BOOTS

Photos from the Drummer Archives

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Porn Reviews

BY CHRISTOPHER J. HOGAN

Cell Shocked

Produced by Steve Johnson. Directed by Steve Landess. Videography by Dusty. Starring Max Grand, Brian Anger, Jeff Baron, and Steve Pierce. Running time 87 minutes. To order write Close-Up Productions, P.O.

"Cell Shocked" is not purely a fetish video and contains some unelectrified sex. In fact, a fairly standard sex scene starts the action. Max Grand and Brian Anger (who are apparently slaves of some kind) are caught fucking in their cage. Their punishment is a hefty dose of zapping delivered by Jeff Baron and Steve Pierce. Baron starts by wiring up Grand's dick and sending increasingly greater (we think) charges. Grand writhes and screams, but Baron keeps up the torture. Finally, he turns off the juice and has Pierce suck Grand's dick. Once Grand has a raging hard-on, Baron starts the electrical treatment again. Grand has proven himself to be a terrific bottom in a number of recent raunchy videos, and he is as good as ever in "Cell Shocked." It is truly a pleasure to see such a big, macho muscle boy reduced to tears. Baron's verbal abuse is a bit stilted, but he proves himself as a top with his relentless delivery of to zaps major Grand's crotch.

"Cell Shocked" features the latest rage in sex play-using electricity to send charges through genitals and buttholes. While this video does deliver some high energy sex and sleaze, it has one major flaw. Torture and pleasure delivered via electrical stimulation are difficult to make interesting on film. Since we cannot see the current, the only evidence that it exists are the reactions of the performers . Sometimes, that's enough, but often it is not.

Anger is next to receive his punishment . He gets his zaps up the ass thanks to the use of a charged buttplug. Anger seems to enjoy the treatment much more than Grand did. This section is not so much about torture as it is about exploring a new and unusual pleasure. Indeed, Anger fantasizes about his experience for the rest of the video and comes while masturbating during a series of flashbacks to his shock treatment. Finally, Pierce wants to know how the electrical treatments feel. With Baron's guidance, he explores various configurations of electrodes . At one point, he even has a charged catheter sending shocks up his urethra. He too is more turned on than tortured by the new found toy.

The guys in "Cell Shocked" are all very handsome, and they give wonderful performances. Much of the video, however, feels more like an infomercial for the equipment than a skin flick. There's even information on how to order the various devices given after the credits. So, if you are curious about the latest sleazy technology, check this out. If you want to see good, old-fashioned torture, look elsewhere.

Get It On Line

Titan Media. Directed by Bruce Cam. Videography by Bruce Cam. Edited by Tab Lloyd. Starring Kirk Alan, Tony Bullit, Rick Matthews, Todd Stevens, Adam Wilde, Glen McKalaster, Mark Evrett, and Cliff Parker. Running time 79 minutes. To order call 800 / 360-7204 or visit Titan Media's website at HTTP:// WWW.TITANMEDIA.COM.

Titan Media is not only emerging as a leader in video pornography, but aggressively seeking to capture the multi-media gay porn market. "Get It On Line," not surprisingly, has an Internet theme (complete with an annoying "Max Headroom" character). Titan Media also uses the video to repeatedly promote its website where we learn you can order videos and other products as well as do some

Austin, Joey Carr, and Alex Cummins. Running time 72 minutes. To order Paradox write 11684 Pictures, Ventura Blvd., Suite 622, Studio City, CA 91602.

This video is the latest in the "Spare the Rod" series from Jet Set Productions. Like its predecessors, it is a pure spanking fetish video. There is no penetration at all, and we have only one brief look at a hard on. As is often the case with a series, the first remains the best. "Spare the Rod 3" is not nearly as good as the original "Spare the Rod" or even the inferior

"Spare the Rod 2." The formula has become completely predictable. As soon as we see the people in the scene, know we who will be top and who will be bottom.

The real problem with "Spare the Rod 3"

Make Me Cry." None of the beating here seems painful at all. The bottoms' reactions run from indifferent to amused which is not the range of emotions that should be portrayed in a discipline video. The last scene (featuring a priest and three delinquent students) is ridiculous. The "top" can't keep the bottoms from giggling. The sterner his words get, the more they laugh. One of the bottoms easily wriggles out of being truly paddled. It's just an all-around bad scene.

Finally, the production values in "Spare the Rod 3" have hit a new low Jet Set for Productions. The sound is terrible-especially in the outdoor scene. We can hardly hear what is being said much less

Spare the Rod 3: You Can't Make Me Cry

Jet Set Productions. Produced and directed by Edward James, Edited by Aries Productions. Starring Hans Gunter, Brandon Taylor, Chase Henson, Troy Steele, Randy Bo

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TECH NIQUES

Healing the Sole

BY DR. NORMAN GREENSTEIN

"I am a 52-year old bear top. My favorite submissive has a boot fetish and loves to lick and polish my boots for hours. This is fine with me; since I met him my boot collection looks better than ever before. My problem: I'm fine when I sit down, but standing up in any of my boots for a prolonged scene has become progressively more painful, especially in the area of my heels. I've tried creams, extra socks, and heel inserts, but nothing helps. What should I do?"

-Footsore bear

The foot may be the only body part which can be the object of both worship and thoughtless abuse simultaneously. There are at least 26 moving parts in the foot, along with pulleys, hinges, lubricating structures , and protective padding. An average man's foot is about 10-12" long, can support a couple hundred pounds from above, and absorbs constantly changing high impact stressors from below. The foot is frequently exposed to dangerous conditions , such as sharp objects, chemicals, hot or cold surfaces, or infectious agents, so protective gear is necessary. Fashion, fetish, and economics frequently conspire to protective make the gear into another hazard our feet must endure.

Feet are the lowest part of the body and are the part we use to traverse nasty, embarrassing things. Some bottoms feel especially submissive when they are caring for a top's feet or boots. Placing a booted foot on the neck or body of a bottom can be especially powerful and / or humiliating. A kick with a bare or booted foot can carry more

Foot worship is an area of kink in which the top is much more exposed and vulnerable than in boot worship. emotional impact than an equivalent blow with a fist or an implement . Conversely, the same "lowliness " which gives the foot its emotional cachet in a scene can lead to neglect of the health of one's own feet, or the failure to take foot problems seriously until they become severe enough to interfere with one's lifestyle.

TECH NIQUES

Foot worship is an area of kink in which the top is much more exposed and vulnerable than in boot worship. Unlike a bootboy, a submissive who worships feet has access to his top's naked feet. Many of us have internalized the concept of physical perfection as part of the top role. For a top with foot problems , extra confidence in himself and trust in his bottom are required for him to expose himself in this way. A bottom who receives this trust from a master with ailing feet may feel, however, he has received a special privilege. It's all in the attitude. lems can be caused by arch supports being too high or not high enough, or by hard leather soles which do not cushion impact.

There are a number of common skin problems which may afflict the feet. Athlete's foot is caused by members of a group of fungi referred to as dermatophytes. Symptoms include itching, a wet white rash between the fourth and fifth toes, scaling and / or little bumps on the soles and heels, stinky feet, and sometimes thickening of the toenails. Fungi like to grow in warm, moist places, such as inside shoes and socks; they grow espe- bottom of the foot drives them into the tissue, where they can grow and expand. Regular warts can grow anywhere else on the foot, and are different from corns in that they have little black roots which are visible with a magnifying glass. A corn is a type of callus which may indicate irritation from shoes or a gait problem. Over-the-counter medications such as Duofilm (R) are helpful for getting rid of all these problems, but usually must be used daily for several weeks.

Allergic rashes, eczema and psoriasis can show up on the feet, usually on the top or the sole, and cause itching, scaling, and redness. Hydrocortisone cream is frequently helpful, but it's a good idea to get checked out by a doctor.

Many foot problems are caused by a combination of an unusual feature of one's foot and cheap or poorly-fitting shoes. Ingrown toenails can start when the big toenail is cut too short and then shoes with pointed or narrow toes are worn. These can get infected and be amazingly painful. It's important to cut toenails straight across, with the corners not digging into the flesh, and to wear shoes with wide-enough toe boxes. If an ingrown toenail gets started, sometimes warm soaks three or four times a day for several days will give the nail a chance to grow out far enough to avert real problems. If this doesn't work, medical care is necessary.

Chronically wearing too-narrow shoes, especially with certain gait abnormalities, can cause bunions. This starts as bursitis at the base of the big toe but can go on to cause the joint to bulge permanently,

A top with decreased foot sensation will benefit greatly from close and frequent foot inspection by a devoted footslave.

It's hard to find decent footwear that fits well. Most shoes, and to a lesser extent boots, are designed with appearance as a higher priority than comfort. Cheaper shoes tend to be made of plastic derivatives which help promote skin problems. Poorly made soles can wear out quickly and affect the impact pattern on the bottom of the foot, causing pain. During years when narrow or pointed toes are in fashion, everybody ends up out of fashion or out of luck. Boots with higher heels can disrupt the natural gait and cause not only foot pain, but pain in the knees, hips and back. Other prob- cially quickly on feet inside of man-made material shoes and polyester socks. Exposing the feet to air as much as possible is helpful as is wearing leather shoes with cotton socks. There are a number of athlete's foot remedies to be found in the foot care section of any drugstore . Their chemical names all end in "ole" such as clotrimazole and miconazole; they all work pretty well, but can require several weeks to get rid of the fungus completely.

Plantar warts are caused by the same virus which causes common warts everywhere else on the body. They hurt because pressure on the

causing chronic foot pain and making it hard to find shoes to fit. Sometimes the pain can be controlled with special shoes, or sometimes with getting cortisone injected into the painful bursa. If not, sometimes surgery is necessary.

Certain problems afflict runners and bigger guys. Plantar fasciitis and painful heel spurs are caused by too much pressure on the plantar fascia, the part of the foot forming the arch. In runners it is usually due to tight calf muscles or a tight Achilles tendon preventing the ankle from bending high enough upwards during the step. In large men it is a mechanical problem caused by excess pressure on the arch of the foot from the body's weight. Pain is usually felt in the bottom of the foot just in front of the heel. It can be especially bothersome both upon arising in the morning, and when standing or walking for prolonged periods. Sometimes plantar fasciitis can lead to heel spurs; chronic excess pulling of the plantar fascia on the front of the talus, or heel bone, can cause "points" to grow on the bone, possibly causing additional pain.

