the brotherhood of cigar fetishists - next decade solutions

The Fraternity Issue / Fall 2019THE LEATHER FRATERNITY INTERNATIONAL

The brotherhoodof cigar fetishistsFoot worship atBerlin’s Böse Buben

A Dom, a sub,and a chastity belt

My first pig campingexperience at Steppenbrand

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THE LEATHER FRATERNITY INTERNATIONAL

CONTENTS

WHAT WE STAND FOR

TOUGH CUSTOMERS THE GLOBAL SCRUM Past and future fraternity events. KINK, DIRT, AND FIRE My first pig camping experienceat Steppenbrand.

HOW TO TAKE A HIT Punching and the power exchange.

EXPANDING THE DEPTHSOF SUBMISSIONA Dom, a sub, and a chastity belt.

FALL 2019

07

08

10

12

24

26

30

38

58

62

64

66

70

74

78

82

86

GETTING OFF ON THE RIGHT FOOTFoot worship at Berlin’s Böse Buben.

PUFF, PUFF, PASS The fraternity of cigar fetishists.

RAW! UNCUT! VIDEO! How Palm Drive Video got me to wear an apricot hanky.

STICKY PAGES REVIEWA memoir of the “bad old days.”

BROTHERHOOD OF GRAPPLERSBonding over bound bodies.

THE ONCE AND FUTURE DRUMMER The Leather Fraternity.

GOING BACK TO 1979 What does the past have that the present doesn’t?

LESS TALK, MORE ACTION Folsom Europe: a beast of its own!

FICTION The Training Camp.

DRUMMER LEGENDS Bill Schmeling, aka “The Hun.”

COMING UP IN DRUMMER ISSUE 216 The “MACHO” issue.

“IF A MAN DOES NOTKEEP PACE WITH HIS

COMPANIONS, PERHAPSIT IS BECAUSE HE

HEARS A DIFFERENT DRUMMER. LET HIM STEP

TO THE MUSIC WHICH HE HEARS. HOWEVER

MEASURED ORFAR AWAY.”

— HENRY DAVID THOREAU

JACK MACCULLUM Publisher & Owner

MIKE MIKSCHEEditor-in-Chief

JACK FRITSCHER, PHDConsulting Editor Emeritus

RYAN PORTERCopy Editor

BS DESIGNCreative Direction & Design

TRISTAN BALIUAGArt Director

COVERPhotography: McKenzie JamesArt Direction: Mike MikscheModel: Eisen Loch

Copyright 2019, all rights reserved. Reproduction of any content without permission from the publisher is strictly prohibited. Published quarterly by The Leather Fraternity International, Inc. For subscriptions or memberships, log on to DrummerMen.com. Drummer® is a registered trademark of The Leather Fraternity International, Inc.

ISSUE 215

WHATWE

SIR JACK MACCULLUMPublisher and Owner

seeks to inform, entertain, and inspire you, our subscribers and members, on those themes that interest you the most: leathersex, leatherwear, leather and rubber gear, S&M, bondage and discipline, erotic styles and techniques. It’s about what you wear, the places you go, what you like to do, and the men you like to do it with. Our goal is to celebrate masculine, gay leather sexuality that is free of misogyny, transphobia, and racism of any kind.

By providing articles, fiction, photography and illustrations from writers and artists who think as you do, Drummer reflects your scene and communicates ideas that resonate with how you live your life. Our aim is to create a community of like-minded men that points the way through and across barriers to living your life as a leatherman to the fullest. It’s an antidote to religious bigotry, psychological doubletalk or misleading advice from anyone who would seek to deny the reality of who you are, or worse, try to force you into believing that you’re bad or wrong or should be some other way. Drummer does not recommend or advocate any particular action or practice, but we defend your right to choose how you live your life.

At Drummer, we do more than support and defend free speech. We exercise it! Freedom to speak is the very life of Drummer, and as we primarily exist online, we stand alongside others who are working to keep the Internet free from being dominated by the influence of narrow private interests and government control or regulation.

At Drummer, we recognize that no one stands alone. Everyone has something to contribute. We want you to be heard. Tell us what you think about anything related to our website and magazine, and we will pay attention. If you ask for it, we will deliver it, if it’s within our power.

We salute those of you who celebrate your kinks and gay sexuality, and offer you here, at Drummer, a comprehensive source of information and other resources to support you in all of your leather pursuits. Drummer remains faithful to the 24-year tradition of the magazine, which has, since its beginning, carried the banner of freedom to be different. To quote Henry David Thoreau,

If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.Let him step to the music that he hears,however measured and far away.

Our mission at Drummer is to bring that music closer to you and make it easier to hear. If that sounds good to you, join us. You are welcome.

CONTRIBUTORS

WILL STONE ► Will has been traveling the globe, cruising sleazy leather bars since the 1980s. This year, he launched LeathermenTravel.com so guys around the world can find kinky fun wherever they go.

PIGTURES► PIGtures is an emerging photographer who aims to breathe new life into fetish photography with a distinct visual and conceptual style. Influenced by classic portraiture, cinematography, documentary photography, as well as a hint of fashion, PIGture's aim is for people to feel immersed in moments that feel distinctly real.

JOE GALLAGHER► Joe is an outspoken proponent of sexual freedom, using his year as International Mr. Leather (IML) in 1996 to speak to BDSM and leather communities across North America about the importance of being out about who we are and what turns us on. The first IML to come out as HIV-positive, Joe was also founder and publisher of Leatherpage.com from 1997 to 2009. In 2004, he opened Joe’s Barbershop in San Francisco.

ERIC ANDERS► Eric is a fetish enthusiast who enjoys a broad range of power exchange and submissive activities. Ever since he can remember, kink and sex have been intertwined for him, and he's been actively developing his personal interests for over 10 years. Eric enjoys sharing his experiences through writing in the hope that he can help others experience the benefits to the mind and body that come along with safe and active exploration of one’s fetishes.

RM VAUGHAN► RM Vaughan is a Canadian writer and video artist. For more info on his work, visit www.rmvaughan.ca.

INKEDKENNY► InkedKenny is an international photographer, famed for his photos of male archetypes. He has had multiple exhibitions internationally, and his work in the fetish community has garnered him several awards.

MATTIA_BAU_VEGNI► mattia_BAU_vegni is a queer illustrator and tattoo artist from Florence, Italy, who is in love with fetish aesthetics, which he portrays in a pop art style. You can find him on Instagram @mattia_bau_vegni.

ULLI RICHTER► Ulli is a Berlin-based photographer whose work has been shown in numerous international exhibitions and is part of various private collections around the world. He captures the raw sexuality of gay men, whatever their fetish, in a fearless and uncompromising way, reflecting intense sexual encounters full of humanity and enjoyment. Prints and bookings: [email protected], www.kinkinprint.com.

RACE BANNON► Race has been an organizer, writer, educator, speaker and activist in the LGBT, leather/kink, polyamory, and HIV/STI prevention realms since 1973. He’s authored two books, been extensively published, spoken to hundreds of audiences, and currently also writes for the Bay Area Reporter. He blogs at www.bannon.com.

MCKENZIE JAMES► McKenzie is a Canadian photographer with over 20 years of experience photographing editorial and nude photography. He currently lives in Toronto, working on projects inspired by classic black and white photography and vintage porn.

RYAN A. WHITE► Ryan is a documentary filmmaker and educator from Big Sur, California. His award-winning films have screened at international film festivals including Frameline, Berlin Pornfilmfestival, BFI Flare, TLV Fest, and CineKink. Celebrating sexual cultures and resurrecting historically queer spaces continue to inspire his non-fiction work.

PATRICK CALIFIA:► Patrick is a transman who has been a leather community activist since the late 1970s. An author and therapist, his work includes Public Sex, a collection of essays, and Hard Men, man-to-man BDSM erotica. He is currently working on a new short story collection, Pets and Predators.

