stultifying sameness, though, the devalued has become fetishized, as is often the case. Bears prove that gut-is-good. Gruff guys with facial hair have their own sex 'zine. And daddies are desirable because of, not despite, their secondary sexual characteristics. Daddies (and SM tops) base their appeal on being REAL MEN, not deodorized, airbrushed little boys. The fetishized masculine signifiers can range from hairy backs to business suits, but the image is Traditional Male (whatever the some, maybe many, young guys really find a tum-on.

And when Daddy plays with a boy, a son, a pussy-boy, he is asserting his own "genuine mas- culinity." He may be a homo, but he's availed himself of a number of patriarchal perks. The trophy wife becomes the cute boy. The male

power position is his. It may all be rather problematical , politically speaking, but Christ, life is hard, and we're entitled to some fun.

The affection implicit in daddy / boy play gives it a potential for emotional possibilities less inherent in other role-playing scenes, say "master / slave" or "drill sergeant/ recruit." Sarge, after all, can't say "Hell, I love you, private " while he's kicking butt. And there are endless possibilities for transgression within the scene as well. Daddy can be a submissive being worked over by his strapping young son. Or Daddy's Little Boy can become Daddy's Little Girl. A thirty-year-old businessman can play as a young kid. As long as the thought police don't find out.

Indeed, the mainstreaming of SM has opened, as they say, a space in the discourse for all sorts of previously submerged stuff to flourish. When I was a chronological boy, there was a paucity of visible daddy / boy stuff. (Or I willed myself not to see it. After all, I hung out in San Francisco's pre-epidemic leather bars and managed to remain blithely clueless about SM practice. Of course, SM culture was a lot less widespread then but even so… Ah, callow youth!)

In the nineties, though, transgression is in, and daddy / boy scenes can be taboo-breakers in a variety of ways. Of course, there's the suggestion , more or less explicit, of incestuous doings. But age differentials can count, too. Many of us have learned that "lowering" ourselves to having sex with people we find unattractive , unworthy of us, or downright repulsive can add a lot of heat to scene. And cute young men can find that giving it up for someone perhaps not-so-cute and definitely not-so-young makes for boundary-breaking fun. Older guys, on the other hand, can relax into chicken hawk status, finding a safe, legal, mutually satisfying way to make friends with their inner child-molester. But because the boy is looking for his daddy, Dad doesn't have to feel pathological or pathetic. (Although that can make for a hot scene as well, assuming the participants can handle it.) For me, as I'm sure you've gathered by now, -complexity is part of daddy / boy's appeal.

The other day my friend Bruce said to me, "Isn't life great? Just when you think you've got it all figured out, and you can coast till the day you die, you get hit over the head with something new. Big surprises. Everything changes. There's always something to learn." It sounds like Dear Abby, but Bruce was talking about kinky sex.

I know I'll never get it all figured out. The possibilities are endless. I mentored one young man and proudly watched him "leave home" for a relationship which, though mostly monogamous, still had room for a reunion at the Folsom Street Fair, him in a collar, me holding the leash. I've lost my heart to cute boys who flirt and encourage pursuit, and then run off to their rooms to play with their little friends. I've become the man I've always wanted to be. I've realized that part of me will always be a child. I've learned a lot. I've kissed some beautiful faces. And whipped some beautiful butt. And I'm getting my rocks off in the process. What more could you ask for?

Say "Thank you, Daddy.

Training Him The Right Way by Robert Payne

Ok, so now you have a son of your own. A strapping young hunk that, while physically perfectly formed, nevertheless needs the spiritual leadership that only an older man can give, along with some very strict discipline and delving into his sexuality. Take a good look at him: he is undoubtedly the product of middle-class morality, a third grade religious education , and has more confused and conflicting drives than anybody needs and a gnawing need to discover himself or, as the saying goes, "See where he is coming from."

You may not be related, but there is a bond there that far surpasses what most sons get from their own fathers. The "boy" now has a dad who is steeped into what is going on in his mind. After all, Dad had been there too, probably to places that most straight fathers never venture. And Dad had the same physical attributes, problems and equipment as the "son." He knows. He understands. You can bet your ass.

Now, really look at the kid. Strip him down and take a good, long look. There he stands, every naked inch of him, his hands behind his back, his head down, his bare feet toe to toe. Look him over. You've got a hundred and some pounds of vital, energetic male there, waiting to be told what it is you want from him. That big dick and those hanging balls aren't going to be used by any dull-eyed hooker in a back room somewhere. That prick ain't going anywhere but straight out. Untouched, unworshiped and uninserted-at least without his old man's explicit permission and instruction. "Boy" keeps his hands off it and so does everybody else, bet your / his ass.

But where does his fulfillment come from? We'll cover that later when we get through examining this young stud. You bend him over, make him spread his cheeks-only after he has been given a short-arm examination. Is he broad of shoulder, slim of waist? Are those calves big as most men's thighs? If not, that is obviously something for him to work on. And that chest. Is it full with wide, deep pecs crowned by round firm nipples?

Does he have good hair patterns? Enough hair for definition on the chest and upper belly. However, from the navel down it all comes off. He knows that and so do you. Pubic hair is for free men, not for someone in training. The manual requires a smooth crotch and a smooth ass. Anything else you want to shave is fine but, if anyone gets into his pants and sees your crotch / ass handiwork, they know this specimen belongs to someone else.

He should be well-scrubbed, clean skin, nails and whatever hair he might have. The

balls should hang down for easy grasping, cock erect, shoulders back, chest and nipples out for your pleasure. He keeps his mouth shut, unless you want to put something in it. His vocabulary consists mainly of "Yes, Sir," and "Thank you, Sir," not unlike boot training in the Marines. I certainly don't need to tell you what to do with him if he sasses you back or is discourteous.

The intensified beginning training begins immediately. Your "boy" is mainly mouth, ass-hole and muscle and all three respond to exercise and constant use. If you are going to make a man of him, don't allow any part of him to go flabby. Make him work out at home or at a gym, or just do pushups and situps. Hard work in the back yard or basement is excellent to harden him up. The more sun, the heavier the work, the better. It will show in time. Diet is important too. There are many schools of thought in this: health foods like protein powder mixed with skin milk to the taste and consistency of wallpaper paste, fresh fruits and vegetables-raw, full of natural fiber and goodness-are unquestioned, whether he likes them or not. Keep him away from rich foods, alcohol, desserts and all the things that you shove down your own throat. Let him watch, perhaps, but that is as close as he should be allowed. You want a showpiece? It takes time, patience and discipline on both sides.