Footwear is extremely important in relieving plantar fasciitis. Raising the heel about 1 / 4" can help relieve tension on the arch of the foot. Heel spurs can be protected by putting a doughnut-shaped pad under the heel; if this doesn't work a Tuli cup, a rubber cup placed inside the heel of the shoe or boot, may help. If one's job requires prolonged standing on very hard surfaces, soft-soled shoes or a pad to stand on may be helpful. Men who have pain upon awakening may find relief from an ankle brace which keeps the ankle bent at 90 degrees; this prevents the calf muscles from pulling on the arch of the foot during sleep. If none of these methods work, cortisone injection into the most painful point can be very helpful, but is not a cure. Stretching the calf muscles before running or prolonged walking is important. If the pain began after weight gain, weight loss may be very helpful. You don't say where in your feet your pain is, Footsore Bear, but if it is in the arch or heel, plantar fasciitis may be your problem.

Certain illness may affect the feet and require special care. Smoking, high blood pressure and diabetes can damage small arteries to the feet, causing pain in the feet and legs which starts with exertion and is relieved by rest. Diabetics and people with AIDS have trouble fighting off infection; a man with severe or recurrent athlete's foot, skin rashes or warts should be screened for these illnesses. Both diabetes and AIDS can also cause peripheral neuropathy of the feet, with ensuing pain and / or numbness. A top with decreased foot sensation will benefit greatly from close and frequent foot inspection by a devoted footslave.

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FOOT SUCKIN' FOOL otos from k Video

199 INTERNATIONAL DRUMMER 23

Y BOOTS MY TO

Boot Top

By Tony T.

I'm into boots. Always have been, always will be. All kinds of boots turn me on, especially if they are heavy, tough and well worn. I don't go for the shiny-new, stiff-looking , weekend leather clone style. I like blue-collar, manual-labor shit kickers; the kind that real men work, live and sweat in. totally masculine, unpretentious, filthy and scuffed from a hard day on the job, a man's boots signify his strength, his foundation. They provide the tough, leather pedestal upon which he stands. Bearing the mean burden of a man's weight and power, boots rule.

I first started noticing men's boots when I was about twelve, around the same time I discovered my dick, junior high school. I was a loner and really looked up to some of the tough boys in high school. I was drawn to the punks and skin heads who wore tough looking, beat-up boots; combat, engineer , harness, biker even work boots could my respect. The battle scarred leather, thick lug soles and hot, delinquent attitudes drave me wild. They wore their boots into the ground and carelessly stepped on, walked on or simply propped them up on whatever they wanted to. Their boots served an instruments of destruction and were part of a uniform meant to intimidate. Their nower totally turned me on.

There was one dude that I was especially hot for named Dan. He was lean, over six feet tall, buzzed head and wore the biggest, haddest pair of biker boots I'd ever seen. They weren't fancy or expensive, in fact they were probably handed down to him from his father or one of his big brothers. Mid-calf, black leather, steel-toed engineer boots, they had thick lug soles, were beat to hell and reeked of masculinity. Dan lived in those boots. He worked in his fathers auto shop and, on the days he felt like coming in, rode his '79 Suzuki to school. His feet looked huge in those dirty, black leather boots, and his hands and finger nails were always black from grease. Dan was the ring leader of the tough kids, and he knew that he and his bad-assed boots ruled the school.

Everybody knew that Dan was the boss, and that what he wanted he got at the snap of his fingers. Otherwise an unlucky student might find himself subjected to some roughing up at the mercy of Dan's size thirteen boot treads. One kid in particular got terrorized because he refused to hand over some cash. I remember at the time thinking he was crazy because he was half Dan's size. Pushing the kid to the ground, Dan made overpowering him look effortless. Planting a boot on his throat and leaning some weight into it, Dan restrained the nerd while three of his buddies rifled through his pockets, taking what they wanted.

The other kids that had circled to check out the scene were watching the shake down, but I couldn't take my eyes off of pressing into that vulnerable throat. He stood above that frail, scared kid getting off on his own power. I could see in his eyes that he was turned on by the control he had over his freshly pinned subordinate, as he leaned back and forth slightly shifting his weight from heel to toe. Dan never released his stare, probing the kid's eyes which were bugging out of their sockets. It was clear to me then that that I wanted to be just like Dan.

The kid was blue and choking by the time Dan finally released his step, but before he was allowed to get up he had to kiss the filthy toe and apologize to Dan and his friends for being a low life. Dan's friends acted like this was the funniest thing they'd ever seen, but Dan wasn't laughing. He stood seriously watching while the kid reluctantly brought his lips to the boot

The boy was clearly repulsed, which seemed to turn Dan on more. After the others had gotten their boots kissed Dan pushed them away and planted his tread square down on the kid's cringing face. "Lick my boot tread and I'll let you go" he commanded, leaning into it and giving the kid's face a slight grind. At this point the boy reluctantly stuck out his tongue and quickly touched it to Dan's sole. Dan scoffed and pressed down harder making the boy wince and cry out in pain. "I meant really lick it you stupid fag!" he ordered. The boy stuck his tongue out fully and dragged it across the length of the boot sole from heel to toe. At this Dan took a deep breath and smiled. "Come on, lets go" he said, giving the kid's face one last push-off, he and his friends stepped over their humiliated victim and moved on, leaving him there to wallow in shame.

After that I couldn't get Dan or his big bad boots out of my mind. That episode was to fuel my adolescent wet dreams for years to come; Dan was a true sadist and I idolized him.

I don't know whatever became of Dan, but I do have him to thank for awakening the sadistic boot top in me. For the rest of my school days I dreamed about wearing big boots and getting them worshipped by boot slaves. By the time I was in high school I had bought my first pair of Wescos (16 inch, lug-soled engineer boots, size 12EEE). I totally got off on how big they made me feel, in them I stood 6'2", and the steel toe and thick treads made me feel invincible. I lived in those boots, only taking them off to shower. I even slept in them, jerking off and fantasizing about having my own personal boot licker laying at the foot of my bed. I yearned for someone who I could use and abuse, someone to appreciate how beat up and funky my big bad boots were. It wasn't until after high school that my fantasies came true.

I was going to college in NYC and liked to hang out in the East Village. I was about twenty at the time, had buzzed my head and wore this beat up, black leather motorcycle jacket that I'd bought on Houston St. My favorite stomping ground was The BAR on 2nd Avenue. There were always hot guys there wearing tough looking boots, and mine were no exception. I still wore those Wescos, only now they were broken in perfectly and looked hotter than ever.

I liked to hang by the pool table because I could kick back and put my feet up on the bench, displaying my big boots as prominently as possible and taking notice of the guys who checked them out. Most guys would start at my feet and then work their way up to my crotch; I'm pretty well endowed so they'd rarely get past there. Sometimes their eyes would glance back down to my boots though, and then I'd try to determine just how into them they were. I'd stare them in the eye and start shuffling my feet around slightly, resting one boot on the other, or stretching out my legs and propping them up heel to toe. I also liked to sit upright and let them dangle, swinging them slightly so my thick heals would tap the boxes of empty bear bottles beneath the bench.

On one such occasion my boots hypnotized this dude sitting at the bar across the room. He looked older than me, twenty something, and was smaller. He was preoccupied with my boots. I had them crossed at the ankles in front of me and was half watching a pool game and half checking him out. Eventually he got up and started to slowly walk around, moving through the bar, never taking his eyes off of my feet. He hung out by the jukebox for a while and tried to build up the nerve to get closer. It really turned me on to have captured his attention, and I could feel my dick starting to rise. He was obviously both turned on and intimidated by my boots and this drove me wild. Finally, pretending to be interested in the game, he strolled over to the bench and sat down a few inches away from my feet.

He was obviously struggling to contain himself, but he couldn't restrain his eyes. Holding his head down he tried to get as good a look at the soles of my boots as he could. They looked huge, and holding him transfixed there completely turned me on. I wanted to tease him as intensely as I could, so I let them rock slightly back and forth, teetering on the heal. I could see his breathing quicken and his dick start to get harder through his jeans. The movement of my boots was driving him crazy and I could tell

ILLUSTRATION BY ARTFOOT

he wanted to lunge down onto them. He rested his hand on the bench barely close enough to touch them. I shifted positions, stretching my legs just enough to graze his thigh, I let my boot relax into his leg, resting my heel on his hand. At this point his dick started bucking against his jeans and I knew I'd found my first boot slave. He took me back to his apartment and serviced my boots, dick, crotch and ass for days.

He was super hot and just what I was ready for. As it turned out he was a total boot pig who needed to be treated like shit. I couldn't get my boots dirty enough for him, and regardless of what was lodged between my treads, he'd eagerly chew it out. All I'd have to do is snap my fingers and point at my feet and he'd dive down on them and take whatever sort of boot abuse I wanted to deliver. He liked me to step on his face and throat and make him beg not to crush him. This could make me cum! He also liked for me to kick back with my boots up on his kitchen table while he cleaned every centimeter with his tongue, sucking each individual lug in my soles. It didn't matter where we were or what was going on, I totally controlled him with my boots. The more abusive and mean I got the harder we both got turned on.

We started hanging out together on a nemi-regular basis; I was finishing up school and he worked in the city. It was great to go over to his place because it was real nice and I had full reign. All he wanted to do was crawl on the floor behind me while I walked around intentionally scuffing up whatever surfaces I could. The polished wooden floors and tiles in the kitchen would be trashed by the time I'd leave. I also liked to jump up on his furniture and my to leave my mark, and always ended up on the kitchen table and counters.

If anything was left on these surfaces tdishes, food, flowers, whatever) I'd either kick it onto the floor and watch it smash, or he I'd step on it and crush it. If it didn't break when it hit the floor then I'd jump down on If from the counter, bringing both massive Id. boots down with such force that whatever it th, was would smash into bits. If it were edible th-1 1 / d then step down on his face and make him suck it out of my treads. Usually at this point I'd be so turned on I'd grab his head and fuck his mouth; he had a real deep throat and could just about swallow my whole dick. I'd usually end up shooting my load with his face buried in my ass. I'd try to shoot onto the tops of my boots so I could smear it in his face while he got off.

He also liked to bring my delicate gifts that he'd want me to step on and crush. This was fine by me because

I got off on feeling them break beneath my treads. Once it was a small porcelain figure that he said he'd had since he was a child. He carefully set it on the floor by my big boots and then he lay there at my feet. I slowly lifted my heavy boot and rested it on the head of the figure. "Please don't break it sir" he begged, "It's an irreplaceable family heirloom." At this I leaned forward and crushed it, grinding and pulverizing the fragments, etching deep grooves into his floor. It also became a regular practice when we were eating together for me to climb up onto the table and step in his dinner. He'd try to lick around my boot while I smeared it in his food, then I'd hold it above his face and command him to suck the rest of his meal out of my treads. I liked to smear my filthy boots all over his face and body so that by the end he'd be covered with huge, food stained boot prints.