JACK FRITSCHER► Jack is the founding San Francisco Editor-in-Chief of Drummer, and the author of 20 books including Leather Blues, Mapplethorpe: Assault with a Deadly Camera, Gay Pioneers: How Drummer Shaped Gay Popular Culture 1965-1999, and Some Dance to Remember: A Memoir-Novel of San Francisco 1970-1982. Visit www.DrummerArchives.com

PETER FISKE► Peter has been a leatherman for over 55 years. He is Chairman Emeritus of the 15 Association and has been a member since May 1980. Peter was elected to the Leather Hall of Fame in 2017 and his memoir My Leather Life: Early Years was published in June 2019.

6 DRUMMER / The Fraternity Issue 7

TOUGH CUSTOMERS

URSUSUrsus is 6’3”, 230 lbs, and says that he has average balls unless they’re filled with saline, in which case they’re huge. He explains that his ass is well-trained: it’s tight at first but it opens up real quick, pointing out that he loves flagging red. With 11 years of experience under his belt, he describes himself as a

“vers/switch, Wolfhound/werewolf/fisthound.” He can be found on Xtube, Recon, Asspig, and Hotcigarmen as PupUrsus. @UrsusAD on Twitter.

Yeah, fuckface, scroll through that phone of yours and find those filthy photos of you in gear to show the world what you’re made of. Make sure to include a blurb to tell us what you look like, smell like, what gets you off, or whatever else you think people will give a fuck about. Send them to us at [email protected].

MIKE TALLEYThis leather/kink veteran claims to be able to handle any sized cock up his ass, no matter how big. He is a self-professed “total fuck bottom/sex slave,” and believes that

“every man has the right to fuck [him] bareback, on-demand, anytime, anywhere.” He claims that no cock is refused. His own cock, however, is permanently locked and “has no value.” He can be reached at [email protected] or on Recon as SFHAIRYFUCK.

JABIER BASSISTAJabier is a fetish enthusiast project initiator and kink social event promoter who enjoys helping people discover various fetishes, including the

“messy” and “wet” ones, seeing that he’s big into gunge and mud. His mantras in life include “be your own hero” and “don’t be a sheep.” Words to live by. He can be found on Instagram as Jabier_Bassista and Recon as Muddymind.

GARY WASDINThis blue-eyed Sir stands tall at 6’4” and is 305lbs. He’s an exclusive top, describing his ass as “tight and untouched,” and has a cock that’s 8” long and 7” thick! You can find “Daddy G” on Recon, Scruff, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter as chicagocigardad, or email him directly at [email protected].

DANNY J.Danny J. held the title of Mr. Fire Island Bear in 2017 and is 5’9”, 195 lbs. With six years of leather and kink experience, he would describe his ass as “used” (he is a sub-bottom after all). He can be found on Instagram and Twitter as DanJimz or by email at [email protected].

VINCE LEATHRCOP EDDVince describes himself as a muscular, bearded African-American gear pig, who believes in pushing boundaries. He was raised in the image of Tom of Finland’s men, and for him, there’s nothing better than fucking with other B.L.U.F. and old school leathermen. He gets a kick playing with other types of gear too, including motorcycle, S.W.A.T., rubber, and cop uniforms, as well as jocks. He’s looking for a masculine, muscular, ripe and raunchy mate with an edge: if you’re a tatted redneck, a military man, a law enforcement officer, and/or a fellow Harley biker, then join the line! He’s also into fisting, flogging, whipping, breath control, forced cigar smoking and popper sniffing, TT, CBT, electro play, gunplay, and raceplay.

“Looking for my physical, emotional and leathered equal,” he tells us. “Let’s mate and conquer the world together.”

MASTER DOUGLASDaddy Douglas, or Master Douglas to some, first began exploring leather and kink at the age of 14, when he went to the famed Ramrod in New York City 41 years ago. He’s 5’11” and 208 lbs with a 7.5” cock, cut. He enjoys playing with and mentoring boys and slaves alike. You can reach this daddy at [email protected].


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DRUMMER’S PICK: MATES LEATHER WEEKEND(PROVINCETOWN, USA)

Serious Leathermen head to Provincetown every October for Mates Leather Weekend. It’s a much smaller crowd than the Folsoms in September, but that just means it’s more intimate, so you can get to know everyone…more intimately. The weekend shifts into high gear Friday night with the Uniforms & Cigars party. This is where one can play out one’s military, firefighter or police fantasy with a stogie in hand. Buy some gear at Saturday’s popular leather market and get a complimentary buzz cut while you’re at it. That night, when you’re watching the First Mate Contest at the Paramount, duck out for some shenanigans in the cigar tent out back. Things will reach a sticky climax Sunday afternoon at the notorious jockstrap party where anything goes, even if they claim that nudity is prohibited. Imagine being at church, but only half the congregation is on its knees. If you’re looking to worship even more after all that, cruise P-Town’s infamous Dick Dock or head to Spiritus Pizza to pick up a slice and an after-hours play buddy. Sleep is overrated anyway.

DRUMMER’S PICK: PIG WEEK (FORT LAUDERDALE, USA)

After stuffing yourself with Thanksgiving turkey, head to Pig Week in Fort Lauderdale and get stuffed in a different way at the filthiest romp of the year. Pig Week has something for every animal that goes “OINK!” Into slings? There’s the poolside Sling Fest. More into cocksucking? The Buddy Blow event has you covered. Are you a piss pig? Don’t miss the outdoor Water Works party. More into SM or fisting? Head to the Trough Party to get beat or fisted into oblivion. For a chance to become the superstar pig of the week, enter the Gang Bang Lottery, where the winner gets fucked by five porn stars, and then bends over for the rest of the crowd so they can take a crack at his now sloppy hole. Pig Week will satisfy even the most feral of boars.

THE GLOBAL Past and future fraternity events

UPCOMING EVENTS

BY: Will Stone

A TRIBUTE TOSAN FRANCISCO’SFISTING CLUB,THE CATACOMBS

This past summer, the dive bar, Underground SF, was packed with locals on the Thursday of “Dore Alley” for Nick Wafle’s Catacombs party, a tribute to a fabled fisting club of decades past. After a screening of a short doc about fisting and the history of the club, Wafle got the party started. For those who came to dance, the DJ played some under-ground ’80s synth beats that segued into ’90s deep house cuts. He closed out the night with trance and techno. A more hardcore crowd navi-gated a particularly perilous passageway to the back-room for some ’70s-style guilt-free fucking and suck-ing, although there were no cans of Crisco in sight (and subsequently, no fisting either). Still, the house generously provided copious quantities of poppers and lube, keeping the twisted spirit of the depraved San Francisco scene alive.