You must be as strict as a drill instructor. and unforgiving as the head of the Spanish Inquisition. His own dad spanked him, or should have. In either case, you show him what he missed or has been missing. The buttocks, the thighs, calves and soles of the feet are responsive to a good whipping, as is the upper back. Stay away from the lower back (kidneys), testicles, head. And don't be too hard on the delicate bones of the feet. Thick wood paddles or metal pieces won't give, so forget them except to scare him with. Make it very psychological. Make him bring you the instrument and the bondage materials for you to use on him, preferable in his mouth. And make him thank

How do you refer to him? "Boy," "You," "The Kid" (whatev- er the age), "Cocksucker" and Asshole" are accurate synonyms; give him a number if you have more than one trainee to keep track of. Forget his given name; everybody else calls him that. His training is to get him over the "business-as-usual," everyday relationship he has been used to. If he, like a used car, has been preowned, you may find a number of things to change about him, learned from his former experience. Or you may be grateful that he was given such expert prior training and maintenance to anticipate your every wish.

Keep him busy, work him hard in the daytime , use him at night. He should have as little freedom as is practical. Idle hands, etc., etc. Getting him his own transportation is a mistake , believe me. Or if you do, keep the keys. Spending money should be accounted for and doled out very little at a time, then mostly for errands. If he works at another job, make him give you his paycheck and you put in into a trust account. He can not, at this point in time. be trusted to make his own decisions and handle his own affairs.

When you are out, his "In training" T-shirt, his neck chain or dog-collar, his cutoffs and nothing to say about it. In time he will get used to exposing any or all parts of his body to anyone should you wish to show off a new tattoo, a brand, suntan, new set of rings, improved muscle tone or just last night's welts. Keeping him nude most of the time will get rid of his natural inhibitions and ingrained modesty.

The result of all this intensified training? If all goes well, within a few weeks you will have a son not too far from what the Marine Corps turns out: trim, manly, tanned, clean-cut, painfully polite, respectful and obedient as all hell. He will lick the hand that beats him, work himself into a frazzle, be proud and throw his legs up in the air on command, just like what you pick up coming off the Marines base. He know what his mouth is for, his ass is for, what his whole being is for and, better yet, who it all is for. It takes time and patience and considerable imagination. The whole thing must be, more than anything else, what he wants most in the all the world.

The result can be the greatest Father's Day gift in the world.

"Training Him The Right Way" was originally published in Drummer Daddies.

The Night I Borrowed a Son

By Robert Payne

This happened some time ago, at least it started 'way back then. I was in Larry's bar in Los Angeles that night, so you know how long ago that was. Larry's has been closed for a long time now. The two cans in the bar were both full, with a standing line for each. I picked the longer line mostly because in front of me was a young guy who made standing next to him a pleasure. He was solidly built (and still is), good looking with blond hair that was (and isn't now) a little too long for my tastes. His keys were on the right and, since I was looking him up and down, he turned around to face me, like he read my mind. I couldn't tell you the conversation exactly such as it was up to the point where I was unbuttoning his shirt for a better look at (and feel of) his chest. He said, very matter of factly, "You can do anything you want with me, but first I have to clear it with the guy I

came here with."

The syntax may have been a little off but I certainly respected the attitude.

"Fine," I said, "let's go talk to him." I don't know how badly he had to pee but he left his place in line and led me over to a bigger guy, dressed similar to the kid. At least he had very little leather on.

I introduced myself, apologized for coming on to his boy, told him I would like to reciprocate the next time when I had my (long-gone) houseboy along, but I wondered if he would mind if I checked his man out in the can.

"Nothing sexual." I assured him. "Just like a closer look at your property." For some reason the stranger disinterestedly said to go ahead, be his guest. I really didn't expect him to be so willing, but I didn't prolong the conversation. "Come on, kid," I said, and the blond followed me back to the line for the one can that Larry had told me could be locked from the inside.

When we got in, I told him to strip, which he did without question. Off came the few remaining unbuttoned buttons on the shirt, then the levis dropped to the floor, displaying a very nice bod with some blond hair between those pecs, trailing down in a fine line past the flat belly to his pubic region. And standing up from that small nest was as firm a hard-on as I have ever seen. He stood with his hands at his side, awaiting whatever move I was going to make.

"Take off your shoes and socks, boy."

He hesitated, then stooped over to pull off his high-top shoes or low-top boots, whichever . He pulled the jeans off, along with his undershorts and held them, awaiting my inspection of his body. I ran my hands up and down, had him turn around, bend over and spread his ass. He was a superb piece of flesh. "How old are you, boy?"

"Twenty-three."

"How long have you been with your friend out there?"

"He just asked me out tonight. He wants me to move in with him."

"If you were my property, I would do a lot of things to you, but one of them would not be letting someone else take you to the can and strip you."

"Yes, sir." A pause. "How old are you-sir?" "Old enough to be your father." He brightened up.

"I guess that is what I was looking for." Someone was pounding on the door to the can and I yelled at him to knock it off.

"Put your pants back on, kid."

He slipped his jeans up and started to put on his shirt. "I'll take the rest of those clothes."

"But…" He hesitatingly handed me his shirt, shoes, socks, and shorts. I unlocked the door and let the next guy, who was probably wetting his pants, in. Blondie and I walked back to the fellow he came in with and I handed the clothing to the guy.

"You've got a good boy there," I said. "Thanks for the courtesy."

He looked surprised and took the clothing, giving it to the kid, who looked at the two of us to determine whether or not he was to get dressed.

"Put your clothes on, Ron," Mr. Personality said and, before I could engage him in conversation as to his plans for the boy, he turned his back on me. What a nerd!

Too bad. The kid had possibilities.