Ultimately those Wescos wore out and I was faced with replacing them. They had served me well, but it was time to graduate to a new pair of boots. I had my eyes set on some beautiful ox-blood, steel-toed, lugged-soled Chippewas. I told my boof slave that I wanted them and that he was to buy them for me a.s.a.p. I also informed him that if he wanted my Wescos they'd cost him a thousand bucks.

That night when I went to his place they were waiting for me. I threw myself onto his couch, bringing my feet down heavily on his coffee table, and told him to remove my Wescos. He slowly loosened the buckles and then pulled them off of my feet. Burying his face in each one he sucked up that leather / sweat aroma as it were his only source of oxygen; those babies smelled real good after the years of abuse I had put them through.

After he was good and intoxicated I commanded him to put my new Chippewas on my feet. Once they were on and securely laced I stood up on the coffee table so I could check out my reflection in a mirror on his wall. They looked so fucking hot that he fell to his knees and immediately started kissing them. I was so turned on I had to release my rock hard dick from my pants. I stood there with my big, heavy new boot resting on my slaves head and watched myself jerk off in the mirror. With his face pinned to the table he struggled to lick upwards, trying to touch my treads with his tongue. I watched him squirming down there as I leaned more and more weight onto his head, until I felt myself starting to get close. I lifted my boot just enough to squirt him square in the face with what felt like endless streams of cum. My knees almost gave out as I shot a huge, milky load all over his face. Then I brought my boot back down and smeared my jizm into his cheeks and lips while he groveled beneath it and jerked himself off.

As I was getting ready to leave he handed me an envelope; it was full of cash. He gave me a thousand dollars for my Wescos, which today rest on a shrine he erected in his apartment, the top of which is strewn with fragments of that porcelain figure.

A few years passed, my Chippewas broke in beautifully and my skills at boot domination were honed to perfection. I graduated from college and continued to live in NYC for a few years. I still played with my first slave, who turned out to be my all time best boot boy, while acquiring a few others. I learned that there were a lot more guys out there who wanted to eat my boots than I had ever realized. I started hanging out at The Lure where I met all sorts of boot men, especially at there last Monday of the month Foot Friends parties. I even ended up

at a boot worship party in Brooklyn where I had about a dozen guys slobbering all over my boots and crotch all night!

It seems like forever ago that I was a kid longing to get my boots worshipped; I would have never imagined then that ultimately I'd end up plugging into an entire boot community. I have boot slaves around the world who treat me like a god and like to give me different pairs of boots, sometimes new, sometimes used and funky. I often return to NYC where my boots are assured a hot reception, and me and my boots have open invitations to visit cities across the planet. I'm 100% into boots and boot sex and will always be on the look out for hot guys who can appreciate my big, bad, booted feet. In fact if you're into sucking boots and you're ever in SF or NYC get in touch with me, maybe if you're worthy you'll get a taste.

You can write Tony T. at: PO Box 420570, SF, CA 94142-0570

Sheer Madness by Guy Kettlehack

Angelo, 26, a self-proclaimed "proud Italian-American," has, from his earliest memories, always been riveted by men's sheer socks. "I mean the see-through nylon kind-my favorite are 'thick-and-thin' over-the -calf-the socks that working class immigrant types wear when they dress up." This gives a clue about the roots of Angelo's fixation : "My dad is second generation Italian, a real macho guy who first worked in construction , then ran his own hardware store. I remember-God, I must have been about four or five-him tickling my belly with his socked foot, sort of teasing me with it. The smell of shoe leather, the smell of his foot, the look and feel of that sheer material-I can't tell you what it did to me, and what the same thing does to me now. A macho guy wearing something almost feminine-a guy who curses and fights and struts around putting on this sort of pretty stuff." He sighs and shakes his head. "The combination blows me away." Angelo says that, from about twelve on when he learned to masturbate, he'd dig into his parents' clothes hamper and find his dad's sheer socks which he then wrapped around his cock while he jerked off. "Then I'd rinse them out and dry them in my closet-sheer socks dry real quick-and put them back in the hamper. I would've died if anyone had caught me."

Angelo says that while his main fixation is on sheer socks, "I've also sort of fetishized the whole man that goes with them. You know-sharp dressers. Guys when they go out on a date who dress up like peacocks-you wanna know what I'm talking about? See 'The Pope of Greenwich Village'- Mickey Rourke makes me nuts in that one-or 'The Wanderers.' Ken Wahl may not be Italian but he sure looks like one." Angelo, who grew up in Brooklyn-"but not," he sighs wistfully, "Bay Ridge," would as a teenager take subway trips to Bay Ridge with a Polaroid camera he'd gotten for his birthday. He'd hang out in pizza shops, and pretend to take pictures of street scenes, like he was some kind of artist or sociologist or something. He'd prepared all kind of speeches about the 'surveys' he was researching in case anyone asked he was doing, but nobody did. Of course, what he really was taking pictures of were hot guys walking by, hoping to get a peek at their ankles, "Man, one time this guy stopped right in front of the pizza place, leaned against the door, and slipped off a low-slung Italian loafer-I love those, too-and slowly massaged his sheer-socked foot, like he knew I was watching him. I nearly came in my pants." Angelo would haunt "cheap, lower class" men's shops in search of "perfect pairs of thick-and-thins in every color he could find. "Just wearing them would give me a hard-on all day. I also loved going to Italian weddings-man, you had all these hot Italian macho peacocks strutting around-it was like heaven." He pauses a moment and frowns. "But it was also sort of like hell. I mean, the guys I was turned on by almost had to be straight. And there was no way I would share this with anyone. Jesus, my dad would've had me locked up."

Angelo went to college-the first of his family to do so-in considerable despair. "I knew this sock thing wasn't something I was going to grow out of. But I didn't know what to do about it. I could imagine coming out-well, not to my family, at least not yet-but I could imagine, you know, having a lover and being gay and all that. But I couldn't imagine even letting a lover know about what really turned me on. I felt so much shame about it. And then I met Danny." Danny was a junior while Angelo was still a freshman. "I saw him stride across campus and my heart stopped. He had this incredible macho confidence-he was so friggin' arrogant! Like he knew he was beautiful-like he knew he could wear clothes like a model. He had beautiful thick slicked-back black hair and blue eyes, and he moved like a dancer. I'd never seen anyone so beautiful-not even in Bay Ridge." Angelo hung out at the college's coffeehouse when he saw Danny went there everyday after his last afternoon class. "One day I had the nerve to walk up to him and say 'hi.' I had some lame opening line like, Tm new here and you seem to really know the place, I was wondering if you could tell me how good the psychology department is." I mean, it really was that lame. Danny just looked at me and laughed. He must have seen how lovestruck I was. He told me to sit down. Then his eyes bored into me and made me weak in the knees 'Psychology what you're really asking me about?' I literally couldn't speak Then he asked-the nerve of the asshole!- 'You gay?'"

It turned out—"incredibly," Angelo says, given what a macho straight-looking stud he was"-that Danny was gay, which he abruptly told Angelo. "That was Danny, al over-blunt as hell. Totally comfortable with being gay-it was a fact like his eye color. Angelo found himself saying that, yes, he thought he might be gay. Danny and he then found themselves, not a half hour later in Danny's bed. "I have never fallen se completely and totally in love with anyon in my life," Angelo said. "Danny just over whelmed me. He was like a dream come true-a gay man who excited me as muc as-no, even more than-the hottest Ba Ridge stud I'd ever seen. He was Puerte Rican, not Italian, but that was just fin with me. And God, the way he dressed!"

Danny was meticulous about his clother Angelo hoped that he was meticulous in th way Angelo hoped he's be about his sock "That was when my heart fell. Danny like wearing simple, comfortable cotton socks.

was the only practical think about him or his wardrobe. I mean, everything else was either fine silk and flowing gabardine, or when he was feeling slutty, spandex bike pants and skin-tight muscle T's. Damn it-I had come so close to my ideal. It made me hate myself even more. Why were socks so damned important to me? Why couldn't I just sort of lighten up about it, and get over it, and thank God for what I'd found in Danny? But, I hate to say it, it was hard for me to get aroused with Danny because he wasn't wearing the kind of sheer socks that turned me on. It started to be a real problem. I mean, I wouldn't even get hard sometimes when we'd have sex. Finally, I remember it was a rainy November night, we were walking back from the dining hall, and he suddenly turned to me and asked me what the hell was wrong. My dick and he had a very close relationship: by staying limp, it was telling him more than I was." Angelo's face In tense as he relived what happened next. "It was pouring now, but I didn't care. We both were sopping wet but I couldn't move out of the rain-I was going to take a risk I'd never taken before in my life, and it made my knees lock. I know it sounds silly, now-like, why couldn't I have just told him? But I was 18, and I'd felt so much shame about this. I started to cry. Then I just blurted it out: 'I like socks!' There was a silence for a moment. Danny looked confused. 'Well, so do I,' he said. In fact, mine are getting soaked at the moment.' I told him he didn't understand-that I like a certain kind of socks. And then I told him everything, everything about my father, and beating off with his sheer nylon socks, and my trips to Bay Ridge, and my Polaroid collection of hot men taking their shoes off-the whole thing. I don't know what I expected from Danny. Probably that he would call me sick and just walk away from me. But he didn't. He just listened to me and then, when I was done, said, 'So, give me a pair!' And that was it for him. It wasn't any big thing. I was more stunned by this than anything else. How could he not think I was sick? I mean, this was real loony bin stuff, wasn't it?"

The idea that it might be okay not only to talk about his fetish but also to incorporate it into their sex life was a huge revelation for Angelo. "I'll always love Danny. Hell, we broke up about two years later. We ended up having horrendous fights-we both were kids, we didn't know shit about relationships-we fought about stupid stuff, but not about socks. He taught me that I could love a part of myself I had always hated, felt such fear and shame about. He opened up the rest of my life-it doesn't seem too strong to say that. I'll always love him."

Excerpted from "Dancing Around the Volcano - Freeing Our Erotic Lives: Decoding the Enigma of Gay Men and Sex" by Guy Kettelhack. Copyright @1996 by Guy Kettelhack. To be published in October 1996 by Crown, Publishers, Inc.