LISTINGS

OCTOBER

Mates Leather Weekend, Provincetown, Oct. 3-7

Manchester Leather Weekend, Manchester, Oct. 4-7

BLUF Blackweekend X, Berlin, Oct. 4-6

Maspalomas Fetish Week, Gran Canaria, Oct. 4-13

Mr. Leather Europe, Rome, Oct. 10-13

American Brotherhood Weekend, Chicago, Oct. 11-13

G.L.U.E. Weekend (Gear, Leather, Uniform, Etc.), Houston, Oct. 11-13

Leather & Fetish Pride Amsterdam, Amsterdam, Oct. 24-27

Palm Springs Leather Pride, Palm Springs, Oct 24-27

Vienna in Black, Vienna, Oct. 31 - Nov. 3

NOVEMBER

Skin Berlin, Berlin, Nov. 1-3

BLUF Blackweekend X, Berlin, Nov. 1-3

Mr. International Rubber, Chicago, Nov. 8-10

GearUp Weekend Men's Play Party, San Francisco, Nov. 9

Nice So Fetish, Nice, Nov. 22-24

Oi-Fest, Birmingham, Nov. 29-30

Leather Masked Ball, Fort Lauderdale, Nov. 30

Pig Week, Fort Lauderdale, Nov. 29 - Dec. 8

DECEMBER

BLUF Blackweekend X, Berlin, Dec. 6-8

Recon Paris, Paris, Dec. 7

SUBSCRIBE AT 25% OFF AN ANNUAL SUBSCRIPTION UNTIL DECEMBER 31, 2019

FOLLOW USON INSTAGRAM@DRUMMERMAGAZINEOFFICIAL

THE LEATHER FRATERNITY INTERNATIONAL

10 DRUMMER / The Fraternity Issue

My First Pig Camping Experience at Steppenbrand STORY & PHOTOS: PIGtures

KINK,DIRT,

FIRE

AND


first heard about Steppenbrand at Easter Berlin in 2015. I was at an

after-hours with the creators of the porn company, Pig Prod, and

between hits of poppers, I was told it was a pig camping weekend

in North Germany where I could experience unparalleled perverted

freedom with lots of kinky guys. Cut to four and a half years later:

I moved from London to Berlin and made some new piggy friends

that were happy to drive me the four-hour journey to the site of

Steppenbrand in Rostock. For this filthtastic occasion, I had brought

with me a tent, two duffel bags filled with my best gear and a load of

excitement at what I might find.

I knew it was going to be a lot of fun because Steppenbrand

can last up to eight days from Sunday to Sunday in mid-July. You

can buy a ticket for the weekend at a very reasonable 67 euros, and

an additional 15 euros for each day added on. This elongated time-

frame means those who have particularly ambitious kink camping

ideas could fully indulge. This became apparent when I arrived at the

former military barracks on Thursday afternoon to the sight of two

massive, genuine army base tents that had been erected by some

very organized campers.

The site of Steppenbrand is roughly 350 square meters with

its social center being near a massive fire pit, surrounded by a bar

and a succession of seriously well-equipped darkrooms. Getting

away from the main bar and into the field, there was even more

kinky furniture which included cages, watersports apparatuses,

and a variety of structures that could be easily used for intense

bondage play. Beyond this, there were five original military bunkers

which were essentially man-made hills with tunnels cutting through

them. I was really pleased to discover two of them were darkrooms

containing slings, fuck benches, and rim stools. There were also a

few buildings for admin, more expensive sleeping arrangements, a

mess hall, and showers. All of this had been organized by a dedicated

group of volunteers who all gave their time for free and for the love

of a good pigfuck.

I


During the day, the place was very relaxed. Guys were sleeping,

eating, drinking, promenading in gear, and maybe even wallowing in

one of the three mud pools. At night, the iconic “Steppe Fire” was lit,

igniting a delightful yet slightly Stone Age-like feeling of camara-

derie. Everyone sat around drinking, chatting or luring one another to

the nearest darkroom and generally having a great time.

What do I mean by a great time? By the end of the first evening,

it was clear that Steppenbrand was a place to go to enact extreme,

dirty or even questionably safe fantasies. Want to try a 24/7 PoW

slave scene for seven days? Do it here. Wanna be tied naked and

spread-eagle between stakes in the ground in the hot sun for two

hours while your Master drinks a beer? Do it here. Keen to know what

breakfast under a rim stool is like? Make it happen in Rostock, baby!

The only things not allowed would be anything that is considered

illegal, or has political elements to it, i.e. no Nazi fetishes!

The reason that this is all possible is that Steppenbrand is a

100% safe space. At Steppenbrand, you can do almost anything you

want and know that a whole load of pervs just like you are within

spitting distance if things go south. It sure as hell beats trying to

explain a complex outdoor bondage scene gone wrong to complete

strangers in the outside world!

Near the firepit were 20 or so flags representing the different

nationalities of my 600 or so fellow campers—Australia and Hong Kong

were the farthest. Although diversity was celebrated and encouraged,

I felt that the Steppenbrand demographic was mostly white, English

and German-speaking with ages ranging mostly between 30 and 50.

Everyone was incredibly kind and respectful to one another, which I

feel is one of the hallmarks of the leather community.

Masculinity was something of a default at Steppenbrand, but it’s

a version of masculinity untainted by the pressures of social media

and the gyms of a city. It was mature, respectful, friendly, and helpful.

Many of the men were like your childhood friend’s charming sexy dad,

with a gorgeous smile and perfectly fitting blue jeans.

“By the end of the first evening,it was clear that Steppenbrand was a place to go to enact extreme, dirty, or even questionably safe fantasies.”


There were a lot of beautiful, rugged men, but no one was so

attractive to the point of unapproachability. It all felt very authentic.

At events like Easter Berlin or Fetish Week London, there are often

so many astoundingly hot guys in stunning gear that they end up

being a source of anxiety to many, rather than sexual inspiration.

This approachability is all part of what makes Steppenbrand such

a great event: a willingness to get down and dirty with some true

fetish realness.

Luckily it hardly rained this year, so I was spared the curse of

having mud everywhere. However, I did feel the frustration of figuring

out the reason for my phone not charging. It was full of dirt. Also,

a special warning to music fans: when you’re on your knees in the

darkroom, make sure that the techno coming from your Bluetooth

speaker doesn’t suddenly get muffled by landing onto a nearby poop!

And lastly: the bugs. I was camping under a tree and was subjected

to a phenomenon I like to call “beetle rain,” where insects were

randomly dropping on me and the man who was fisting me. Mosquito

spray would be a definite recommendation as well!

I’ve played in the darkrooms and clubs of London, San Francisco,

and Berlin but Steppenbrand felt like a truly unique experience. Never

have I been tied up and fisted in such a variety of outdoor locations

(and never have I been so glad for strangers giving me mosquito spray

and a mattress pump at 2 a.m.). Tickets go on sale in mid-January, so

see you next year, piggies!


I START SLOW. I POINT TO HIS LEFT PEC SO HE KNOWS MY FIRST

target. The boy is beautiful, muscled, and young with some flogging

experience. He flexes the thick muscle. My fist makes contact and

the hit glances off his pec. His piercing blue eyes drill directly into

mine. I feel strong and confident. He knows he can take this.

I point to his right pec; another glancing punch. This continues.

I hit one pec, then the other, each time pointing to the next target.

I try not to establish a rhythm, but instead pause to let him feel

the power of each punch. As my fist makes contact with a thud,

the solid feeling of him taking my force is

satisfying. I feel physically connected to him

in a primal way.

I told him how I would work this scene:

when he should flex, how he should absorb the

blows—he has never had a punching scene. He

took in all my directions. This boy is smart. He

knows and understands pain. He wants to face

his fear. He wants to ride his fear.

I want to guide him. He knows he can

stop this at any time with just a word, but I

doubt he will. He has to trust me. Consent

has to be earned and it has to grow with

the scene. Quietly I tell him, “You’re a strong

boy, you’ve got what it takes here, keep

flexing for me.” He keeps up the eye contact,

showing his consent.

He is on a quest and has challenged

himself. He is hungry to be tested. He

wouldn’t use those words himself but they

tell the truth. He is ready for this. He wants to take all of this. I am

the engine powering his ride.

The punches are hard now. He is open to me. Those eyes: he

is right with me. We are looking into each other’s souls.

My punches get harder still. “Look at me,” I say. Wordlessly, he

looks back. He is feeling the pain now. I want him to own his body. I

want to be with him when he realizes, deep down, that all the hard

work he does in the gym has made him this muscle boy and built his

body so that he can be used like this.