I moved around the crowded rooms, said hello to Larry, who always kept his eye on me to make sure I wasn't fastening someone to the wall-shackles he had up for decoration, or putting someone on the rack, which was very authentic and in excellent working condition. There seemed to be no other live ones in the crowd, just a lot of posers, so eventually I left. As I walked out the back door (the only way you could get in or out of Larry's) and toward the parting lot, who is standing there but the blond?

"Hello, sir," he says.

"Where is your man?"

"He left. I guess he was pissed at me."

I looked him over again. "So you are looking for an old man, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you name is Ron?"

"Yes, sir."

We walked together over to my bike which was parked back behind all the store buildings next to the bar. I got on it. The kid just stood there.

"You've got too many clothes on, kid."

Ron peeled off his shirt, his shoes and socks and laid them down on the asphalt.

"Had any training at all?"

"Some, sir, but not near enough."

"You got a tight ass?" I already knew he did, since I had stuck my finger in it back in the can. He nodded. "You a good cocksucker?"

"Yes, sir!" He dropped to his knees and right then and there put his face to my crotch. I told him to get on and we fired up the bike and drove off into the night.

When we got to my place, I made him strip completely in the garage; in fact, I did the same thing. I told him to show me he could take care of my cock anywhere, any time or place. He put his heart and soul into it like he really wanted it bad.

We went inside and I explained to him that, if I were to take him on as a son, there would be certain things he could expect. First would be a haircut, not just a trim but practically a military cut. He didn't look too pleased but he said nothing, just nodded. I told him I like a shaved crotch and ass and he could expect to get rings through those big nipples when we had worked them up even larger. I put a chain and small padlock around his neck and he became part of the family, along with my dog, the cat and my Kawasaki.

He quit his nothing job and I made him go back to college to get his degree. He more than earns his keep around the house and yard; in fact, he is going hard all day long-between school, his new part-time training position and keeping the whole place up. Then in the evening when I get home, I use him and / or train him.

It has worked out very well. The need is mutual as have been the benefits. Not that there haven't been problems, mind you, but there has to be give and take on both sides.

Ron says he wonders what he would be like if we hadn't met that night. I have grown so dependent on him, so filled with him, that I don't even like to think about that possibility.

"The Night I Borrowed A Son" was originally published in Drummer Daddies #1.

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WORKING IT by Scott O'Hara eing in a sex-video is one of the big-time fantasies, along with pitching in the World Series and saving (or shooting) the President; most anyone who has an imagination has imagined it at one time or another. (You notice how cleverly I've omitted the Christians .) So naturally, everyone's curious, when they discover that I've actually done it - not once or twice, but more than two dozen times. They all want to know the same things. Did you meet [x]? Are those cumshots real? How did you get into it? And the more forward questioners always ask "How big is it?"

Do you mind if I avoid some of these more obvious questions? Yeah, I'm sure you all want to know; but my simple response is, porn is not as exciting as you'd expect, and I'd rather preserve your illusions. It's also not white slavery, as some people would have you believe; I have very few complaints about my time in porn. I never dealt with an unscrupulous director / producer ; I always got paid what they promised me, I never had a director spring surprises on the set, no one ever pushed drugs on me, and I got along pretty well with most of my co-stars. But I also made certain, on every video shoot, that I brought along a couple of books. There's a lot of "down-time" while you're waiting for the lighting, sound, and other techs to get things set up.

My favorite videos, though, were the ones on which I was "more than just talent." On "Sighs", for example, Ron Pearson "allowed" me to be second still photographer. (It's a good thing I wasn't the only photographer ; I didn't know enough about it yet, and the rolls I shot without professional lighting are pretty sickly.) I've still got most of those slides (he didn't, as it turned out, have any use for them), and they're a vivid reminder of all the fun I had on-set. Joel Curry, Eric Stryker, Brad Mason and Cole Taylor : all fun to work with, and all extensively documented in my slide files. Not for public consumption; merely as a way of reminding myself that yes, it was all real.

Sometimes, given subsequent events, my porn career seems oddly fantastic, nothing more than a dope-dream I might have come up with while lying, stoned out of my gourd, on the beach in Hawaii.

But no: I have evidence. There's an Advocate Men video, for example , which lists me in the credits as "Technical Support." (I think that's the title.) One of my most gleeful moments: the director wanted me around to take care of fluffing the models, and I was delighted to oblige him. And yes, technically, that's certainly one way of supporting the models …

On the set of "Oversize Load" well, there wasn't a lot for me to do; but Al Parker had been a performer, he knew the necessity of finding things to keep us busy. He asked us, during our spare time, to do a graf-fiti job on the porta-potty (where I later fucked a cute bubble-butted blond). Now, mind you, graffiti has never been one of my strong suits; but I did my best, as did the other actors. And it gave me the feeling that I had more of an investment in

the video than just having mouthed my lines, picked up my paycheck, and gone home.

That may be the aspect of my career that sets me most apart from the rest of porndom's well-known stars: I always wanted to be involved. I loved those movies, even the worst ones; I was always trying to come up with ways of improving them. I'd make suggestions to the director, and he'd generally look at me like I'd just popped in from Mars. (Whadda ya think this is, "Citizen Kane?") I think I once, in all seriousness, asked a director something about my "motivation." Yes, I had taken too many acting classes in high school.

The best example of my level of involvement, though, dates back to my very first film: "California Blue." And yes, it was a film. Video hadn't taken over yet. Theatrical release was still an option - and a necessity , if you expected any real publicity . And we were all amateurs, which means that we were doing it because we loved doing it; and I think I did everything on that set except drive the car. Eagerly. That was a cast that really felt like a family. Have I felt that way about any other cast? Maybe in "The Other Side of Aspen II" since we were all cooped up in a lodge at Tahoe for most of a week, we got pretty familiar with each other. But the shooting phase of CalBlue went on for six weeks or so, and then the editing and cutting and sound-tracking and … well, it was two years later before it hit shelves. That's what the word "amateur" means. And in the meantime, I wrote (and spoke, and acted) additional script, helped in the cutting process, acted as messenger boy between composer and producer, and, ultimately, even invested a large amount of my own money in the final production phase. (No, I never saw any return on that investment; and no, I can't bring myself to regret it. It was worth every penny, just to see the finished product.)