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15

GLORY HOLE DICKS AND SKIN PIX by Scott O'Hara

The best adult bookstore in the world is in Coralville, Iowa. This is the consensus of two of the most notorious sluts in bookstore history. What makes it so fabulous? In a word: Attitude. The owners know what their customers want, and they're happy to provide it. The customers want sex, pure and simple, and the setup in this place is designed for easy access. There are no coin-operated video machines; instead, after paying $5 to enter the arcade, you're free to wander from booth to booth, all day if you want, watching different movies. No surveillance. The movies run continuously. The booths are large and clean, with locking doors, and most of them have gloryholes. There's room for four men in each booth, if you're so inclined; but most of the action takes place through the holes.

I've only been to this bookstore twice, most recently in August. I arrived at 10 a.m. which is not a very auspicious time of day for cocksucking. But I walked in and the clerk greeted me with a friendly "Good morning!" I browsed in the bookstore section for a few minutes, as one does in adult bookstores to establish residence; then I paid my $5. The clerk gives you a receipt and you're free to come and go for the rest of the day, if you like.

There was only one man in the arcade when I arrived, and he didn't look like he wanted company. Some men don't. So I started watching movies - old movies. I like old porn movies. The performers seem to have a bit more enthusiasm than the current crop of studmuffins. It wasn't long before I heard the sound of the bell on the front door, and soon there was a shadow in the hallway. He went into the adjacent booth, and ten seconds later I was sucking dick. He had a lot of experience at this: he knew how to fuck face properly through a hole. He also proved to be gay.

There are two types of guys who you're liable to encounter in this setting: straight, married men, who just want to get off and get out; and gay men who are probably waiting for those married men, but who are willing to have a little fun with their fellow cockhounds. I'm one of the latter, obviously . So this guy and I switched back and forth for the next twenty minutes: he'd suck me for awhile, then I'd suck him. A situation like this, unfortunately, can develop into an endurance contest: each partner is trying so hard to get the other one off that neither one is really enjoying it. At least, that's how it affects me. I did like it when he finally squirted down my throat, though. He left, and I settled down to await the next one - my competition having been sent temporarily to the bench.

I'd heard several new arrivals; it didn't take long for one of them to move in next door. I never saw his face, nor did I feel any need to; I did see the wedding ring on his hand. And the large silver belt buckle, and the tight Wrangler jeans, and the overhanging gut, and cowboy boots: signs that say, to me, Middle-aged Married Mexican. He fished out his dick, and yes, it was quite small, dark-skinned, and very uncut. My favorite kind. It got hard immediately, once I started sucking on it, and reached a more average size; Mexican men tend to do that a trait I admire. It took him less than two minutes to reach climax. He didn't linger.

There was a bit of a wait before the third man arrived. He might have been the twin of the last one. I was happy to drain hi nuts for him.

At this point, though, I began to realize that I wasn't getting much pleasure out of this. Have you ever found yourself engage in sex out of a sense of duty? Well … it not that any of these encounters wer unpleasant. They weren't. But neither wer they what I really wanted at that momen Sometimes it's hard to tell what it is yo want until you try it. "No, that's not it." S I left: happy, but unsatisfied. I also had stomachache, probably because one more of those men was a smoker. Smoker cum always makes me nauseous.

But the clerk smiled at me as I left, an asked cheerily, "Have a good time?"

I'm going to delve back into ancient his tory here: back to the early '80s, when was busily splashing myself all over th silver screen and various stages. At th same time, I began to be acquainted wit

quite a number of photographers, mostly of the skinpix variety. In order to be a star, I reasoned, you gotta be on good terms with lots of good photographers. And I made a point of being photographed by as many of them as I could.

Now, most of you are probably familiar with Mark I. Chester's work. Lots of it has appeared in this magazine from time to time. It wasn't here that I first saw it, however, but in the local gay papers. He photographed performances for the theatre reviews. I particularly remember a photo of his friend Bill, a performance artist who had numerous ear piercings; in the photo, strings had been attached to all of them and were being pulled - hard. It's a striking photo. The show was called Connections, and I still have some vivid mental images from it.

Shortly after that, I vin was introduced to Mark. his He's an intimidating man fa description that always ize makes him laugh), but I of managed to make clear to him that I wanted to it's model for him. I still had erd my titrings then, and the rere friend who'd introduced ent im had a Prince Albert; so you we put together a "scene" So in which we got all dal arrung together with of thongs and weights and ter pulleys. It was amusing. I came back for more.

A year or two later, when Mark started a witch group in his apartment, he asked me I'll be the first model. It wasn't the first Ime I'd done that, and I jumped at the thance. I don't think I qualify as a true his exhibitionist, since showing my body off to en people doesn't give me a physical hard-on. the that it feels good; it makes me feel whole-the same and healthy and positive about my with body. Watching all those artists' eyes studying every inch of me, not flinching at the Naughty Bits, is a very sex-positive experience. I recommend it to anyone who feels shy or insecure about their body. Call up Mark. He's still coordinating the group.

It's Mark's photography, though, that really turned me into his devoted slave. Most of it is not staged; he lets the model do whatever appeals to him. None of his work is "hardcore," there is no penetration pictured. What he looks for in a model is The Truth. And he usually finds it. What he found in me was the desire to show everything - absolutely everything - to everybody . Other of his models - most of whom were also friends - showed off their various turn-ons: rubber, spandex, piercings, rope, clothespins, snakes. You never get the feeling, in a Mark I. Chester photograph, that these boys are playing dress-up. These are photos that come from somewhere deep in the soul, fetishes and aches that in some cases have never been let out on public display until Mark's shutter started clicking .

For years, Mark has talked about putting photos. It isn't easy to get stuff like this printed, though. He has finally Buy it. succeeded. Though I'm far from being a disinterested party, being included in the book multiple times, I think it's the most stunning piece of work I've ever seen. There are bound to be comparisons to Robert Mapplethorpe, since both photographers broadly, with deal, "SM." Now, I admire Mapplethorpe; I applaud him for broadening the range of what was permissible in art galleries, and I'm very happy that he grew rich and famous from it. But looking at his photos, I always see the setup: I see the photographer arranging the components , deciding how it would look most artistic… and most shocking. Mark is not out to shock. He's out to show the world as he knows it - and as many of us know it - and to declare that this is good, this is natural, this is sex.

"Diary of a Thought Criminal" can be ordered from Mark I. Chester, at P.O. Box 422501, SF, CA 94142, phone 415-621-6294; the softcover edition is $30, hardcover $45, and a special collector's edition bound in black leather is $250. Many of the images can be viewed on the web: http:// www.blackiris.com / mchester.

The Art of

DYVE Homo-Epotic Aptist DYVE 1714 Alexandre de Sève Montreal Qc Canada H2L 2V9 (514) 521-7415 yve received his formal art training at Concordia University where he earned a Bachelor of Arts in painting and art history. He says his art is influenced by 19th century French painting as well as by the 20th century Russian Socialist Realists and the American New Realists. Dyve admits that he owes much of his development as an artist and as a leather man to the art of Tom of Finland.

The men depicted in Dyve's art are models who he picks up on the street or in bars. From time to time both Dyve and his ex-lover Michael have appeared in his drawings.

Dyve's work will be on view in Montreal at an exhibition of work by emerging erotic artists sponsored by the Tom of Finland Foundation at the O'Connor Gallery during November.

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First Canadian Homoerotic Art Exhibition iom of Finland and His Heirs

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Tickets available in Montréal at: L'Androgyne and at Priape Tickets available in Totonto at: Priape By reservation at Réseau Admission at: CANADA: 790-1245 - 1 800 361-4595 USA: 1 800 678-5440 For info on Gala and Exhibition call:

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Additional information is available at http://www. blackiris.com / mchester.

Three Years of Jacking Off AMSTERDAM

The Stablemaster bar cele-litales the third anniversary of its weekend jack-off par-III In November. Held every Friday and Saturday night from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m. and anday afternoon beginning m / p.m., the parties actually allow all kinds of safe sex, and just jacking off. The memises are carefully moni-tured , and anyone caught engaging in unsafe sex is minimity ejected. Alcohol and poppers are permitted, all other drugs are forbid-Him . Untrance is 10 guilders.

Max Club Changes Hands

FRANCISCO the Playground, which its nwher described as the warld's largest gay sex club, Histell IIs doors in May but dimini immediately reopened miler new ownership as the Exchange Main MANUAL P. Mallon, New owner Mike were, who owns another Pawer Exchange sex club in III elly geared toward Halalat, bisexual and trans-rendered patrons, said he has made several improvements a the facility, with more to

Among the plans is com-detting a transformation of ## 7,500 square-foot base-Helli into a first-class dun-that will be a major ittaction to the leather com-wally , "We don't want mustling that's just thrown together. It's going to be for people who are strong into leather," Powers commented.

Playground owner Deno Fessler was evicted for nonpayment of rent. Rumors had flown for months about an imminent shutdown due to lack of attendance at the spacious four-floor facility a few blocks from City Hall.

Powers reported patronage has picked up since the changeover, but attendance is still not at the level he would like. He believes, however, that word about the improvements , especially the increased attention to cleanliness , will gradually bring back patrons who were turned off by the club's previous management.

"Everybody says they can't believe how much cleaner the club is. The presentation all around is more professional," said Powers. "It's always being upgraded, whether it's paint, or just atmosphere. I look at running a club like this as a long-term pursuit, and I'm committed to making it a success."

The club offers three levels of themed play space, including jailhouse, "electric forest," medieval banquet room, pirate ship, Egyptian tomb and dungeon. There is also a video arcade with pool tables and a free weight gym. Because the facility's size can make it seem overwhelming, only about half the 30,000- square-foot space is available for use at any one time, with different rooms open different nights.

According to Powers, the majority of the clientele tends to be men between the ages of 21 and 35, who demand a lot more than previous gen- erations did in terms of ambience and decor.

"The younger community wants better atmosphere. Much like we have a service based society, they want this to be included in that approach," he said.

Mentioning his family's background in the water slide business as a major influence on his decision to run sex clubs, Powers said he hopes to open Power Exchanges in Los Angeles, San Diego and other cities.

Power Exchange is open Wednesday through Sunday from 9 p.m. to 6 a.m. Regular entrance is $10, but there are weeknight discounts. The dungeon is available for private rental for seminars, demonstrations and play parties .

SM Training Center Opens

Want to learn solid SM techniques and protocol from experienced practitioners? Got an extra $365, plus transportation cost to California?

Then you might be interested in signing up for Butchmann's, a weekend academy with classes in flogging , piercing, discipline, mastery and submission, slavery, tattoos, bondage, leather etiquette and spirituality . Facilities include a fully equipped dungeon.