“Hit a bicep pose,” I tell him softly. He

does it perfectly, the peak of his thick bicep

forming a big target, inviting me to pound

it. He’s looking me directly in the eyes. I hit

the bicep with my hardest blow yet. I can

see it hurts. He is feeling it, but yet he’s

not stopping. He’s starting to own his body

proudly. He has a sly smile as he flexes into

the punches. He is strong and can feel the

power of his body. He knows he has what it

takes. His eyes are confident with the look a

bottom has when he knows the pain is going

to increase. My boy can handle it.

I stop and pull him in for a kiss. I grab

his mohawk. I hold him hard and close, but

the kiss is sweet and the hug is tight. His

target muscles are radiating heat from the

beating. I whisper into his ear, “You can take

more, right?”

He squeezes me. “Yes,” he says.

HOW TO TAKE A

Punching and the power exchange

STORY: Joe Gallagher | PHOTO: inkedKenny

HIT

“This boyis smart.

He knows and understands

pain. He wants to facehis fear.

He wantsto ride

his fear.”


STORY: Eric Anders

ILLUSTRATIONS: mattia_BAU_vegni

A DOM, A SUB, AND A CHASTITY BELT

WHEN I FIRST BEGAN EXPLORING MY KINKS, I MET A FELLOW SUB

and we formed a pact: I would help him explore his fantasies if he

helped me explore mine. At that time, I was primarily interested in be-

ing tied down and edged until I was shaking and begging to cum. His

was chastity. I remember thinking at that time, Who in their right mind

would want to lock their cock away to not be used? Turns out that I do.

Fast forward 10 years and I’m almost never without my chastity

cage (and, of course, my collar). Chastity can do many things for a

sub, but to sum it up in one word, I believe it has the power to expand:

expand the length of a session, expand the power of a Dom beyond

the boundaries of the playroom, expand the depths of submission,

and also expand a sub’s experience of pleasure.

I can remember waking up bleary-eyed one Monday morning to

see a text message from my Master, directing me to lock up in ad-

vance of our Friday session. He was out of town on business for the

week. The second that I read that message, I got hard. I knew I was in

for it again: a week of frustratingly brilliant pleasure. I was amazed how,

with a simple note and a device like a chastity belt, he could turn what

would normally be one night of play into a week-long session.

SUBMISSION


I got out of bed, went over to the closet and pulled out my Be-

hind Barz chastity belt, which had been a birthday gift from my Master.

It’s made up of four pieces plus some locks. Once secured, there’s

no way I can get hard, or even touch my cock. I put on the metal belt,

sliding it into place, and connected the buckle. I then pulled my cock

and balls through the cock ring and connected it to the front buckle

to keep it secure. The next layer is always the most difficult—the

cock tube. I’m usually so turned on by this point that I get too hard to

fit it in, so, moving quickly, I lubed up my dick, slid it inside the tube,

and connected it to the buckle. To finish it off, I grabbed the outer

cage (which is like a jock cup) and locked it over my cock and balls.

As soon as the locks clicked, my cock pulsed against its metal prison.

“It is definitely not easy to hand over control of something as fundamentalas your orgasms, but withthe right person, it’s worth it.”

playroom. I placed my thick leather play collar and a glass of his fa-

vorite whiskey next to his throne, which is a massive chair made of

ornately carved wood and black leather. By 6 p.m., I was on my hands

and knees with my head down in front of his throne, eyes closed

and waiting.

A few minutes later, I heard him arrive. As his footsteps got clos-

er to the playroom, my cock swelled, but he waited 10 minutes before

he finally entered the room. He walked over to inspect me. I kept my

head down as he sat next to me. He picked up the leather collar and

locked it firmly around my neck. At that moment I exhaled and felt my

body relax; everything outside of this room, outside of him and I, fell

away. I was where I was supposed to be.

After a few minutes of using my back as a footrest and drinking

his whiskey, he pulled on my collar, and whispered in my ear, “To-

day, that belt doesn’t come off.” I whimpered as I felt my cock fight

against its cage and responded, “Yes, Master.” He sat back and ex-

tended one of his boots. “Lick,” he said.

As my tongue moved across the leather, I felt an interesting sen-

sation: a build-up in my cock and balls. I expected it would go down,

but it just continued to intensify, and I realized I was being edged. The

sensation wasn’t just in my cock, but it was much deeper inside of me,

building from my prostate in the same way hands-free orgasms do

when I’m being fucked.

We continued playing for the next few hours, moving on to

impact play and bondage. Throughout it all, the sensation that was

deep in my groin built up whenever he gave me tasks to pleasure him.

To finish the session, my Master once again returned to his

throne and pulled me over onto my hands and knees. As I knelt in

front of him, he slowly unzipped his leather pants, pulling out his hard

cock for the first time that night. He sat back and stroked himself

slowly, smirking at me as I whimpered on the ground, knowing that all

I wanted to do was swallow his cock.

After what felt like hours of teasing me, he finally pulled my col-

lar forward and said, “Open.” He began to fuck my face. The flavor,

the smell, and the honor of being able to serve him drove me wild. His

cock grew stiffer in my throat as we continued, and as it did, I felt

myself getting closer to the edge. When he finally blew his load down

my throat, I orgasmed too, hands-free. My entire body was shaking

for minutes afterward.

It was one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had as

a sub.

As I lay on the ground recovering, my Master pulled me in close

to his body. He smiled as I continued to breathe heavily, trying to

recover. With my collar and chastity belt still locked firmly in place, I

thought about how such a simple device could intensify my sessions

with my Master so much. Unless my Master is edging me or we’re

engaging in CBT, it’s pretty much always locked on now. I often feel

naked without it.

It is definitely not easy to hand over control of something as fun-

damental as your orgasms, but with the right person, it’s worth it.

To finish the ritual, I got down on my knees and took a

photo with my hands behind my head. I was naked except for

my collar and chastity belt. I texted the pic to my Master to

show him that I had obeyed his command.

Throughout the week I went about my normal sched-

ule—heading to work, meeting with friends, and going to

the gym, but with one notable difference: my cock and balls

were locked away the entire time. As someone who is rel-

atively dominant in my public life, it’s a glorious mind-fuck

to be standing in front of a group of colleagues, feeling

powerful and in control of my work life, while simultaneously

feeling the metal of my rigid stainless steel collar and chas-

tity belt on my skin. This simple device made me feel like my

Master’s hand was softly gripping my cock and balls wher-

ever I went, expanding the power exchange, which would

normally only live within the boundaries of one session, into

the rest of my daily life.

By the third day, I was constantly horny and as the week

progressed, my fantasies became much more depraved, in-

tensifying my desires. By the end of the workweek, I wanted

to go deeper and darker than I ever had before.

Friday, 5 p.m. It couldn’t come fast enough. My Mas-

ter was to be home in an hour and had given me strict in-

structions to be ready for his arrival. I showered, put in my

favorite butt plug, and turned on the lights and music in our

Courtesy of Eric Anders


STORY: RM Vaughan | PHOTOS: Ulli Richter

GETTING OFF ON THE

FOOT WORSHIP AT BERLIN’S BÖSE BUBEN

SOMEWHERE IN THE PLAYROOMS OF BOSE BUBEN, A BERLIN

fetish club, a foot is being licked and sucked, kissed, swallowed,

spat on and tongued. Somewhere close to me, within earshot,

another lowly foot is being transformed; no longer is it just an ugly

underside of thick skin or a part of the body rarely seen and even

more rarely adored. A foot is remade, drop by drop of saliva, into

a moist protrusion, a glistening patch of gooey skin, a substitute

cock. The man doing all the licking later greased up the foot he had

adorned and sat on it, inserting the big toe (and so much more) into

his ass. He’d been there before and he liked having an audience.

The men at Böse Buben appear to be lost in a kind of spiritual

fugue, one that demanded relentless prayer. A tongue can pray in so

many ways.