On most sets, I hesitate to say it, but the popular perceptions are probably accurate: in between takes, I felt like nothing so much as a whore in a whorehouse, waiting for the next trick. We all sat around filing our nails and chewing gum, most of us coming up with horror stories of directors we'd dealt with. (I don't remember telling such stories myself, which may explain why I seldom felt like I was really one of the gang.) It's not that we hated what we were doing; I don't think any of my co-stars would have characterized it that way, and I certainly loved the work. But, like most any other job, the exciting bits can be overwhelmed and obscured by the trivia and boredom. And sitting around waiting for things to happen , even sitting around waiting for sex to happen, is not exciting.

I can bring up two more examples , before I run out of space: "Below the Belt" and "Switch Hitters II." These were probably the most professional productions I was ever involved with, in that there was a make-up artist on set, a person to handle the catering, a real lighting crew, and "Switch Hitters II" was actually filmed on a real sound-stage ! (That's what happens when you have a major budget.) In both cases, the director was a bear about dialogue: numerous re-takes, to get it perfect. This didn't bother me at all, I was thrilled to be treated like a Real Actor for once, but some of the other guys were a little put out by all the nitpicking. In the case of SWII, it was justified: that was a pretty decent script. But "Below the Belt" … puh-leeze! I kept a copy of the script, just for laughs; yes, our dialogue was spelled out in detail, but most of the copy consists of the director's "vision" of what should be happening, and his vision was not quite 20 / 20. I think that was the video that taught me (by contrast with "Oversize Load," which had been shot the weekend before) that the most valuable directorial trait is knowing when to shut up. Porn performers know how to have sex; that's their job. They don't need to be told how to do an insertion shot, and writing a lyrical description in the script of what the insertion looks like is not going to benefit anyone, least of all the performers, who will likely be convulsing with laughter after reading it.

The other question that everyone asks me, of course, is "Do you miss it?" Silly question. Of course I do. Garbo aside, I don't think there's anyone who's had a public stage who ever gets over the incredible adrenaline rush of knowing there's an audience out there in the dark, worshipping you. I found it more stimulating to have a live audience, at my jack-off shows; but I could easily imagine the same audience behind the camera lens. And of course I still have many of the advantages of celebrity: when I'm at a bathhouse, and one of my videos comes on (for some reason, it's always "Below the Belt"), I play along, and "perform" for the other patrons; sometimes it turns into a pretty intense competition between the me on-screen and the me in the audience. That's a fairly intense high and it's not gonna change. Videos do have a finite life (I hope, somewhere, that someone is preserving those master tapes!), but I suspect that in twenty years, I'll still occasionally see myself on those TV monitors.

And would I make a "comeback " in twenty years, if asked? You damn betcha.

Scott O'Hara is the former editor of Steam magazine; his first book of short stories, "Do-It-Yourself Piston Polishing (for Non-Mechanics)" will be released in August, and his memoir of life in the porn industry, "Autopornography," in Spring '97.

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Oh, Daddy, I saw you the second you walked in. I saw the way you looked at me. I wanted you, too, Daddy, but you looked mean. I was afraid of you. I thought you might hurt me. I mean, hurt me more than I want to be hurt.

Text by David May from Drummer #95 Dan Lyons and Kyle Brandon photographed for Drummer by Jeffrey Burton.

Oh, Daddy!

Oh, Daddy, its beautiful. I've never seen such a pretty dick. And that little drop of cum juice dripping from your pis slit. Can I have it? Can I lick it up with the end of my tongue?

Your dick is bigger than ever, Daddy. Can I play with it, spread all that precum over my head? Yeah? You like that, Daddy? You like the way I may you feel? Want more good feeling in your dick, Daddy? Do you? Okay, Daddy. Just tell me what to do.

Oh, Daddy!

Like my ass Daddy? You're looking at it, checking it out. I feel your eyes moving along the curve of it, your hand resting on my buns. I know you want it, Daddy. And I want it, too, Sir. Really I do.

Can I take my clothes off now Daddy? I want to show you what you're getting . I've been working real hard at the gym, getting my body ready for you. See my back and shoulders, my arms, my legs? Yeah, and my ass. It's all yours, Sir.

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BOOK SECTION

Sex Zine Reviews by Betty Pearl and Larry-bob

Men in Boots Club International

Published: quarterly, Subscription Info: $28 US, $35 Canada, International $35 US. Boots, Box 93556, RPO Nelson Park, Vancouver, B.C., Canada V6E 4L7.

Naturally, this publication is devoted to men who wear boots. Leather boots, tall boots, rubber boots, and so on. One issue features an interview with Tom of Finland Foundation president Durk Dehner. There's information about bootmakers, and personal ads.

Men Into Underwear

Price: $5.00, Published: six issues a year, Subscription Info: one year is $25 (U.S.), $30 (Canada), $60 (elsewhere ) in U.S. currency checks or money orders to MJ Enterprises, 2600 Hiway 230, Laramie, WY 82070-8520. Subscribers receive a free two-issue Personal Ad.

M.I.U. is put out by the same fel-las that brought you Cowpokes (see Drummer 197). Mark and John are still trying to make a buck marketing just about anything they can think of. An ad in the back of M.I.U. pitches a video of two guy in unionsuits getting off starring (guess who?) Mark and John. M.I.U. seems to feature

Issue 198

Sex Zine Reviews p. 57

"Revenge is Sweet" Fiction by Tony Stuart p. 61

"The Adventures of Drum" Story & Cartoon by Bill Ward p. 67

Illustration by Craig Esposito from "Nasty Boyz" memorable undies stories replete also personal ads, friction fiction

and the poorest production photos of underwear-clad guys with dicks hanging out. Bottom line: it makes sense to fetishize the underwear as it is much cuter than the men.

Mentor

For Daddies and Those Who are Looking for Daddies, Price: $4.95, Subscription Info: two issues for $10.00 or four issues for $18.50 to Mentor 1278 Glenneyre, #140, Laguna Beach, CA 92651.

At the front of Mentor, Daddy Bear Ken informs us that "There is only one reason for this magazine, that is to spread the word among gay men, it's OK to call or be called "Dad" or "Son." He also apologizes for the many mistakes throughout. Though I can not use a comma to save my own life I did notice an astounding number of typos, misspellings, grammatical and punctuation mistakes, not to mention poor layout design. All of those are probably par for the course when it comes to self-publishing a zine. Mentor includes: letters, feature articles, friction fiction, personal ads, and pictorials with no frontal nudity.