Held once a month, usually the first weekend, classes run from noon Friday to 5 p.m. Sunday, with a maximum of eight participants being trained by several instructors, including experienced guest masters. Enrollment typically averages one top for every two to three bottoms. There are separate weekends for men and women. Tuition includes barracks lodging, meals and alcohol.

For information or an application, write to Butchmann's, P.O. Box 699. Palm Desert, CA 92261. You can also call or fax (619) 776-9205.

Porn Star Loses Teaching Job VIRGINIA

Jeffrey Dion Bruton lost both his marriage and his job when his wife discovered he was leading a secret second life as blond superhunk Ty Fox in a series of gay porn films. After friends told her they had seen her husband's photograph in a gay porn magazine, Melanie Bruton cited his videos and photo spreads in a petition for divorce.

Once word spread, Bruton / Fox discovered his position as a junior high health and physical educa-

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Foot Scene Takes a Hike

E A N FRANCISCO

The National Foot Network has moved from New York to Imm Francisco and increased III services and activities. Fininders John O'Leary and IIII Morano relocated both the organization and their minimus, Kink Video, to the West Coast earlier this year in take advantage of the alifornia city's more liberal millimites.

In addition to publishing Fint Scene, a quarterly newsletter for gay men with had letishes, NFN runs Foot Fillends parties twice a month in San Francisco and mille a month in Los Anneles, Typical parties draw between 50 and 100 partici-Halls . O'Leary and Morano in milled they are considering getting party scenes going in other cities as well but have made no specific plans to this point.

The couple started the organization with parties at a small Greenwich Village bar in 1987 and gradually built it into a national network. The goal, said O'Leary, is to eliminate the sense of shame many people have around not only foot fetishism but fetishism in general.

"I want every gay person to know their feelings, whatever they are, aren't something to be ashamed of. You should be gay and out and oblivious to other people's finger pointing," he said.

Contact National Foot Network at P.O. Box 420570. San Francisco, CA 94142- 0570 or via e-mail at nfn@netcom.com. For up-to -date info on Foot Friends parties, call (415) 431-0730.

Rubber Has A Blowout

CHICAGO

The city's newly formed Men of Rubber Club has scheduled a Rubber Blowout for

Veterans Day weekend, Nov. 8-10. In addition to a Friday night welcoming reception, a Saturday night dungeon play party and a Sunday brunch, the event will include the Mr. Vulcan Rubber 1997 contest to raise money for AIDS organizations.

Co-sponsored by Men of Rubber and Leather Knights of Boston, the contest will be held at the Cell Block Bar. Mr. Vulcan Rubber, the world's first title contest for male rubber enthusiasts, originated in Boston in 1993. New Yorker John Ferrari won the first title. Chicagoan Ryan Johnson has held the title since 1994. The current winner will receive a cash award and various prizes contributed by rubber dealers and organizations around the U.S.

Prospective candidates and those interested in advance-purchase weekend packages can obtain information by writing to Studio R, 3023 N. Clark St., Ste. 201, Chicago, IL 60657, calling (312) 506-8747 or via the Internet at MVR97@aol.com.

Mid-Atlantic Leather Weekend

WASHINGTON, D.C.

The Centaur Motorcycle Club will sponsor the Mid-Atlantic Leather Weekend Jan. 17-19, 1997. Festivities will include Leather Cocktails, Leather Market and the 1997 Mr. Mid-Atlantic Leather contest. More than 1,000 members of the leather community are expected to attend. The $60 registration fee covers entrance to all events, Saturday lunch, Sunday brunch, complimentary drink tickets, merchandise discounts , entertainment and shuttle bus service, as well as a commemorative pin.

Accommodations for the weekend are available at the Ramada Inn at Thomas Circle for $79 plus tax per night. Call (800) 424-1140 to make reservations; as't for the Mid-Atlantic Leather Weekend special rate.

For additional information , including applications to compete for the Mr. Mid-Atlantic Leather title, contact Centaur MC, P.O. Box 34193, Washington, DC 20043-4193 or call (202) 388-1010.

Referral Service for SMers on Web

FRANCISCO SAN

Race Bannon has put his Kink Aware Professionals project on the World Wide Web. As reported in Drummer 189, KAP is a referral service to help people into SM and related activities find doctors, dentists, psychotherapists and other health-care professionals who are, if not participants, at least supportive of alternative lifestyles. KAP also lists lawyers and a few other professionals not related to health care.

Professionals wishing to be listed on the site are urged to contact Bannon. The site's address is: http//www.ban-non .com/ race / kap.

The KAP referral list can also be sent to those who have e-mail but not web access. Send an e-mail message with "KAP E-Mail Request" typed in the subject line to race@ bannon.com.

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BOOK SECTION

Motropolitan slave Anthology II libries by jeb and SleazeMaster Art by Beau

Matropolitan Slave Anthology II

W 1th and Sleazemaster. Selective Publishing, POB 4597, Oak Brook, IL 1111111597, $16.95, 185 pages

Hardwood by Jasper Jenks that thing that grabbed me about this was the list of rules set forth in the induction for the porn I was about to "I. No condoms, 2. No safewords, If the slave dies, he dies," and so forth. was in for a treat. The first story,

Illustration by Beau from "Metropolitan Slave Anthology II" naue 199

III /Ino Reviews p. 61

Hight Time" by Adam Knight and My Hint Foot" by sox@bmi.net p. 65

Here by Hoody Allan p. 73

presumably by jeb, is a brutal tale of torture and revenge. A Vietnamese orphan whose parents were killed by American GI's, and who was enslaved by his own people, finds an outlet for his rage when he kidnaps a young army sergeant and fellow student at an American university. Keeping him in a basement dungeon under surveillance, the young master recreates his own terrible experiences, using the sergeant as a whipping post, a fuckhole, and a toilet. I found myself excited by the writing and the reversal of power dynamics, but not particularly aroused. There is not even a hint of pleasure for the bottom in this story; maybe that's why I couldn't get into it.

Sleazemaster's Alley Cat series, on the other hand, is a totally non-consensual torture story that works very well. The reluctant slave is subjected to every possible pain-provoking instrument. His castration occurs pretty early on, which helps him adjust to his new position in life as that of house pet.

Also included in this collection is "The Case Of The Missing Master" by Sleazemaster. A fine murder mystery with plenty of bloody, gory sex, this story should earn Sleazemaster a high place in SM writing. The Fall 1995 issue of Metropolitan Slave is appendixed at the end of the book, but in type so small it hurts the eyes, so don't bother. But, if you delight in horror and the thought of amputation gets you hard, do bother reading Metropolitan Slave Anthology II.

Beware The God Who Smiles

By Larry Townsend. Badboy Books, 801 2nd Ave., NY, NY 10017, $5.95, 199 pages Reviewed by Jasper Jenks

An Egyptian idol has puzzled archaeologists for centuries. Is it Anubis, helper god to Osiris, or Seth, a god of evil? Go back in time with Townsend's horny boys and find out. A museum guard, a grad student, a scientist, and a psychiatrist discover the power of the idol to zap them into ancient Egypt when they bugger each other in its presence. Only problem is, they land in the middle of a civil war and don't know who is friend or foe. Our beefy young guard winds up a slave for a while, and is gang raped by fellow prisoners when jailed

Miss Abernathy's Concise Slave Training Manual for insubordination. He passes out and, too bad for us, wakes up back in the 20th century.

On later trips, our gay adventurers have orgies with young willing slave boys, fall in love with each other, and eventually solve the mystery of the "god who smiles." This well-written novel unfortunately didn't meet my standard for good porn, which is at least one orgasm per 20 pages. I don't even think the characters were that lucky.

Miss Abernathy's Concise Slave Training Manual by Christinen Abernathy. Greenery P 1996, $11.95

Reviewed by Marijke Struvic

Why is a book by a woman be reviewed in Drummer? The subject dominance and submission crosse gender lines. In Abernathy's introdu she says "Perhaps you … thought masters and slaves only met in b written paperbacks." Unlike those pa backs, the Slave Training Manual is written. The style is dignified, befitti Victorian master, but seasoned humor and occasionally with archnet is a book for the 90's and beyond; most of the appended resource li limited to the San Francisco Bay there is also a list of useful World Web sites.

The title "Slave Training Mar implies that this is a book for sul sives, but topics of broad interest to slaves and masters are addressed. is described as role-based, supers gender, and the balance of respons between dominant and submissi emphasized. There are sections or ing a slave, styles of dominance, and ations of the D / S relationship. Diff forms of slavehood, from sex sla butler, are explored in detail. Et behavior, clarity of communication consensuality are discussed withou annoying pedantry so common in h SM books.

If your only idea of a hot time i ting drenched with piss by 10 cigaring total strangers and then having pummel your dripping flesh with their while you growl, snarl and struggle might want to give this book a pas if you have been looking for a man help you raise dominance / submiss highly developed performance ar this is it.

Bike Boys, Drag Queens, and Superstars

Avant-Garde, Mass Culture and Identities in the 1960s Underg Cinema. By Juan A. Suárez. In University Press, $16.95, 343 pgs. Reviewed by D. Travers Scott

Tilko Boys" … is a cock-tease: sexy IIIIo, subject, and cover; but it spends Pres 140 pages of historical small talk before mailing around to the action of its title, II's a pretty limp fuck. 55 pages of bein men follow.

Buarez analyzes New York under-around filmmaking from 1961 through duction to focusing on Kenneth Anger's ght the corple Rising, Jack Smith's Flaming n back molures, and Andy Warhol's art films paper in commercial projects such as Flesh. is we marmining how these films fuck with fitting williams of high / low culture and avant-ed will mile / institutionalized art biz, Suárez ness limitates lines of resistance (useful for d; while not widely embraced by queers) in e list american culture before Stonewall and y Are spalled hardcore porn.

Unfortunately this is an academic least for academics. In terms of jargon lanua and references, it limits its audience by submitteeping an educational membership to but the survey is a careful and rigorous crit-ed . Di wil makes no discernible effort to pre-ersed passion and humor within his onsible and any writing — exactly the sort of ssive multiplow cultural mix his book calls for. on fine and got me wrong, I'm a closet acade-and with myself. I went to art school on an Difference and am a scholarship and am a slave I in of the three filmmakers Ethic focuses on. I really wanted to like

Hul, unlike Reay Tannahill's hilarious n how in History, Stephen Koch's book on Marhol's films, Stargazer, or Mark e is n memon's book on gay identities in ar-small culture, Masculine Impersonators; ng the Hoys … is not near as accessible, heir fill and any nor entertaining as its subjects in ideas deserve to be. nanual Amel Journal — Sensurround Edition ission www. Swezey, Ed. Amok Books, e-mail: artist artist are arthlink.net, $19.95, 448 pgs.