Foot fetishes, or “foot partialism,” as the shrinks call it, is

as layered and outward-reaching as the most methodical and

physically rigorous fetishes. Furthermore, it is the most common

fetish by far in all sexual communities and is often paired (apologies

for the pun) with shoe fetishism. The bottom of your foot is one

of the most sensitive places on your body, as the sole is crowded

with approximately 200,000 nerve endings. That’s a lot of possible

sensations in one small space.


Within the range of co-delights, there are sneaker guys, boot

guys, dress shoe guys, sock guys—the list goes on. And the variants

within even the sock fetish are limitless. Some men get turned on

by bare feet, some not. Some are turned on by clean feet, many

not. Most foot fetishists have entwined fetishes, such as bastinado

punishment play, tickling torture, being hit with a shoe, trampling

and other Dom/sub games. I saw all of these variations played out

over the course of five hours. Trampling appears to be the big thing

these days, after a good old-fashioned shrimping.

At Böse Buben, the flatbed torture rack includes two yokes

for feet. Once in them, you can barely move your foot. And then

the fun begins. I watched one man mercilessly beat the bottoms of

another man’s feet with a rubber strap, only to end the play with a

bit of role reversal as he sat on the floor and hugged and kissed his

sub’s feet. The former bottom then proceeded to beat the daylights

out of his tormentor with a thin, whippy cane.

This shit is not for amateurs.

“Trampling appears to be the big thing these days, after a good old-fashioned shrimping.”


The Brotherhood of Cigar Fetishists

Cover Story: Race Bannon | Photos: McKenzie James

39

on a favorite cigar while hanging out with your kink brethren, or playing

with a hot man, conjures up a special kind of masculine erotic ethos.

Cigars and sex just seem to go together. Although smoking cigars during

sex is nothing new, the fetish appears to be increasingly popular today.

Growing up around this particular fetish is a subculture of men

bonded by their love of cigars and the charged atmosphere that mani-

fests itself when this passion is shared. Some revel in the pure fetish of

the cigar itself, some consider it another sensual implement in their bag

of tricks, while others see it simply as a transformative tool that fosters

a sense of masculinity.

What seems universal among these cigar aficionados though, is

a sense of fraternity. Much like men united by a specific gear fetish,

or sexual activity, cigarmen gravitate to one another. Even when not

engaged in play, the sense of community cigar smokers create is

palpable when you’re in their presence.

I asked Jon Strmiska, the administrator for Smokin Hot Cigarmen,

one of the world’s most popular Facebook groups for gay cigar-smoking

men and their admirers, why he thinks cigarmen bond over their fetish.

“Men get together to talk and smoke, smoke and talk,” says Strmiska.

“All of this is over a cigar or two, and that leads to what men do... sex. The

fetish aspect of the cigar carries over from the relaxed familiarity and

comfort that comes from birds of a feather flocking together.”

“Basically, I’m saying men of like mind who share a common interest

in cigars also often share the fetish aspect of cigars and cigar play,” he

adds. “That familiarity lends itself to a comfortable transition to sex.”

This past summer, the gamut of attractions that cigars spawn were

present for me in the span of a few hours. I was surrounded by lush hills in

a rural valley resort. I was one of 150 men gathered at GearUp Weekend

100 miles north of San Francisco to commune and play away from the

urban rat race—one of those kink weekends I’m grateful exists.

Standing before me were two handsome men bound together by

rope, face-to-face, arms around each other, fastened to a hoist hook

above their heads. On the other side of them was a close friend of mine.

We were about to flog the two bound men, but I chose to stop for a

moment. My slave was about 20 feet away, prepared to watch what-

ever was about to unfold. I signaled to him with a quick mime of a cigar

and two fingers held up, indicating he should prepare two cigars for my

friend and me.

Puffing


Cigars and sex just seem to go together.

““


selection of cigars is vast, and dedicated cigar smokers tend to

have their favorite types. They come in a few standard shapes and a

range of lengths and girths, from small to mouth-stretchingly huge.

An array of tobacco and wrappers are crafted together to produce a

special cigar experience, each eliciting its own look, flavor, scent, and

feel. I knew the cigars I had with me at GearUp, while not as thick and

strong as my friend usually liked, were ones he’d smoked with me previ-

ously and enjoyed.

The first cigar was unwrapped by my slave and the head was care-

fully snipped open with a cutter. The tobacco was first warmed over a

lighter’s flame. He slowly rotated the cigar to ensure an even heat, then

lowered it closer to the flame until the glow stayed lit.

Quickly, my slave held the cigar to his mouth and gently puffed a

few times. Satisfied that the cigar was properly lit, he handed it to my

friend, who placed it in his mouth with a double winking nod of thanks;

first to my slave, then me.

Again, the second cigar was unwrapped and the same ceremonial

rite took place: the cigar was placed in my mouth, and my slave returned

to his chair to watch.

For an hour, my friend and I flogged the bound duo intensely. We

would periodically pause, look each other in the eyes, take a long draw

on our cigars, then come in for a deep, passionate kiss as the smoke

billowed in our mouths. We’d part and begin flogging again. The same

pattern was repeated many times.

At one point, I paused and walked over to my friend. I showed him

the long ash that had formed on the lit end of my cigar. Our eyes locked,

and he dropped to his knees as he’d done a few times before when we

played. I saw him gather some spit and open his mouth in preparation,

awaiting the receipt of my ash.

The


50 DRUMMER / The Lorem Ipsum Issue 5150 DRUMMER / The Fraternity Issue 51

fetish guys enjoy cigars, and the act of smoking alone brings them all

the kink satisfaction they need. But some of us play with cigars in a

multitude of ways. Feeding a man ash is one of those ways, but one

shouldn’t try this, or any cigar play, without some mentoring. That sort

of guidance can only come from someone with a bit of experience. If

interested, seek these guys out.

Later that same night, 20 of us were seated around a spontaneously

formed circle, all smoking cigars, talking about the day’s happenings,

and reflecting on how much fun we were all having. Lots of laughter.

Lots of sharing of our fetishes and kinks as the smoke wafted into the

night’s warm summer breeze.

That play scene and the evening’s subsequent gathering was a

vivid representation of the deep, fraternal connections that cigars

build among gay men. If cigars appeal to you, you’ll find welcoming, like-

minded men all around the world.

You might see such guys at your local bar if they have a smoking

area. Several leather and kink events have begun to accommodate their

cigar-smoking attendees. Whether it’s smoking at a Berlin street fair,

the cigar space at CLAW in Cleveland, or at the world-famous Smokeout

in Las Vegas, producers are realizing that providing a place for men to

smoke cigars is important.

I’ve yet to meet a cigarman in such settings who wasn’t willing to

speak to anyone who walked up politely to ask for some information.

Cigar guys like to talk about their fetish and about how they use cigars

in their play.

Cigars. Fetish. Sex. Kink. Brotherhood. They blended perfectly over

the course of the entire GearUp weekend. New friendships were formed

and existing ones were strengthened. It all mixed into an ideal carnal

concoction of a community of men offering the best of fraternity—and

smokin’ hot sex.

Even when not engaged in play, the sense of community cigar smokers create is palpable when you’re in their presence.

““Many


I’M A BELLY MAN, A TOTAL SUCKER FOR A GUY WITH A GUT.

From a burgeoning dad bod to a massive tank, my attention

goes directly to a man’s midsection. While this love runs

deep down to my sexual core, only recently have I found the

power to openly claim these desires. For most of my adult

life, it was a secret that I rarely admitted to, for fear that

my appetite for non-normative bodies would be ridiculed.