Mud Mania Magazine

Price: $5 sample, $25 / year. US Postal Money Orders made out to Bro. Duke. Subscription Info: C.M., Box 277, Rio Nido, CA 95471 Tel / 707-887-RATS.

The newsletter of Club Mud is devoted to guys who like to get covered in mud and other dirty, slimy substances (no scat, though). The layout is a little lo-tech , but that's compensated for by a page of color xerox photos of mud-encrusted guys. Naturally, there's a section of personal ads.

Nasty Boyz

The zine 4 consenting adults who have nonconsenting fantasies, Price: $4.50. Published: four issues a year, Subscription Info: Check, money order, AMEX, VISA, MC or Discover for four quarterly issues for $18 (U.S.), $28 (elsewhere) with signed age statement and consent to ATKOL, 912 South Avenue,

Plainfield, NJ 07062-1852, 88- (800) ATKOL, atkol@aol.com. This zine is focused. They offer nothing but friction fiction which I found of superior quality. The editor barks, "Hey, Fucker: Stop being embarrassed by what turns you on! Right up front, we'll say this: In real life we don't approve of rape, coercion power and games in sex." magic recipe for fantasies is that "Tension, Fear, Nervousness & Power are Turn-ons." It works. I like it. Get it.

The Polished Knob

Price: $5, Planet 23 Productions, 1230 Market St. #513, San 94102 CA Francisco, email:pk@planet23.com web page: http://www.creative.net/~pk/

Most of this zine is composed of true sex stories in the tradition of Straight to Hell. A couple of issues even featured an interview with the late Boyd McDonald, founder of STH. Regularly featured are wickedly funny Baby Sue comics and humor pieces such as "Fagegories," a list of different types of homosexuals.

Pump It Up

For Men Into Size, Price: $3.95 (US), $4.95 (Canada), Published: four issues a year, Subscription Info: $20 (U.S.), $30 (outside U.S.) in U.S. dollars by cash, check or money order to

Illustration from "Red Tails"

Mirza Inc., 139 West Fourth Ave., Roselle, NJ 07202, (908) 245-5323. Pump It Up includes video reviews, editorials, letters to the editor, personals, tips, techniques , demonstrations, surgical updates and feature articles primarily focused on cock pumping with less attention paid to ball and nipple enhancement. The pictures in the personal ads seem to emphasize that this group of fetishists is more concerned with sheer size than aesthetics or recognizable morphology.

PUP

For men who need to be on a leash, Price: $5.00, Published: when we feel like it, usually four times a year, Subscription Info: Tom Bacchus, 382 Lily, San Francisco, CA 94102. Send cash. No checks or money orders, except if they're made out to our secretary's name, which is CASH. Trust us.

By far, the artiest of all the zines reviewed. This guy is a whiz at the art of cut and paste. It is not so much about a fetish as a sense of style. Sexy, humorous and political.

Red Tails

The Newsletter for the Spanking Enthusiast, Price: $6, Subscription Info: $40 / year. Man's Hand Films,

633 Post St., San Francisco, CA 94109. Tel / 415-771-3918, Fax / 415- 673-6023. email: mhf@quake.net

This publication for guys into spanking has spanking stories, clippings about spanking in the media, and letters and personal ads from readers. They don't seem to print photos much, mostly drawings, with a few reprints of underwear ads.

Southern Cumfort

From Convicts to Country Boys, Rednecks to Ruffians the Magazine of the Ruff & Rugged Male* (*Not much writin', mostly pictures!), Price: $6.00, Published:Six times a year, Subscription Info: a six issue subscription costs $30 (U.S.), $40 (in Canada and Mexico). Residents of the State of Georgia must add 6% sales tax. All subscriptions receive a free entry in Meat Swap for the length of the Subscription. Send to L.W. "buddy" Brown, HOT! Publishing Co., 2625 Piedmont Rd., Ste. 56226. Atlanta, GA 30324, Tel / 404-264- 1218

This zine is pure genius. It consists of amateurish photos of over a dozen different guys. This particular group of gentlemen help redefine the phrase "average Joe." The guys are all skanky white trash who look like they readily agreed to pose nude for a 20 spot and 6-pack of generic beer. Though the men are eerily reminiscent of the "Old Reliable" genre, the short intros the editor supplies for each are priceless. Take my favorite for example: "David…Strange Dude. He and a running buddy were shacked up in some dive hotel with a whore when they called. I shot his buddy, but he was so fucked up he couldn'd [sic] get it up. Then this guy calls and wants to bring his 'Old Lady.' I said no. Then I get this call - he's at another motel, can I come? OK. He tells me he's straight but will do anything for cash, then winds up moaning and groaning and taking my dick in every hole he's got, then says he feels like a 'Goddam faggot.' Wonder why?"

The Smoke Exchange

A Newsletter for Hot Men Cigarette Smoking a with Fetish, "Subscription Info: 6 issues $15.

Smoking might be considered a bad habit by some, but for some people, it's a fetish. This newsletter includes stories by readers about their experiences with smoking and sex, and personal ads from guys into smoking.

Tit Torture Technical Journal

Price: $2.50, Subscription Info: Madman Industries, Inc. PO Box 148044, Chicago, IL 60614-8044. This publication has suggestions for types of clamps and other hardware to pinch those nipples good, and includes a piece of T / T fiction.

Betty Pearl is the author of the "Severe Queer Reviews" of New York City and San Francisco.

Larry-bob is the publisher of Holy Titclamps and Queer Zine Revolution.

Revenge Is Sweet

By Tony Stuart cott's gaze moved across the carpet, up the burgundy sheets that hung carelessly over the hotel bed, and came to rest on the burly, naked male. Except for the long, deep swells of the muscled chest and stomach, the man's body lay nearly still. His powerful arms reached above his head, as if diving, the wrists wrapped in a doubled silk rope that stretched to the brass rods.

Both strands wound in tight loops around the spools then disappeared under the mattress and reappeared at the bottom corners. Here they circled the posts, and then each extended to the nearby ankle, and ended there in a series of loops and hitches. The taut cord and the proximity of his arms put serious limits to any head movement. A wide band of rubber around his shaved head held a curious device in his mouth.