Market by D. Travers Scott

I are no hard dicks in the Amok - Sensurround Edition. Never much of this "compendium of psy-and ( will grab and or will grab and or will grab ergrow readers. AJ compiles bizarre India amorniona in "pursuit of a neurobiologi-M Marie for mystical and ecstatic experi-Market SM, BD and Modern Primitive play are not directly covered, but their practitioners will find many intersections and parallels with their own mind / body / spirit interests, offering new perspectives and twisting the imagination.

AJ explores 8 topics through interviews , medical and scientific journals, newspaper articles and even a Disney paperback. "Autoerotic Fatalities" sniffs out fatal masturbatory misadventures with hanging, vacuum cleaners, suffocation , carpets and a VW bug.

"Trepanation" digs into the conscious- ness-expanding technique of drilling holes in your skull. "Gualtiero Jacopetti" covers the director of Mondo Cane, Africa Addio and other shockumentaries. "Cargo Cult" explores South Pacific Islanders' religious movements arising around attainment of Western economic bounty. "Neue Slowenische Kunst" surveys the art and propaganda of the Slovenian art collective NSK, known in the U.S. mostly for its industrial band Laibach. "Self-Mutilation / Amputee Fetish" checks out desire for amputees and amputation. The physical effects of low-level, imperceptible sound waves are surveyed in "Infrasound," and scrotum self-repair, a concrete enema, deer-tongue masturbation, werewolves and hostage hallucinations fall into "Psych-Out."

Although mostly culled from medical and scientific texts, AJ reads fun and funky. An engrossing, page- and stomach -turner, AJ provokes fascinating reassessments of mind, body and culture interrelationships.

Books to Watch Out For:

Partings at Dawn: An Anthology of Japanese Gay Literature

Edited by Stephen D. Miller. Gay Sunshine Press, $19.95, 352 pages

Includes work of the contemporary erotic writer Mutsuo Takahashi: note the SM novella The Hunter.

The Mad Man by Samuel R. Delany. Rhinoceros, $8.99, 568 pages

He's best known, perhaps, for his science fiction: but this is a serious, hard-edged and hard-core pansexual novel.

Hogg by Samuel R. Delany. Black Ice Books, $11.95, 219 pages

Written more than 20 years ago, too "sleazy" to find a new publisher until recently: This is an exultant literary exploration of raw sexual taboos.

Nature in the Raw

Edited by Gerry Kroll. Alyson, $11.95, 230 pages

The range of gay erotic fiction collected from Freshmen magazine is not broad, but stories by Derek Adams go beyond vanilla.

The Pleasure Chateau by Jeremy Reed. Velvet, $9.95, 183 pages A tour-de-force of perverse sexual extremes, gothic erotica for all sexes from a major British poet.

Freak Like Me: Inside the Jim Rose Circus Sideshow by Jim Rose. Dell, $13.95, 200 pages An inside look at the last traveling freak show in America: fetish scenes and titillating photos.

Desperate Visions Vol. 1: Camp America by Jack Syevenson. Creation, $17.95, 180 pages

The underground / sleaze / fetish films of NY, SF and Baltimore (think John Waters, okay?) in the 1960s and 1970s are explored through interviews (the Kuchar brothers), essays and filmographies.

Telepaths Don't Need Safewords & Other Stories From the Erotic Edge of SF / Fantasy

Edited by Cecilia Tan Circlet Press, $2.95, 80 pages Chapbook chock full of edgy science fiction and fantasy tales.

All books available at A Different Light Bookstores in San Francisco, 489 Castro Street; New York, 151 West 19th Street; West Hollywood, 8853 Santa Monica Boulevard; by phone 800-343-4002.

On your knees, boy

I said, get down on your knees, boy Good boy. Now, boy, I want you to take a pen and fill out this order form for the all-new RoB catalo I'm going to give you one minute in which to obey me, boy, and if you haven't filled out this order form perfectly, then you know what's going to happen b Well, for starters I'm going to give your pussy-boy ass a walloping it won't soon forget. more importantly, you're never gonna receive the newestand largest RoB catalog ever. catalog that's bursting with the best selection of leatherand rubber gear that any true slave w get an instant hard-on over. So you see, boy, ifyou don't fill this out, you're just never gonna to suck on that new gag your Master wasgoing to order to fill that pretty little scum-suc mouth of yours. You'll also never get achance to order those new leather chaps that you were goin get for your Master, and that means you'll never be able to clean them with your tongue like a good grovelingslaveboy should. So, boy, why the fuck aren’t you writing? I told you to fill this out NOW, b mean it, you little shit. You've got only 30 more seconds. Do it

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Fax in order: 415 . 252 . 9574 Call in order: 415 . 252 . 1198 thank you Sir!

First oot v nox@bmi.net was the first week of summer, after high school graduation. One of my miller brother's friends was moving an apartment near his college My parents were out of town, be when my brother came by and told was going to spend the weekend while Shawn move, I didn't have any-me around to help me get out of it (not I mally wanted to get out of it).

I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I In the took off. Shawn is a very good Blue eyes, light brown hair, ment stopping smile, plus a baby face angular jaw. His legs were sexy, mined, hairy, and muscular. The first hing I did after closing the van door III look down at Shawn's feet. He wanting Nike high-top sneakers, were, at one time, white). His will socks were pushed down, form-a High after ridge of hot cotton fabric. while ready to work your ass off?" nawn asked. with, I guess so," I answered.

Will, yo better be, 'cause I sure as m mon't plan to," he replied. mawn drove in silence, while I I his feet working the pedals. in faul moved deftly, alternating a gentle smooth push on the leaderator, and a quick firm mashing hall brake pedal. I had never experi-having someone's sweaty foot push against my face, but I In that I'd do anything to get a whiff IIII. I closed my eyes, creating an what it would feel like to have mwn's big, sweaty, socked foot, making against my nose. When I my eyes, I resumed memoriz- ing every smudge and mark on his sneaker; every crease, every ridge in his sock, even the way it clung to his ankle as it disappeared down into his hot leather sneaker. I was mesmerized.

The ride to Shawn's old apartment seemed all too short. When we walked inside, Shawn flopped onto the sofa and put his feet up on the coffee table.

"Get me a beer out of the fridge, boy," Shawn ordered, snapping his fingers, and pointing to the kitchen.

After a quick glance at his feet, I went and got the beer he'd ordered. Returning with the beer, I placed it directly into his outstretched hand. Shawn had switched on a ball game, and was occupying himself with the action. I was about to take a seat on the other end of the sofa, when Shawn looked over at me.

"Hey boy, what are ya doin' standin' around? Get your ass in there and start packing the kitchen stuff. And when you're done with that, get started on the bathroom and bedroom. I didn't bring you all the way over here to stand around and watch TV," he said. He snapped his fingers again, loudly this time. I headed for the kitchen. "And hurry it up, pussy boy," he added laughing at my humiliation and obedience.

I had met Shawn only a couple of times before, but I never expected him to talk to me like that. As I started packing, I remember thinking that

BOOK SECTION

I was in heaven. Shawn, living alone, didn't have too many things to pack in his kitchen. It didn't take long at all, even with the interruption of him hollering at me to "fetch" him another beer. After I finished with the kitchen, Shawn had me take the three boxes, one at a time, and load them in the rental van. When I came back upstairs, Shawn stopped me as I was going toward the bathroom to start packing.

"Hey, come over here, boy," he said. (He kept calling me 'boy' even though he was only three years older). I moved around and stood in front of where he was sitting, his large feet still resting atop the coffee table.

"I've noticed you staring at my feet every time you're in the same room. So, what the fuck's your problem?" he asked.

I didn't know whether to deny that I'd been fascinated by his sneakers and socks, make something up, or just tell him the truth. I decided on parts of the last two.

"I just think they're really hot looking ," I said nervously. I glanced down at his dirty-white sneakers. The shoes were nearly worn out from Shawn's abuse and constant wear.

"What'd mean, you think they're hot? D'ya mean you like the way they look, or that you think they make my feet sweat?" Shawn responded.

"Both," I said quietly, not knowing how Shawn would react.

"Holy shit, are you telling me that you're a fuckin' fag for my sneakers, and sweaty, stinkin' socks?" Shawn asked, laughing through his question.

"Yeah, I guess that's what I'm sayin'," I answered, staring down at his propped-up feet.

Shawn nearly rolled off the sofa with laughter. When he finally stopped laughing, he looked me square in the eye. With a last chuckle he said, "I'll tell you what, if you're willing to do all the packing and unpacking, all the loading and unloading, and then come back here and clean this place spotless so I can get my deposit back, I'll let you get down on your knees and lick my sneakers 'til they're white again. What d'ya say, fag?" he taunted.

I was stunned. I had never dreamed anything like this could ever actually happen.

"Sure. Sounds like a bargain," I agreed.

Shawn just snapped his fingers and told me to get him another beer-and get to work.

When I had everything packed, and loaded up, Shawn headed for the van. He told me I was going to do the driving , so he made himself comfortable in the passenger seat. During the drive to the new apartment, Shawn turned in the seat, leaning his back against the door. He swung his legs up onto the seat and plopped his size twelve's right in my crotch.

"That where ya' like it, fag?" he jeered at me.

"Yes, Sir, Shawn Sir," I answered, like a total wimp.

"You know," Shawn said, "I've been wearin' these same socks inside these dirty sneaker for four days. Haven't had time to do laundry while I've been lookin' for an apartment." He dug the heel of his sneaker into my crotch and moved it back and forth. "Hell, if I'd known you were such a fag, I'd of had you workin' for me a long time ago, doin' my laundry, cleaning my apartment , all that shit that I don't like doin'. Now, I guess I'll just have to make up for lost time," he added with renewed laughter.

Shawn lifted his foot up to my face. I could smell the pungent, warm sneaker / sock odor seeping through the worn leather. He touched the side of his shoe against my lips.

"Kiss it, faggot," he ordered.

I pressed my lips firmly against the side of his dirty shoe. My cock was rock hard. The close-up view of Shawn's high-top and white sock was almost more than I could stand. I nearly drove off the road. Shawn laughed for a long time after he'd returned his foot to rest atop the other in my lap.

When we got to his new place, Shawn got out of the van and went inside. He told me to bring in his sofa, (it was small, and with a struggle, I had

BOOK SECTION imminged to load it by myself), and TV first. I did as I was told. The last thing I wanted to do at this point was disobey him tahit, he might withdraw the offer In let me lick those sneakers of his.

I brought in the sofa, the TV, and put the beer in the fridge. Shaw had all switched on the TV and made Illinaulf comfortable on the sofa. I handed him a beer.