A few years ago, I was introduced to the legendary

Jack Fritscher while I was making Cruising Elsewhere, a film

about a lost gay beach on the Russian River. After that

initial meeting, my co-director, Alex Clausen, and I became

fascinated with Palm Drive Video, the kinky porn studio

RAW! UNCUT! VIDEO! How Palm Drive Video got me

to wear an apricot hanky

STORY: Ryan A. White | Photos: Courtesy of Palm Drive Video and Wohler Films

that Fritscher and his husband Mark Hemry ran out of

their Sonoma County ranch in the 1980s and ’90s. During

the height of the North American AIDS crisis, their

two-man production company produced over 150 mail-

order fetish videos covering a diversity of kinks, from

leather cowboys and biker bears to medical torture and

vomit play. The couple explained that they wanted the

videos to promote safe-sex alternatives to penetrative

intercourse during the plague, and to help keep sexual

exploration alive. After viewing Toilet Cigar Butt, starring

the criminally sexy Jack Husky, Alex and I decided that

Palm Drive would be the topic of our next documentary.


THE SAINT AT LARGE®

PRESENTS

SATURDAY 04.04.2020

NEW YORK EXPO CENTERSAINTATLARGE.COM

RITES XLI

DRUMMERMEN.COMA T L A R G E ®

As we immersed ourselves in the project, I was excited

to learn that Palm Drive had produced some early bear and

chub videos. I spent some extra time “researching” their films,

Bellybucker and Water Bear. During our production trips, I

started getting frank with Alex about my fetish for big dudes,

explaining that our exploration of this sex-positive production

company was helping me feel empowered in my sexual

desires. My kinks weren’t making me feel ashamed anymore;

instead, I felt unique, more whole…and honestly, hornier!

For the past three years, Alex and I have been working on

RAW! UNCUT! VIDEO!, our documentary about Fritscher and

Hemry’s adventures in safe-sex fetish porn production. We’ve

interviewed legends of porn and kink such as Donnie Russo, Roger

Earl, Durk Dehner, Rick Castro, Mickey Squires, Susie Bright, and

mr.Pam. We’ve spent countless hours digging through archival

behind-the-scenes footage from raunchy Palm Drive shoots.

At the core of every interview and Palm Drive tape is a joyous

celebration of the idiosyncrasies of erotic desires. And, at every

stage of production, the project has reinforced my belief in the

importance of promoting, preserving, and participating in sexual

cultures. If I’ve learned anything, it’s this: if fucking a mud-puddle

is your thing, or slurping up the ass-juices of sweaty construction

workers, or even expanding your limits with sounding, don’t

question it! Own it! And maybe even make a porno about it!

We’re currently editing RAW! UNCUT! VIDEO! Funding

a documentary about queer fetish porn continues to be a

challenge, but we’re pushing forward for a late 2020 release.

Check out rawuncutvideo.com for more information and find

out how to support the project. We need your help to finish

the documentary! And rest assured that as a result of making

this film, I now proudly wear my apricot hanky on the right.

“At the core of every interview and Palm Drive tape is a joyous celebration of the idiosyncrasies of erotic desires.”


STICKY PAGES

A memoir of "the bad old days"

BY: Patrick Califia

Younger leathermen often ask me what “the bad old days” were like. The backroom bars and sex clubs of the 1960s and ’70s represent both the purist form of Old Guard, Master/slave relationships, and the ultimate in sexual license, complete with unfettered drug use and

tons of anonymous encounters. Both nostalgic images are partially true, as borne out by this memoir by a leather community activist, leader, and heavy player who has lived through five decades of our evolution.

This is not your typical dry, academic history. Rather, it is an intensely personal and quite vulnerable look at how one gay man came to affirm his own identity, despite growing up in times that were virulently anti-gay and hateful about kink. After being caught experimenting with another young man by his Catholic family and being steered toward celibacy and the priesthood, Fiske writes, “I not only knew that there was nothing I could do about my attraction to men, there was nothing I wanted to do about it… As a gay man, I was drawn to living a life with other men, and the military seemed a more attractive way to live authentically than the priesthood.”

From his sexual adventures in the Air Force (which included a rude awakening to racism in the South) through escapades in the empty trucks of New York City’s Meatpacking District, early leather bars like The Tool Box, and gay motorcycle club runs, Fiske has been an ardent fan of masculinity and male bonding through erotic power exchange. His book documents what it was like to attend the Stonewall Inn, the counterculture of the ’60s, his participation in early gay rights marches, and dozens of other turning points in our history. The narrative is so honest and graphic that it draws the reader in, allowing them to vicariously experience our libertine origins and the painful struggle to survive the AIDS epidemic, as well as more current events like leather contests and the controversy over trans men who are also leathermen.

An especially interesting part of the book is Fiske’s evolution from an exclusive bottom to a top identity (being a switch was not recognized as a valid role until the last decade or two). Few people have described why a painful whipping scene can create euphoria and arousal better than this author. He also makes a good case for protecting and extending the frontiers of the brotherhood of leather by doing volunteer work and activism. In scene after sexy scene, the author hypnotizes us with his bravery and erotic creativity. It’s like being invited to witness a dungeon filled with joyous, heavy scenes performed by every famous leatherman you’ve ever heard about.

Near the end of the book, Fiske says, “I still love celebrating my leather life to play, but I am most proud of helping to create a community of gay leathermen that will last far into the future, even as generations to come adapt it for their own needs and purposes.” His brief history of The 15 Association is a tantalizing glimpse at a successful effort toward those goals. Here’s hoping that more of us

will document the joys and challenges of our own lives in leather.

My Leather Life: Early Years

BY PETER S. FISKE (FAIR PAGE MEDIA LLC, 2019)

“Few people have described why a painful whipping scene can create euphoria and arousal better than this author.”

DeviantMan.com

SERVING UP REAL MENAND REAL SEX DAILY.


The guys at the S.F. Grapplers Wrestling Club

give each other license to exert their force

onto one another, while they practice all

forms of grappling like Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (BJJ),

submission grappling and Western wrestling.

Limbs get bent, and bodies are bound by each other’s hands,

arms, and legs. In some cases, blokes are choked to submis-

sion but if things get too hairy, one can tap out, like a safe

word, and the scene will stop just like that.

BROTHERHOODOF GRAPPLERS

Bonding over bound bodies

There seem to be no hard feelings after they “roll,”

despite the brute force exerted at times. The guys act

brotherly towards each other after, as though the battle

has somehow brought them closer together. So what is

it about a combat sport like grappling that strengthens

these bonds?

Dave Ruechelle is one of the co-founders of S.F.

Grapplers, which caters to bi, gay and gay-friendly men in

the Bay Area. He believes that “all men have some aggres-

sion that needs to be drained off somewhere.” Maybe this

can begin to explain this fraternal phenomenon.

“It’s the chance to give each other permission to be

aggressive; aggressive in the fight, and yet at the end of it

or even during, learning from each other and cooperating,”

he says. If Ruechelle gets one of his opponents to submit,

he’ll offer to recreate the scene after it’s all over, while

giving pointers.

“For me, that’s the brotherhood

and fraternity aspect that I never had in

my life,” he explains. “I never had that

activity and that kind of camaraderie.”

“There are few places in life these

days, where one on one, body against

body, physical competition is endorsed

and readily available,” David J. Ley

writes in Psychology Today. Ley is a

clinical psychologist who has a black

belt in BJJ. “There are even fewer like

BJJ, where best friends can compete

aggressively in one moment, then step

off the mat and celebrate each other’s

accomplishments. BJJ has become

an intense, tightly-knit, strongly

supported community.”

One might wonder whether all

this combat leads to sex, at least for

the S.F. Grapplers. There are a great

number of people who fetishize the

sport on sites like MeetFighters.com.

And the group does meet at San Fran-

cisco Catalyst, a social and educational

space for the kink community in South

of Market.

“I won’t deny there is a sexual component but it’s not a

sexual activity,” Ruechelle says. “There’s a sexual compo-

nent maybe in the same way as there is with bodybuilding if

you appreciate a male body and you want to make the most

of yours.”

