After that I realized I was probably gay, but I didn’t know much more than my attraction to men. That changed when I became active in the gay rights movement in Dallas. It gave me a chance to really get to know a lot of men and women in the community, but none really pushed my buttons like that old photo in Life. Until I came across an issue of Drummer Magazine (pun intended).
That issue had a lot of images of men that were very different from the kind of guys I was meeting in the activist community, except for one in particular. He always seemed to be wearing a leather motorcycle jacket and something about him was more masculine than the other “La Coste”-clad guys.
I got up the nerve to ask him where he hung out, since I hadn’t seen him at the local discos. He told me about the Sundance Kids leather bar in a more seedy part of the “gayborhood” and the rest is history.
From that point forward I had found my community and I can thank Drummer Magazine for helping me find it. I tried contacting a few guys using the “Tough Customer” classifieds and even made a few connections that way.
Later I actually began having the kind of sex of which Drummer spoke. I even found a hot guy who liked things rough like I did and had a full leather-bound collection of Drummers in his bedroom.
Those magazines fueled more than a few experimental sessions as I turned what I thought was only fiction into real-life experiences. The stories, pictures and guidance from folks like Tony DeBlase, A Jay, Rick Castro, and Jack Fritscher gave me not just fodder for my fantasies, but validation of my desires.
And that is what Drummer has always been about for me: desire. It puts into words and pictures that magical essence of masculinity, one I first glimpsed in that Life magazine. Drummer not only documented the leather scene, but for those who were not lucky enough to live in one of the leather Meccas, it opened a door to it.
It still does today. In its online presence, it still reaches out to those with that small spark smoldering in their subconscious and fans it into flames. I know this might not resonate with everyone, but for those who march to the beat of a different drummer it will strike a chord. Follow that beat. Let it echo in your mind and take strength from its rhythm.
But let me go back and tell you about one of those times Drummer fiction became a real-life experience….
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…There was a copy of a 1982 Drummer magazine on the coffee table. Next to it was a photo album and my friend leafed through it to show me his memories. They were photos from the Chicago Hellfire Club’s annual run called Inferno. I had read about it in Drummer but never actually met anyone who had been there.
Slave 1, the only name I ever knew him by, proudly showed me page after page of photos of men doing things with other men I had only dreamed about. It was a pleasant way to spend a Sunday morning. Meanwhile, a guy I was seeing was in the bedroom with Slave 1’s Master, and from the sounds coming through the door, was getting railed royally.
I sat looking through pictures in a living room that could only be described as “gay correct.” Track lighting, modern furniture –– lots of “objets” and stylish nicknacks. One in particular was a big chrome ball on the coffee table. I absentmindedly handled it as Slave 1 described what was going on in the pictures. Several were of him, bound in a web of ropes and being tortured in a variety of ways. I was fascinated and, not surprisingly, turned on.
As I hefted the chrome ball in my hand, I wondered as to its significance. I asked Slave 1 what it was. He looked up with a smile and said, “Oh, that goes in my ass.”
I stopped fondling the big chrome ball and looked at it. It was the size of a croquet ball.
“No way!”
“Sure it does,” he gleefully replied. “Wanna see?”
“Hell yes.”
He jumped up and headed to the kitchen, returning with a bath towel, a can of Crisco and a roll of paper towels.
Spreading the towel on the floor he proceeded to strip off his clothes. Meanwhile, I sat somewhat dumbfounded and watched.
“You are going to have to help, Sir.” He looked at me with a sly smile and said, “you might want to remove some clothes so they don’t get greasy.”
That was all the invitation I needed. I quickly stripped down to my jock and joined him on the floor.
Slave 1 was a good-looking guy. A little beefy with a shaved head and it soon became evident that he was shaved all over as well. He got on his back in the center of the towel and popped the lid off the Crisco.
“If you could get my hole greased up,” he said, “I would greatly appreciate it, Sir.”
Having never done anything like this before, I relied on instinct and the stories I had read in Drummer, Instinct and a few other magazines. I positioned myself between his legs and began to sensually massage his ass. I gradually ran my hand down his crack before starting the process of greasing him up.
“Oh that feels good, Sir.”
I was grateful for the feedback and continued my exploration. Getting a couple of fingers full of the white shortening, I began rubbing it across his hairless puckered hole. His body writhed and his asshole seemed to open on its own.
“Get plenty inside me, Sir.”
I got another wad of Crisco and pushed it slowly into his hole, using just one finger at first, but before long he was accepting three. He had a talented ass and obviously had experience. He was also already cleaned out, something that surprised me.
“Did you clean out for this?”
“Master has me clean out whenever we have guests over,” he said gleefully. “He wants my hole to be hospitable at all times.”