I definitely had strong motivation to move my ass" and get things done had It was already after five in the atternoon.

By seven o'clock I had everything milled and unpacked in Shawn's apartment. I even had the phone muuted in, and the shower curtain I told Shawn I was finished.

Mah, I don't think you are, you see thless fag," Shawn replied. "You've will got a couple of major-sized sneak-and to clean. I think you'd better plan me spending the night here. That'll give have time to clean these high-tops and was you can go over to the old and get it cleaned up," he added. www.get down on your knees, fag-boy. want you to lick every speck of dirt and grime off these shoes," Shawn manufed, snapping his fingers.

I knot before him. Staring directly www.the sole of his sneakers. Damn, I man having big trouble believing that was really happening. It was as if had been able to see every fan-www .l'd ever had. that your face down there at my boy, I wanna see and feel your langua lickin' my funky shoes. DO it, NOW!" he bellowed. mulckly moved my face in toward his high-tops, glancing up to get a at the expression on Shawn's I was looking right at me. Com-metaly ignoring the game still on the I was studying my every move. I attended my tongue, letting it move out mat my lips until it pushed against the www.side of Shawn's shoe. I pulled my mutatratched tongue firmly from the with of his shoe, upward toward the was drawing my tongue in only to wet it and repeat the process. The dirt and arim had a tangy, salty taste. As I worked on licking Shawn's high-top, I could smell the odor of his sweating foot, and four-day-worn socks. When I let my eyes wander upward, I could see the dirty shoe laces, and the top of his sock appearing just beyond the loose-hanging shoe tongue.

Shawn made me spend a full hour kneeling before him, licking the white leather of his sneakers. Occasionally he'd shove the toe of his shoe into my mouth, or he'd order me to lick harder, or faster. He didn't take his eyes off me for a second. He was really getting off on seeing someone going down on his dirty sneakers. By the time he told me "that's enough" on the shoes, my dick was throbbing with pleasure. Shawn ordered me to get him another beer, and then get back on my knees at his feet. I obeyed without hesitation, my dick throbbing harder just from hearing him give an order.

When I returned to my kneeling position before him, Shawn ordered me to remove his left sneaker. I reached forward , untied the shoelace, loosened each eyelet, and pulled the massive shoe-tongue forward. I gripped the heel with one hand and the toe with the other, and gently, slowly, pulled the huge sneaker from Shawn's hot, sweat-soaked , white sock.

"Just so you know, I'm gonna make you EAT that funky sock, faggot. I kind of like the thought of my dirty fuckin' sock churning around in your stomach ," Shawn said, almost sadistically. "But, for now, I want you to get your face in there and smell and lick it," he commanded.

The odor coming from Shawn's sweat-filled sock was strong and pungent . The smell of leather sneaker dominated my senses as I moved my face closer to the sole of Shawn's foot. I inhaled deeply. That awful, terrible odor was like expensive cologne to me. I could feel the warmth emanating from Shawn's still sweating foot. The sock formed perfectly to Shawn's big foot. The ribbing of the fabric pulled tightly against the arch and ankle. I pressed my face against Shawn's foot-sole with slow passion, trying to etch in my mind every micro-second.

Placing my nose in the cavity above the ball of his foot, I pushed my mouth against it reverently, devotedly. I could feel the dampness of the smelly, funk-filled cotton. The sweaty moisture was sticking to my mouth and nose. Shawn pushed his foot into my face, and gripped my nose with his long toes.

"I ordered you to lick it faggot," Shawn said, angrily. "Do what you're told. Lick my dirty sock and suck out my foot sweat."

I pushed my tongue flat against Shawn's sock and tasted his foot sweat. The sock was so permeated with his sweat that it almost oozed out of the cotton fibers. I grabbed the smelly sock with my lips, pulling some of the sweaty fabric inside my mouth. I sucked, filling my mouth with the sweaty product of Shawn's foot.

After licking and smelling his filthy sock for awhile, Shawn pulled it from my face.

"Open your mouth, faggot," Shawn ordered.

His dirty sock still just inches from my face, I opened my mouth, and Shawn brought his foot forward, directing his toes into my open mouth. He shoved and twisted his foot around pushing it inside my mouth, up to, then just beyond, the ball of his foot. The corners of my mouth strained against the large intruder. My mouth was completely full of Shawn's foot, and dirty sock.

"Now, suck on it, boy," he demanded .

As I began sucking on Shawn's foot, he ordered me to remove his other shoe.

"I want you to massage every fuckin' inch of that sweaty sock with your fag-got nose," he barked down at me. Cramming his foot inside my mouth more securely, he pressed his other foot firmly against my nose, and began rubbing it, starting at the heel and moving up toward the arch of his foot.

"Come on, let me hear you smell it, fag. Come on, breathe in nice and loud so I can hear it and keep sucking on the foot in your mouth. Don't forget,

that's all yer gettin' for dinner," Shawn jeered, then laughed.

After Shawn forced me to chew the dirty sock off his foot, he made me get on the floor at the foot of his bed, where he ordered that I would be spending the night. He made me take the other dirty sock from his foot, and add it to the one already stuffed inside my mouth. He forced me to close my lips around the rancid balls of sock, then he taped my mouth closed with duct tape.

"Now you'll get the pleasure of tasting my dirty socks all night long," Shawn said cruelly.

Shawn ordered me to unfasten his pants and take out his stiff dick. I knelt beside the bed, between Shawn's legs, Shawn placed his hand on the back of my head, forcing my face down onto his crotch. Shawn spit down onto his hard cock, and proceeded to literally fuck my face, grinding his saliva into my cheeks, eyes, and forehead. His cock spewed sticky, white, cum all over the floor. Shawn wiped it off the floor with the sole of his foot. He brought his foot up to my face, depositing the odorous jism all over my face.

Shawn really got off on making me service him. Needless to say, so did I.

Shawn and I continued getting together almost every weekend that summer. Somehow, Shawn was always coming up with interesting new ideas.

Sometimes he'd make me kneel at his feet and literally worship him. He'd say things like, "Bow down and pray to me, slave." He'd let me take a pair of his dirty socks home to "suck clean" during the week. I'd have to bring them back the following weekend, freshly washed. In the mean time, he'd be wearing the same pair of socks all week, getting 'em nice and slimy, ready to shove in my face.

I don't know what happened to Shawn. But, wherever he is, I'm sure he's got someone on their knees, groveling at those huge feet that I remember so well.

My First Foot appears in Foot Scene, Vol.1., Issue 4.

Night ime

By Adam Knight t was six-thirty when I left my apartment and headed for the party. What occasion was being celebrated I don't recall. I stepped to the leaf strewn walkway and drew in a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. It was already nighttime .

Arriving at the party, Phil was introduced to me by a mutual friend. I was twenty-three. Phil was thirty-something. His handsome good looks were astonishing . Comments about the stranger were frequent, flattering and filled with sexual curiosity.

Phil was wearing heavy-soled, black leather boots with laces that disappeared under the legs of well fitted Levis. His torso, chest and broad shoulders were covered with a light-blue polo shirt. He smiled broadly revealing a small gap between what were otherwise perfect, straight, white teeth. He looked at me without mercy. It seemed he was looking through to my sole. His steel-blue eyes pierced my flesh. I felt a tingle move up my spine as he gripped my hand firmly.

"It's good to meet ya," Phil said casually . "I've been watching you for the last hour. I kinda wondered when you'd make your way over to me," he said, a touch of arrogance in his voice. I was temporarily speechless. Phil shook my hand and released it purposefully. At last I found my voice. "It's good to meet you too. I like your boots," I said clumsily in a nervous attempt to keep his interest.

Phil looked down at his own feet. The black leather was well worn and the rounded toes shone. He lifted his eyes back to meet mine and renewed his smile.

"Nice of you to notice," he said with amusement. "What is it you like about 'em?"

"I guess the thing I like best is what's in them," I said, referring to his handsome presence.

BOOK SECTION whill placed his cocktail on the stand at to him. He grabbed my hand, placed Inger in his rear belt loop, turned with me attached, walked through mam full of people. I followed him the door into the darkness out-I Fill took my head in his hands and manuf his full lips against my waiting hadh. He breathed heavily as he moved maint lips back and forth across the talipping the hair at the back of my he controlled my movement and ment me deeply, passionately. His moved in and around my mouth mely, probing.

Maintaining his grip on my hair he my mouth. With his face inches I could feel his warm breath When we've softly. "You're gonna do any-organism you."

Will my nock bent back, my eyes Into his. Though he hadn't had for a response, I heard myself say was laughed quietly. "Yeh, you'll get on and beg, won't ya' boy." Sure the answer, he didn't wait for a "Get down on your knees and and hahind me. Your first lesson is maning how to heel like the dog you he hald as he turned and walked ward his cor. the cold sidewalk. First one was then the other. Phil was walking manufacture. He gave no attention www.found humiliation. He knew I'd was told. My lips still fragrant with placed my hands flat on the and crawled. a making quickly to catch up with the booted feet. As I arrived at he pointed to the heel of his without so much as a glance in "Heel dog." in that, he snapped his fingers and mented almost imperceptibly. He the sidewalk and onto the and chipped gravel driveway. I followed marketing heeling. His personal dog. The sharp gravel abused my and hands as I crawled. When we his car, he opened the passen-and ordered me to get in and In the floor-where I belonged. I did was told. From my position on the floor of Phil's car, I watched as he opened his door, lifted his foot and swung it in, his ass and other foot following .

I looked up into Phil's face. He was staring down, as if studying me, deciding exactly what he was going to do with me, his newest slave. My face flushed red from the embarrassment and humiliation .

"Remember one thing, pig. You're not my equal. I'm more desirable than you and more important than you in every conceivable way. I'm better than you. Everything you've done in your pathetic life has been leading up to this, your reason for existence-serving me," Phil said firmly. "That's why you're huddled up on the floor beneath me and I'm sitting comfortably above the likes of you," he added.

Phil started the car and pulled away. I kept my knees on the floorboard. I rode there in silence, alternately staring at his boots, his crotch and his handsome, sun-browned face. How did I get here, did I want to be here? I wondered to myself. I thought about what Phil had said and how he had treated me. First with passion , then with disdain. "Yes," I answered in my thoughts, " I do want to be here and I'm here because it's where HE wants me to be."