Standing beside the form, all bound, packaged, ready, Scott could-n't resist. He pressed his fingernails against the man's nearest leg, eliciting a muffled whimper. Then, etching a line along the tense inner thigh, which jerked to escape the touch, he whispered, "I'm going to take my sweet fucking time. I'm going to enjoy this a lot."

And, gripping the man's cock and balls in one hand and squeezing one of the heaving tits with the other, he added, "You can just lie there, Colin, and watch me while I strip, and try to imagine - with your tiny mind - what's going to happen."

As he was taking off his

BOOK SECTION shoes and socks, Scott jeered, "So, how do I know your name is Colin? Good question, tramp. I do my homework . But you don't know squat about me. That's because you're a lazy slut. And 'slut' is the right word." And then he took both his socks and pushed them against Colin's shaggy mustache.

"There. Have a whiff of things to come," and he laughed at the look in Colin's eyes, a mixture of alarm and confusion.

Still watching the reaction, Scott peeled his shirt off lazily, enjoying the darting of eyes across his chest and shoulders. He slid the leather belt out of his trousers, and smirked at Colin's startled face. "Later, cocksucker. Don't get greedy."

Scott opened his fly and curled his jeans over his hips, keeping a steady focus on this well-built hunk. As his cock began to slide into view, Colin turned his head away, and Scott quickly grabbed the belt and brought it in swift descent to Colin's thighs. The crack echoed around the room, the body jolted upwards, and stifled moans escaped the mouth-gag.

"Pay attention to me, fuck-face . Daddy's performing." Scott waved his growing erection. "Try to ignore this and I'll get very pissed off. Do you want it shoved down your throat? Maybe I will, but not until I'm sure you won't do something really stupid, like biting it. You have to learn who's boss, and I'm about to give you a lesson. You've got a prime body for that."

Even as he said it, red welts were beginning to show on each of the hairy thighs, and he saw the swelling cock, the head pushing out of the foreskin.

"My, my. Big butch gets turned on by a little pain, eh? Or is it just my hot body? Which is it, ass-hole ? No answer? Okay, we'll just have to explore that question, won't we?"

Dropping his pants to the floor, Scott reached again for Colin's crotch and tits, fondling his nuts and pinching each of his nipples. Colin's hips jumped, and his chest arched against Scott's hand.

"You're sending mixed signals . I'm going to have to be more methodical." He moved his hand from Colin's chest to holding the now-erect cock, and he lowered his mouth to Colin's groin. Squeezing the swelling testicles and bringing them to his mouth, he extended his tongue and licked the hairy sac in rough swipes, first from left to right and then up and down, finally ducking below his hand to explore the flesh beneath. The pungent smell only heightened his concentration . Colin's body was jerking in spasms, his cock becoming even harder in Scott's palm.

Lifting his head, Scott sneered, "You like that, don't you? Well, let's see what a little pain brings, shall we?"

He knelt and spread his thighs, tucking his knees into Colin's armpits. His cock and balls hung against the prone man's face. The testicles draped over his nose. Then he placed his hands behind his own ass, feeling the massive chest and the mat of hair that covered it. Using the ends of his thumbs, he first brushed the nipples in short, quick strokes, then dragged the backs of his thumbnails over the erect nubs. Finally, he seized each tit between his fingers and thumbs and began squeezing, pinching, and twisting with slowly increasing pressure. Colin's chest was bouncing, lifting against the force, then trying to retreat from the pain.

Bringing his hands up to the huge shoulders, Scott gradually slid his body down Colin's, gliding his own cock and balls against the mass of flesh and body hair, down until his mouth found the nearest nipple. He placed his lips around it, and sucked it in, closing his teeth to grip it, flicking his tongue across the tip, all the while maintaining a clasp on the other one. Colin was thrusting his chest in response, as if trying to push it even

further into the insisting jaws.

Scott looked at Colin. "You like that, too? Well, aren't you a confused fag. Pain and pleasure. First one, then the other. As luck has it, Colin, I also like both. And you're going to give me both in just a moment," and Scott repeated the action on the other nipple, biting even harder, grinding it between his teeth, trying to suck it to the back of his throat before releasing his clamp. Colin's moans and spasms were now almost continuous.

"The pig enjoys that, eh? But every pleasure has its price. You see. I know you've been fucking with Jason. And Jason and I are lovers - or should I say 'were'? It may be over now. We'll see. Meanwhile I want to teach you a thing or two about screwing around with forbidden stuff. Oh, I know all the shit about 'two consenting adults', but that doesn't matter fuck to me. You just took advantage of a situation to get your rocks off. Well, time to pay the piper. You already know that Jason is a great bottom, but he can't fuck worth shit. Well, now I can try some old stuff again, see if it still works - and who better than you? You fucked Jason. You can fuck me. But you're not in charge here, are you? Tough luck, I am - and here goes."

With that, Scott lowered his face, first to inhale each of Colin's armpits, then to Colin's cock, now swollen out of its foreskin. Scott ran his tongue around the head, licking it and the thick shaft beneath. Dropping a great gob of saliva onto the white, veined column, he sucked back a good length of it in several gulps, then took it in one hand and parked it between his legs. He watched Colin's scared expression.

"Not bareback, slut? Don't want my ass juices on that not-so-virginal prick? Well, good for you. And guess what I just happened to bring?" and he leapt off the bed, reached into his backpack and extracted some lube and a condom, which he unrolled down Colin's cock. From the tube he squeezed a generous dollop of liquid into his hand, stroking the organ and applying the excess to his own ass, probing with one finger, then two, in preparation. He knew the sensation of his own fingers was only a minor taste of what was to come. How long had it been? Five years? At least. He had kept himself in good shape, so things were tight down there, and, now kneeling across Colin's hips, he held the cock to the entrance, sitting, slowly, feeling the giant head forcing the lips apart, demanding admission. This wasn't going to be easy. Colin's hips were jerking and twitching, as if searching for any hole to fill.