As I pushed more Crisco into his ass I chuckled, “Always the consummate host!”
Slave 1 moaned as I slid four fingers into him. I realized his ass was actually going to be able to take the big steel ball with just a little effort.
“Time for the ball game,” he said.
I took the not-so-subtle hint and with my clean hand picked the chrome sphere up, pressing it against his ass crack.
“I love how cold it feels,” he moaned.
It did feel cold and amazingly the coolness didn’t make his asshole contract, rather it seemed to open it up further. I rubbed the ball against him, then pulled it back and pressed my hand into his asshole. My slippery fingers went right in and soon I was up to my wrist in his ass.
Pulling back out I pushed the sphere forward and like magic it slipped in as he emitted a soul-shaking groan. His breathing was halting and occasionally he panted, but the ball disappeared into him and all I could see was a small glint of chrome through his sphincter.
I looked at his face and saw that he was in a completely different world than me. His eyes were rolled back and his mouth was open as he moaned even more. I was not just transfixed, but sexually on fire. My cock strained at my jock, precum soaking through the knit fabric of the pouch.
“Dick,” he said.
I looked at him with a puzzled expression as he panted and once again said, “dick.”
The next time he said it I understood. “Your dick, Sir.”
I sometimes am a bit slow to take a hint, but I understood the pleading of a man who was desperate for a cock. I wiped my hands on the paper towels and then moved around to his head. Pulling my hard cock from the constraints of my jock, I fed it into his open mouth.
He sucked on my cock with an obsessive quality, it wasn’t just a dick – it was a prize. His tongue swirled around the head with each thrust as I fucked his mouth. But it was still too soon to culminate this impromptu scene. We still had that ball in his ass to deal with.
I returned to a spot between his legs and he looked at me with a crazed expression.
“Wanna play catch?”
I had a good idea of what he meant and I put my hands between his legs ready to retrieve the ball when he pushed it out.
“Here it comes,” he groaned.
Contracting his stomach muscles, the big chrome ball emerged from his ass. Once the widest part was through it shot out into my hands.
I stifled a laugh and watched his hole slowly close up, the red tissues of his prolapsed anus retracting back inside him.
He winked at me and I took the hint. It took little effort to push the ball back into him and it got another soul-rattling groan. He had an unquestionably talented asshole.
We played catch for a few more times until he was panting and clearly exhausted. I then leaned over him and pressed his lips to mine. We kissed furiously like only men can, with our cocks rubbing together between us. His had returned to full hardness after being limp during our “game.”
Mine had never gone down and was leaking enough precum that it lubricated us both. We continued kissing and rubbing our erections against each other until he pulled his face away.
“Thank you, Sir,” he said. “I hope you liked the demonstration.”
“It was enlightening,” I replied with a grin.
Then he moved down and once again sucked my cock into his hungry mouth. Slave 1 was a world-class cocksucker and he was doing his best to properly thank me. Not only did he suck my dick, but he massaged my balls and tugged them with each stroke.
“You are going to make me cum,” I panted.
“That’s the idea,” he replied with his mouth full of my cock.
Soon he was kneeling between my legs, spreading them wide as he slathered my cock with his tongue. His hands were exploring my ass and using some of the Crisco, he slipped a finger into me.
That got a good groan out of me as well.
“Oh fuck!”
The finger in my ass did the trick and my cock shot a huge load into his mouth––he didn’t lose a drop. Once he had taken all I had to give he moved back up to my face and kissed me with his mouth full of my cum. I loved it.
“How did you know I have a cum fetish?”
“Just a guess, Sir,” he said.
“Good guess,” I replied. “I have always loved the taste and smell of cum.”
He looked into my eyes and said, ”would you like some more, Sir?”
I knew exactly what he meant and I nodded.
He moved to his knees beside my face. His big cock was just a few inches above me as he began stroking it.
“Master has a similar fetish,” he said. “He always likes his slaves to feed him their cum after a hard scene.”
“Glad he trained you so well,” I said as I watched him stroking his big dick directly above my face.
I could tell he was getting close and I opened my mouth just in time. His dick erupted a stream of hot cum directly into my mouth and I swallowed it greedily. I raised my head to clean the last drops from his swollen head.
We lay there on the towel recovering from the unexpected scene as the door to the bedroom opened.
“I see my slave has properly entertained you,” the tall gray-haired man said.
“Yes he certainly has,” I responded as I got to my feet.
I could see my friend was still on the bed through the door.
“I guess I wasn’t the only one entertained?”
“No indeed,” the big guy said. “The boy has been thoroughly fucked and will probably be in the mood for food.”
A cry came from the bedroom– “Bagels!”
And with that suggestion, we all got dressed and did what all gay men in the 1980s did––brunch!
Author: Hardy Haberman/p>