When we arrived at Phil's house, he ordered me to get the fuck out of his car and open his door. "If you're a fuckin' slave to me, you'd better start actin' like one pig," he snapped down at me. Without further orders, I crawled around the outside of Phil's car and opened his door. The concrete floor of his garage was cold. While I remained in crawling position, Phil swung his legs out. He looked down at me and smiled. Placing his hand at the back of my head, he pulled my face forward. He grabbed a handful of hair like he had done before and jerked my head back. Leaning forward he kissed me briefly, then shoved my face hard into his crotch. I could feel his cock stiffen. He continued applying pressure to the back of my head, pushing my face firmly against his growing dick.

"Jesus, that feels good," he said. He placed the heel of each boot on top of my hands as they remained in the crawling position. He stepped down hard and keeping my face in his crotch he stood up letting his full weight bear down on the backs of my hands. I groaned with discomfort.

"That hurt pig?" he asked. I nodded my head in affirmation. "Too bad," he said feigning concern. "I don't feel anything but your face massaging my fuckin' dick. It feels pretty fucking good. So, I guess you'll have to get used to it, you fucking pig."

He released my head and pushed it down towards his feet. He continued to stand with the heels of his boots on my hands. "Get your fucking face down there at my feet, pig," he commanded. "Kiss those dirty boots and thank me for the honor of serving me," he added.

I drew my face in close to his huge boots. The aroma of the warm, well-creased leather filled my nostrils. I pressed my lips against the black leather. Phil lifted his other foot and placed it on the back of my head. He shoved my face cruelly against his boot. "I told you to kiss that fucking boot, pig. I didn't say peck at it," Phil demanded. He laughed as he stepped down on the back of my head.

Satisfied that I was going to obey him sufficiently, Phil ordered me to crawl behind him inside his house. As he walked away, I fell in just like a fucking dog. A little behind him and at his left side. I crawled along side my new master .

When we got inside Phil ordered me to "fetch" him a beer. Phil made himself comfortable on the sofa. He didn't acknowledge the beer I had brought to him. I set it on the side table near his hand. "Get your pig face down there at my feet, slave," Phil ordered. Phil had placed his feet upon the coffee table with one ankle crossed over the other. With my face a fraction of an inch away from the soles of his boots, he moved his foot forward touching the dirty boot sole against my mouth.

"Lick it, pig," he demanded. "Lick the sole of my fuckin' dirty boot."

BOOK SECTION

I parted my lips and pushed my tongue out to it's full length, pressing it flat against Phil's waiting boot sole. Pulling it firmly across the heavy sole. Phil made me pry loose every piece of dirt, grime and gravel, forcing me to swallow each piece as it was freed from the tread of his boot.

"Pull my boots off, slave boy. My feet are hot, sweaty and tired. I think they're gonna need some heavy duty massaging ," Phil ordered.

This change of labor was welcome. My tongue was getting tired and felt completely raw from licking Phil's boots. "You're gonna finish cleaning these fuckin' boots tonight, after I'm done with you," he continued.

I pulled hard on Phil's left boot and eased it free from his sweating, socked foot. As I removed his boot, Phil bent his leg at the knee holding his foot above the floor. He ordered me to get on my back with my face under his foot. I did as he demanded. Phil held his foot inches above my face. I could see him smiling down at me with that huge foot dangling close. "I want to hear you beg, pig," he said as he laughed. "Beg me to step on your face with my sweaty, smelly sock. You wanna be close to me, don'cha? Well, that's as close as you're gonna get. So beg!"

I begged. "Please Sir, step on my face with your sweaty sock," I heard myself saying. I looked up at his foot suspended above my face. I could see brown dirt from his boot forming the outline of his foot on the white moist sock. I could smell the warm foot sweat that permeated the sock. "Please Sir I'm so far beneath you that I can only have contact with the lowest part of your body. Please sir, step on my face."

I continued begging until Phil lowered his foot slowly, letting it rest firmly on my helpless face. Then I was silenced. He shoved the ball of his foot up against my nostrils.

"Let me hear you smell it , pig," Phil said. I inhaled deeply filling my nose and lungs with the pungent, moist odor of Phil's dirty, sweat-filled sock. Phil rubbed the sole of his foot all over my face, laughing as he pried my mouth open and shoved his huge foot inside. "Suck on it," he ordered.

Phil repeated this procedure with his other foot. Forcing me to suck the sweat from his dirty sock. "Like mother's milk, boy, isn't it?" Phil mumbled. I knew by the sound of his voice he was getting turned on.

While Phil was torturing / pleasuring me with his sweaty, socked foot, he was also handling his stiff cock. Groaning and clearly getting off on seeing me under his feet, Phil made me take his socks off. He immediately took one of the smelly, still-moist socks and rapped it around the back of my head, fastening the foot part of it in place against my nose with some kind of alligator clamp.

Making me kneel before him, he placed one bare foot on my shoulder and the other he made me hold up to his face with his forearm. "Clean between my toes, little piggy. I wanna hear you oink. C'mon, do what you're told, slave-pig," he taunted.

Phil pushed the sole of his bare foot against my mouth. "C'mon, stick your tongue between my toes and lap up my toe scum," he commanded.

I slid my tongue between his big toe and the long toe next to it. I pulled my tongue in and out, lapping up the left-over sock lint and concentrated foot sweat. "Oink, Oink." I made the pig sounds Phil ordered. The taste of the inside of Phil's boot and salty sweat filled my mouth. He shoved all five toes into my mouth. "C'mon, lap up my toe scum, slave-pig," he taunted.

Then he pulled out his toes and shoved them back in my face. Phil pushed the sole of his foot against my mouth. "C'mon, stick your tongue between my toes and lap up my toe scum," Phil commanded.

I slid my tongue between his big toe and the little toes in my mouth and pushed hard until my mouth accommodated the ball of his big foot. With his stinking sock covering my nose, I could barely breath. But I was ordered to keep cleaning his bare foot as he thrust in and out of my open mouth.

Phil let both legs drape over my shoulders and down my back, forcing me to crawl forward. "That dirty sock smi good, pig?" Phil tormented. He laugh as he brought his arm up and backhar ed me across the face. "Lick my swee balls, you faggot," he demanded. I pushed my face down between my le until my mouth came in contact with I ball sack. "Lick 'em, you fag-pig," I ordered.

I licked Phil's balls with the tip of I tongue while Phil fisted his rock ha cock. Grabbing the back of my head, thrust his cock inside my mouth. "Su my dick, pig."

With his socks still pressed against i nose, I sucked on Phil's stiff dick. kept his hand on the back of my head I couldn't pull free. He pumped his d in and out of my mouth, shoving it in my lips covered the base and the tip his cock slid down my throat.

"Yeh take it, you fuckin' pig. You're personal pussy-mouthed slave. You gonna take it whenever and wherever tell you… you fuckin faggot. Smellin' funky feet, lickin' my boots and waitin' me hand and fuckin' foot and suckin' i off is all you're gonna be livin' for fr now on, slave boy."

As he let loose with a string of co mands, and humiliating verbal abuse, pumped harder and faster making eyes water. It was like he was actual fucking someone. He had no regard the fact that he was fucking my mou He was using me and violating every p of me. And he was getting off on it time.

Just as his cock started to jerk w the undulation of orgasm, he pulled cock from my mouth and let it sp across my face. I felt the sticky ji splatter against my cheeks, eyelids i splatter against that dirty sock.

Phil shoved me to the floor and rubl his foot through the mess on my fa "Clean it off, pig…and I want to h some more of that fuckin' pig nois want to hear you prove to me that are really a fuckin' pig," Phil comma ed.

That was six years ago. And it's night time.

Night Time appears in Foot Scene, Vol Issue 1.

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Underfoot

Hy Hoody Allan

Amazing.

I was writhing and rolling on the man, mms handcuffed over my head in a chairleg. Every part of me jerked and hollered and squirmed with each half alap of his belt to my tits. Then man who put me there leaned for-want in his chair over my face, and me hed over my belly for the thong arranged tight around the base of my and hard, drooling dick.

The surge was tremendous. My mak ourled, lifting my butt off the car-my entire body reared with the willing release. Sounds rumbled in Him back of my throat, the ringing in my ment subsided and my back side slow-I louched the floor again as I came bit by bit, from the very edges of my pain and pleasure limits. That's when it hit me.

He sat back in the chair. I could hear nim allp out of his boots. Two thumps In the carpet beside me and I thought in myself, "Shit, it's amazing where a foot fetish can take you," as he ampoint his big wool-socked feet up on my rising, falling chest.

We were taking a break; I was maharging under the reassuring weight III his feet centered on one heel rest-in the space between my tender IIIa. He had them crossed at the ankles. I looked up around his left to we two sets of toes stretching and murling luxuriously in warm, wet wool. My legs, stretched out and relaxed. The small of my back sank into the marpet as my neck muscles, tight and hard under the strain of the beating, extended. My tender, swollen dick imunced and drooled on my belly at the thought of being used as a footrest.

I'm into feet. It's a fetish, something munranteed to turn me on and keep me rock hard and horny all over. Noth-makes me cum faster and more furiously than a man's foot stepping m my face. Nothing keeps me going

on longer and harder, more intensely into a scene with a man than to be teased, tortured, soothed, reassured and rewarded with the sole of his boot. the warm, sweet smell on his socks, the taste of his bare feet. It's a turn-on , a button to push; something that puts me on the floor handcuffed and helpless to the whims of the man sitting over me in his socked feet.

The man I was playing with that night shifted his feet on me to rest flat on my chest, stepping on my tits still tender from the beating they'd taken. That made me squirm, whimper as he rubbed rough wet wool on them. My head swirled again, my dick jumped and slapped in the puddle of its own drool on my belly as he slid one foot up to my face, held it, then brought it down to rest. His foot squished my nose and I tried to kiss the arch.

I'm into feet.

That's what I still tell anyone who asks me what turns me on. It's a fetish, a life-long sexual fascination with men's feet, their socks and footwear, that has always been there / not there in the background of my fantasies and desires. For a long time it was an unnamed, untapped sexual power source always missing from every encounter I had as I 69ed my way through the early adult years of my life. Now it's a force that grabs and leads me by the hard-on into the fiery wonders of SM lovemaking.

It's as if my fetish somehow kept me out of the mainstream flow of what too many people call "normal" sex. I used to worry that this "thing" I had would get in the way of having a reasonably satisfying vanilla sex life. Now I'm a proud pervert, a foot-freak no longer ashamed or embarrassed by the bulge bobbing in my jeans whenever I ask a trick, pretty please, if I could take his shoes or boots off for him.

It's a fetish-something physical happens to me when I'm allowed to help a guy out of his footwear. I get this tense, delicious feeling all over just getting down on my knees before him. And when I watch his foot slip out, toes stretching and curling in the