At times, the men at S.F. Grapplers push themselves

and each other to their absolute limits, struggling, sweating

and punching their way through to the other side. Of

course, what is sexual is completely subjective, but one

thing is for certain: this is what male bonding looks like.

STORY AND PHOTOS: Mike Miksche


a baroque-back cowboy from the 1970s heard Drummer was alive

again, he asked what his complete collection of 214 issues was

worth. I told him he had a priceless treasure chest of male leather

history that shaped who we are today as a global Leather Frater-

nity. From 1975 to 1999, Drummer helped create the leather culture

it reported on. It promoted leather-bar events and encouraged men

to manifest their leather personalities in regional contests, leading

up to the annual Mr. Drummer contest at the then quiet local Folsom

Fair. Folsom exploded with international noise when Drummer began

inviting global subscribers to fly in for the public-sex street orgy.

Drummer helped thousands of leatherfolk come out. Facing the AIDS

emergency, it rebranded itself under publisher Tony DeBlase, who

created the Leather Flag, to make safe sex hot by outing new fetish

role-playing, free of fluids. In 1977, kinky kismet got me hired as

founding San Francisco editor-in-chief of this international jugger-

naut that was so epic in impact, it was bigger than any one of us,

including publishers, editors, and contributors like Tom of Finland,

Rex, Samuel Steward, Oscar Streaker Robert Opel, and my lover,

Robert Mapplethorpe.

LEATHER

THEONCEAND FUTURE DRUMMER:

HOW WE DID WHAT WE’RE GOING TO DO

Drummer was a revolutionary idea in motion. As one of the first three

slick magazines after Stonewall, it dared to portray our desires, to

organize our thoughts, and to inform our practices. It was a first

draft of leather history. This politically-incorrect “men’s adventure

magazine” was the leather Bible that in the Titanic 1970s, before the

iceberg of AIDS, brought the emerging gender of masculine-iden-

tified men out to claim a homomasculine identity equal alongside

other genders. The past, present, and future of Drummer embraces

all, from cisgender to transgender, who dig diversity within the fetish

of leather masculinity—from our straight founding Los Angeles

editor Jeanne Barney and 1990s lesbian editor Wickie Stamps, to our

longtime trans advice columnist and associate editor, Patrick Califia.

Drummer also included Cynthia Slater, founder of the Society of

Janus, and Judy Tallwing McCarthy, the Apache-African-American

artist and International Ms. Leather 1987, who wrote about the poli-

tics of uniting around gender in our landmark issue, Drummer 100, and

whose “Gay Birds” S&M cartoons ran in a dozen issues. Our 1970s

readership included young leather women who are now leather elders

like Vi Johnson, African-American founder of the Carter/Johnson

Leather Library, who was interviewed in Drummer 173 in 1994.

The way we spun the title Drummer out of Henry David Thoreau’s

“Walden,” we spun homomasculinity out of his friend Walt Whitman’s

gender-fluid “Drum-Taps” in Leaves of Grass. Like Whitman’s songs

of selfhood, homomasculinity embodies a cool cognitive dissonance

accommodating diverse agencies of masculinity. Homomasculinity

is less about the act of sex and more about the state of being the

Platonic ideal of a self-reliant man who does the best that men do

and not the sexist worst. “Masculinity,” Norman Mailer wrote, “is not

something given to you, but something you gain… by winning small

battles with honor.” Homomasculinity is not separatist. Homomas-

culinity is not hypermasculinity. It is Whitman’s fraternal Calamus

emotion in level conversation with all genders.

BY: Jack Fritscher

DRUMMER IS A LIVING HISTORY OF LEATHERFOLK WRITTEN IN HUMAN BLOOD TATTOOED ON TRIBAL SKIN

67

At Stonewall in 1969, gay character changed. At the founding

of Drummer in 1975, leather character changed. In 1976, Los Angeles

police chief Ed Davis freaked out over the empowering strength in

numbers of masculine leathermen that he could no longer dismiss as

“sissies” that he could manhandle. Threatened by our first five issues,

he hated Drummer the way dictators hate media. On April 10, he

attacked us with 65 cops, one helicopter, and one city bus to raid the

festive Drummer Slave Auction fundraiser, sponsored by the Leather

Fraternity. He arrested 42 people, including the entire Drummer staff.

When a cop asked editor Jeanne Barney, the manager of the Leather

Fraternity, if she were a drag queen, she snapped, “Honey, if I were

a drag queen, I’d have bigger tits.” The police drove Drummer from

disaster in L.A. to destiny in San Francisco.

DRUMMER ROOTS: THE LEATHER FRATERNITY

In the name of the Marquis de Sade, Drummer validated emerging

daddies, boys, bears, and the BDSM alphabet soup of TT, CBT, and FF.

Drummer prepared the way for you to be okay with the perversatility

you enjoy today. Drummer was the autobiography of us all, or at least

a lot of us, written and drawn and photographed by many of us to

entertain the rest of us. Editing Drummer was a wild existential ride in

gay pop culture, when readers demanded authenticity and leadership

in reporting the coming out of BDSM identities. The cover feature

for the July 1976 issue of Drummer, was “Drummer Goes to a Leather

Wedding.” From 1977 to 1980, by good fortune in the snake pit of

gay publishing, I’d survived editing almost half the issues in existence,

and continued as a contributing writer, photographer, and consultant

through 1999.

Historically, Drummer grew out of four things: 1. Clark Polak’s

1960s magazine, Drum, art-directed by Al Shapiro who became my art

director at Drummer; 2. Larry Townsend’s 1972 Leatherman’s Hand-

book based on his Kinsey-like questionnaire about leathermen; 3.

The H.E.L.P. Newsletter of the Homophile Effort for Legal Protection,

which was founded in 1969 to bail out men entrapped by the L.A.P.D.;

and 4. The drab-gray Leather Fraternity Newsletter that needed the

sex appeal of colorful pictures and hot stories to recruit members.

Businessman John Embry founded that Leather Fraternity in 1974 as

his mail-order scheme to sell cock rings, tit clamps, and poppers

that weren’t available in Iowa. On June 20, 1975, he slick-wrapped his

brochure inside his first official Drummer and trumpeted the Leather

Fraternity in bold print on the covers of the first four issues.

STATISTICS: DRUMMER LAID END TO END

A stack of 214 issues of Drummer is a coffee-table sculpture 3.5

feet tall weighing 120 pounds. Laid flat, top to bottom, Drummer

stretches 64 yards: two-thirds the length of a football field. At a

rough 90 pages per issue, Drummer comprised a total of 20,000

pages of advocacy journalism created by hundreds of writers, artists,

photographers, and designers, including thousands of hot sex ads

written by subscribers. It took a village to fill Drummer. With 42,000

copies of every issue in the 1970s, and with a pass-along rate of

at least a “plus-one reader” in addition to each subscriber, approxi-

mately 80,000 people handled each monthly issue—that’s 20 million

people over 24 years. The annual Folsom Fair hosts 100,000 leather

guests. In gay book publishing, 5,000 copies sold is a bestseller.

Drummer helped invent gay publishing by serializing manuscripts that

could have been books if gay book publishers had existed before the

mid-1980s. More interactive than a book published once, a maga-

zine must skate a figure eight on an ice cube to refresh its monthly

connection to readers.

TOM OF FINLAND: HOMOMASCULINE REPRESENTATION

Drummer was a leatherman’s monthly handbook. For 24 years, among

millions of leatherfolk in North America and Europe, there was hardly a

player who had not heard of or read Drummer. Years after the internet

killed original-recipe Drummer, readers continue to write fan mail

to say that as teenagers they had managed to find Drummer, even

in Bumfuck, Texas, and that the assertive primer that was Drummer

had mentored their gender and kink identities through erotica that

made them think while they were masturbating. There was political

empowerment of homomasculine gender identity in our rebel rag

for leatherfolk who like men to be masculine, so much so that Durk

Dehner, president of the Tom of Finland Foundation, declared that

“Drummer, groundbreaking for its time, set precedence for all homo-

masculine representation to come.”