"Hold still," Scott ordered. "Let's try that again." He gritted his teeth and shoved once more against the eager cock. His head was swimming , wondering if this was going to work, hoping his body's defense mechanisms would submit. But the focus was at his asshole, with the greased shaft attempting to drive its way into the tunnel. Scott next tried the trick of contracting his stomach muscles and pushing his bowels, and the head finally thrust past the rim, sending a stinging shock deep into his gut.

"Son-of-a-bitch," he yelled. "Don't move." Both men stayed motionless while Scott took several deep breaths. Trying to ease his butt-grip , he moved his ass up and down the cock in a series of short movements , adjusting to the mass, and feeling the pain slowly subside. Clutching Colin's chest muscles while his ass adapted to the column, he gradually relaxed with the sensations as, inch by inch, his innards expanded to accommodate the invasion. Several times he lifted himself a short way up the length of cock, and then lowered his butt further down. Finally, in a burst of lust, he lifted his own balls with one hand, reached under Colin's ass with the other, and shoved the final distance.

"Dear, holy, fuck," he muttered , and felt his whole body trying to repel this intrusion, then wrap

around this foreign object. Colin had remained almost motionless, flinching when his tits were grabbed, but only pushing when urged to do so.

"Good boy," said Scott. "It's starting to feel good." And he began sliding his ass, in longer motions, up and down the shaft, contracting and relaxing. Taking the lube again, he squirted some along his own cock and let his hand roam its length, squeezing and pulling, all the while lifting his own butt cheeks higher and higher up Colin's prick, each time sinking back to the base in a steady rhythm. He let his other hand explore the muscles, hair, and tits on Colin's chest, and then leaning forward, he brought his body against that expanse of flesh. The action almost freed Colin's cock, but by arching his back, Colin managed to keep it in, and by careful positioning of their hips, the two men set up a steady rhythm. With his face buried in the fur pelt, Scott's own erection was sliding between their two sweaty bodies. He reached with one hand for Colin's balls, urging them up, fondling them, and then becoming aware that Colin was coming close to a climax.

"Oh, yes. It's very tempting to cum all over your chest while you shoot up my ass, but I have another plan. Who knows though? I might return to this later."

Lifting slowly up the length of Colin's cock, Scott felt the head again near the rim of his ass, and with a series of careful lifts, he brought the crown into the brow of his hole, feeling it spread, extending its borders to rare dimensions. Wanting to prolong the feeling, he held it there, tightening his muscles around it, and then plunged for one last thrust, down its full length and a slow return back to the tip. With sudden determination, he finally let it spring free, gasping a loud "Fuck" and encountering a huge emptiness inside his body.

When his heavings slowed, Scott announced, "We're going to take this next step slowly. Don't give me a hard time or I'll think up some- thing new - and I promise you won't like it." He lifted himself off Colin, removed the condom, now rank and slick with juices, and started unwrapping the man's ankles. When both were free, Colin remained motionless, legs splayed. Scott reached into his backpack again and tossed a couple of condoms on the bed. Then he knelt between Colin's thighs, letting his hands run from the thick calves to the muscled butt, first on the outside, then along the inner flesh, coming to rest behind Colin's knees. In a quick move, Scott lifted these up, throwing the legs back and exposing Colin's ass. Holding both ankles in one hand, he was reaching for the silk cord when Colin gave a mighty kick with his hips and legs, freeing himself from Scott's grasp.

"You idiot," Scott snarled, lunging for the belt at the foot of the bed, and he brought it swiftly down across Colin's thighs. And then, extending one arm under the knees, and being wary of any more sudden moves, he lifted the legs again and flung the strap against the hairy buttocks . Colin let out a smothered scream. Now in his more comfortable role, Scott grabbed the ankles and held them against the rail at the head of the bed, exposing Colin's ass even more to the succeeding whacks of the leather. The welts were glowing. He was jerking his head and hips, imploring with his dark eyes, and moaning from behind the gag.

Trickles of moisture were running down Scott's back and chest. He was taking long, deep breaths between each stroke, relishing the energy rising in his groin, turned on by the look of this trembling figure. And then he let the legs fall back to the sheets.

"Had enough? Or does big butch get off on this as much as I do?" and he stood glaring at the form. "Know what?" he continued, "I lured you here and you took the bait. You thought I was just another easy make, but you were the willing one. Now I want to hear you say 'yes' again. I want to hear you beg for it." Scott knelt over the powerful body, held one hand on his neck and, with the other, partly eased the rubber band, the butt-plug attached, off the anxious mouth.

"Thank you," Colin gasped, and he took several giant gulps of air. "I'm sorry, sir. I just didn't want you to tie my legs there. I'll cooperate, sir. You don't have to force me. I won't do that again," and he looked pleadingly into Scott's eyes.

"Body by God. Mind by K-Tel. Fuck with me, jerkface, and I'll have your balls for bookends," and he let the butt-plug snap back into Colin's mouth. Scott now had a raging hard-on , pumped up from the action of the last few minutes. He knelt again between those thighs, feeling again that delicious coat of hair as he reached for Colin's knees, bringing them up slowly to rest on his shoulders . The eyes of the prone figure, now full of anticipation and apprehension , watched as Scott rolled on a condom and squeezed some lube into a hand, which he applied to his cock and then Colin's. Squeezing another gob out of the tube, Scott applied this to Colin's anus, letting his fingers trace paths over the rim and into the chute below. Holding his thumbs together, Scott sank both into the pulsing hole, separating them, then letting each run arcs around the inner walls. Colin's hips and ass bounced in response, his sphincter seizing Scott's thumbs and then releasing them.

"That pussy looks ready now," Scott said as he parted the taut cheeks and peered at the opening , which was almost vibrating in expectation. The man was eager: twisting, lifting, wanting it, bad, and Scott was turned on by this. "What a fucking animal you are. You really get off on this, don't you?" Colin's head was bobbing in reply. But Scott continued , "So why fuck around with Jason? He's no top. Never will be. And sure as hell two bottoms can't make it together." He was placing the head of

BOOK SECTION his cock against the entrance when he realized he wanted to know some of the answers before he went further . And again he released enough tension on the mouth-gag for talk.

Colin took a deep breath. "You don't have to worry about this gag or the rope. I'm not going anywhere . You can fuck me, you can do anything you want with me. I'm so turned on by you, I could eat your ass-hole and return for seconds. Sorry I made that mistake with Jason. That night, I just wanted to fuck, and he seemed willing. Sorry. I can be a top or bottom. I let you tie me up because I wanted that from you. But now? I just want my hands and mouth free to feel and suck your body."

Scott inspected Colin's face, searching for any sign of deception. He was almost ready to relent and really enjoy this man's own obvious skills and attributes. but something else kicked in at that moment.

As he released the plug back into Colin's mouth, Scott said, "Sorry slut. There's such a thing as justice, plus I don't think I could trust you yet." And lifting Scott's legs around his shoulders, he aimed his cock at the greased hole and drove it steadily down to the hilt, feeling those hairy butt-cheeks and thighs against his body. He could also feel Colin's ass muscles squeezing his prick, as if trying to suck it even further in. Withdrawing to the entrance, he plunged it, again and again, into the waiting, anxious hole. Increasing the pace and bringing himself to a near peak, he rammed one last time in a slow, deep descent. Then pulling out in one sudden and resolute motion, leaving his target sucking wind, he ripped off the condom and sat astride Colin's crotch so that the man's cock and balls were pushed up under his own. Gripping his own prick, he gave it two firm strokes and shot streams of cum over Colin's belly and chest. One strand decorated the lower part of his face.

Scott's hips continued jerking , even as he slowly sat back on his heels, letting the spasms subside , inhaling deeply. "Jesus, fella, you are one good fuck," Scott said, his pulse still racing, sweat running down his body. After several more gulps of breath, he eased himself off the bed, dried himself with the loose sheet, and started to dress. Colin was jerking his head and uttering short whimpers. His cock was still hard and vibrating.

"Sorry I can't stay. Gotta get home to tend to Jason. Maybe the bellhop can look after you. Shall I let him know you're here?" And he grabbed Colin's ankles and tied them, in spite of the kicking and thrashing, back to the foot-posts, using shorter bits of cheaper rope from his backpack. He used another length around Colin's wrists to replace the silk cord. "I want to save this for Jason. You don't mind, do you?"

In a flash of inspiration, mixed with desire, he lowered his mouth to that tantalizing crotch, ran his lips along the shaft, feeling its velvet texture. He then let his tongue trace the rim of the swollen crown, before wrapping his mouth around it to feel again its size and warmth. He sucked it back, engulfing it in his throat. When he knew Colin was close to blowing his load, he took his mouth away, reached for the extra condom, and rolled it slowly down Colin's throbbing erection .

"There. Now you're ready for your next visitor," Scott said, admiring his handiwork almost as much as the body. Picking up his backpack, he walked to the door. opening it slightly to listen for any noise, and turned to Colin: "That was as smooth as silk, wasn't it. fella? Pleasant dreams."

Grinning, he placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside handle , closed the door, and made his way to the stair exit.

OPINION

The Golden Gallery

A toast to men and boys!

Excerpted from "The Only Reason I Mention This"

BY DADDY BOB

I've often said: though my dungeon is lined with multiple thousands of dollars worth of equipment, until that man goes to his knees and begs for the insufferable, it's all trash.

Trash? Not on my walls. Because next to all the cats, crops, harnesses, studded gonad stretchers and pink rubber things, is spread the colorful pantheon of beautiful men who have taken their pants off, and allowed Daddy's magic to touch their lives.

I am indeed a very lucky Daddy.

And so, let's raise our glasses. A toast! A toast to: M'boys.

To men.

To the bawdy hairy simians who could stuff, weekly, sofa pillows with the products of their follicles. To the smooth polished statues with just three or four long hairs at the base of the dong, but since they curl it looks like more, and as long as Daddy gets it all with his razor, it's 100% and that's all that really counts.

To the young sweating stallions, drooling snorting sex animals, stomping semen-producing machines . And to the older men who have had a long, long time to study trashiness and develop it into an art form.

To the loud, overt practitioners who make their presence known with the raspy voice of demented passion. And to the quiet ones. The men who have a "maiden auntie" living inside of them, and can't look at a men's underwear advertisements without blushing. When they come to Daddy for tawdry recreation, Queen Victoria has to wait outside.

To the whippet slender men who can eat like a reincarnation of Henry VIII and never gain an ounce. To my chubbies who bring a roly-poly brazenness to the scene, with ass cheeks that jiggle seductively when they're slapped. To those who are rejected elsewhere because they carry too much adipose tissue; in Daddy's dungeon they give out the fullest measure of erotic effort because, all too often, there's no where else to give it.

To the body builders. And to the little spiders who have skin stretched over bone. To men who regard definition as something you find in a dictionary .

To the Holland Tunnels, with "No U turn" tattooed somewhere near the rosette, with an arrow pointing to the love hole. And to the boys who scream when I take their temperature with a rectal thermometer.

To the arms that come about me tightly, and to the voices that whisper , "I belong to you, Daddy." And to the legs that spread wide without shame or reservation. And to the tears and sweat and nourishing milk that has seeped into my indoor / outdoor carpeting.

To the unclipped wangusses with enough wrinkled flesh about the glans penis to slip cover New Jersey. To the bald bulbs that signal their intent with pulsating pink fatness… livid desire.

To men with long legs who dance to the rhythms of Daddy's savage incantations. And to the "Wheely," the man who crawls into my dungeon from a wheelchair.

To men. To real men. To all kinds of thrilling men. To the wrinkles, sags, hang-ups, love handles, blemishes and natural functions of very real men.

I love them all. Big, little, hairy and hung are all words with very lost meanings to me. I'm interested only in how strenuously m'boys are willing to sweat, strain and sacrifice to make me a night.

To them, my varicose veins, fallen arches, receding hairline, a chipped front tooth and a healthy beer gut that doesn't quite disappear when I stand up don't appear to matter much in the equation … as long as the equal sign is followed by SM Nirvana.

"The Golden Gallery" was originally published in Daddy Bob's Leather Journal Column entitled "The Wearing O' The Hides" and was featured in "The Only Reason I Mention This" by Daddy Bob, which is available at local bookstores as well as: The Leather Journal, 7985 Santa Monica Blvd., #109-368, West Hollywood, CA. 90046. Cost: $12.95. Or call: (213) 656-5073.

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