MASTURBATION IS MAGICAL THINKING

Masturbation is magical thinking. You stroke your wand of manhood,

and conjure what you want. Initially, what we did to make Drummer

pulsate hard was to introduce the realism of accessible guys offering

new games. We built the spank-bank fantasies of one-handed

readers who wanted a virile and virilizing magazine that was a GPS of

the new frontier of BDSM. Talk about interactive media! What magic

it is to create words and images that make men cum. Erotic writing

begins with one stroke of the pen and ends with many strokes of the

penis. With its reality-TV contents, Drummer was a reader-reflexive

magazine showcasing pictures of tough customers you could meet,

instead of porn models paid to fake leathersex.

NOT OLD OR NEW GUARD, DRUMMER WAS AVANT-GARDE

The liberal beauty of Drummer was its social permissiveness,

anchored in marching to one’s own drummer. Self-reliance was the

key philosophy. Drummer was descriptive, not prescriptive, about

leather behavior. Drummer was non-judgmental, simply reporting how

grassroots leather lives were actually lived without commandments.

Even though the Drummer voice was most often a “top” seducing

subscribers who mostly liked to read S&M stories from a deliciously

overpowered “bottom” point of view, it was no domineering patri-

arch demanding, “Thou shalt” or “Thou shalt not.” Drummer never

prescribed that there was a politically correct way to live leather or

be a man because, while there may be rules around sex, nobody’s sure

what they are.

Drummer was never old guard or new guard; Drummer was always

avant-garde. That’s why its 20th-century version still holds up as a

grand power base, sustaining the new 21st-century version. Because

of its passionate readers, Drummer survived 24 years of stress from

bad management, censorship, plague, and the 1989 earthquake that

destroyed our office—to say nothing about that one early plot twist

of bad luck becoming good luck, when the L.A.P.D. busted the infant

Drummer when it was only 10 months old and chased it to freedom

in San Francisco. Nevertheless, we survived those dangerous pioneer

days after Stonewall. And here we come again! Drummer is a living

history of leatherfolk, written in human blood, tattooed on tribal skin.

WHO’D A THUNK IT!

I hope that baroque-back cowboy appreciates his Drummer collec-

tion. As the new Drummer rises, the original publication is in the

permanent archives of the Kinsey Institute, the Getty Museum in

Los Angeles, Cornell University’s Human Sexuality Collection, Brown

University’s John Hay Library, Bowling Green University’s Center for

Popular Culture Studies, the New York Public Library, the L.A. County

Museum of Art, the ONE National Gay & Lesbian Archives at the

University of Southern California, the Leather Archives & Museum in

Chicago, and the Schwules Museum in Berlin.

“Homomasculinity is less about the act of sex and more about the state of being the Platonic ideal of a self-reliant man who does the best that men do and not the sexist worst.”

“The liberal beauty of Drummer was its social permissiveness anchored in marching to one’s own drummer.”

PHOT

OS:

Cour

tesy

of

Jack

Fri

tsch

er


GOINGBACK TO

What does the past have that the present doesn’t?

STORY: Mike Miksche

PHOTOS: Motorboot Photography - Robert Green

NICK WAFLE AND MATTHEW PAUL

have been reawakening the spirits of

legendary leather bars gone by with

their parties in San Francisco and Los

Angeles. Under the moniker of Mister

Drummer 1979, the two have spent

afternoons collecting archival material

from places such as The Catacombs,

The Tool Box, and The Gauntlet II with

which to outfit their parties, bringing

these places back to life. Wafle also

leafs through old Drummer magazines

looking for ads or write-ups about

these bars or clubs, along with other

relevant content to share on social

media in order to educate potential

partygoers.

Their moniker, coupled with their

passion for the past, might suggest

either Wafle or Paul is Mister Drum-

mer 1979. Well, they’re not. Wafle was

only four years old back then and Paul

wasn’t even born yet. And the first Mr.

Drummer wasn’t appointed until 1980.

Wafle had chosen the name be-

cause Drummer was a huge inspiration

for him—the back issues from the

late ’70s became the impetus for the

events—and he views ’79 as the pin-

nacle of the leather scene. It’s obvious

that the past holds something special

for him that the present simply lacks.

“I think at the time [leather] was

a much more rebellious thing,” Wafle

explains. “Being gay and then taking

it a step further and being into heavy

leather and S&M is like making a state-

ment and rebelling against heteronor-

mative culture.”

He feels that prior to the AIDS

epidemic in San Francisco, the leather

scene was at its most “decadent” and

“sleazy.” Today, he believes that a lot

of the rebelliousness has been lost to

heteronormativity and the acceptance

of homosexuality, but he also thinks

that after the epidemic began, people

directed their sexually rebellious ener-

gy towards fighting for their lives with

organizations like ACT UP.

“I think [the parties are] a way

of honoring a lost generation,” Wafle

says. “A lot of those folks who died in

the ’80s were a part of the scene and

it’s important to retell that story. I think

there’s a way to honor it and recog-

nize it and keep it relevant in today’s

world where we’ve come really far, but

there’s still a space for rebellion and

self-expression that leather rep-

resents to me.”

He explains that above all else,

what they’re trying to get across

with their parties is that these men

were “badasses” who were ahead of

their time and were “stepping to the

forefront of what it meant to be gay,

and living it.”

The party began at a dive bar on

Haight Street in San Francisco called

Underground SF, and it’s still where

they hold their events today during

the Folsom Street Fair and Dore Alley

weekends. It’s a place that Wafle de-

scribes as a “blank canvas.”

“He explains that above all else, what they’re trying to get across with their parties is that these men were ‘badasses’ who were ahead of their time and were ‘stepping to the forefront of what it meant to be gay, and living it.’”


“There’s nothing on the walls,”

he says, laughing. “There’s hardly any

furniture. Just like a banquette on one

wall. Then there’s a dance floor behind

the bar—a small dance floor—and

then off the dance floor is an alleyway

where the trash cans are normally

stored, which we roll away to create a

backroom.”

The alleyway backroom is out-

fitted with tea lights, lube, and paper

towels. Inside, there’s red lighting, a

smoke machine and a strobe over the

dancefloor, if it’s working. When the

projector isn’t broken, he’ll play VHS

versions of classic gay BDSM porns like

Born to Raise Hell, which, as it turns

out, stars Val Martin, who was named

the first ever Mr. Drummer in 1980.

“That’s the formula that I’m always

aiming for; that mix of heavy cruise

bar, a little bit of dance and then a

backroom,” he says.

But does the party deliver the

rebellious spirit that he so desperately

longs for?

“I think so,” he says. “Just that

we’re setting up a backroom and

risking the bar’s license feels like we’re

getting away with something. I think

public sex is something that’s very po-

liced these days. At least in California…

And I think that’s something that needs

to happen in a public space. It’s just

hard to get away with.”

He claims that older guys who had

gone to the cruise bars of yesteryear

have complimented him on replicating

the same vibe.

“Beyond the whole public sex

piece,” he adds, “by telling the story

of these spaces and shining a light

on it, it’s opening up people’s eyes

to our forebearers who created this

leather culture that we maybe take for

granted.”

Wafle and Paul will be hosting the

Drummer magazine West Coast launch

on Friday, October 25, during Palm

Springs Leather Pride. The party will

celebrate San Francisco’s legendary bar,

The Ambush.

“I think public sex is something that’s very policed these days.”

WEST COAST LAUNCH PARTY

A tribute to the legendary San Francisco leather bar, Ambush

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 25, 8pm-2amThe Barracks, Cathedral City, California

PRINT ISSUE LAUNCH PARTY

MISTER DRUMMER 1979 PRESENTS


LESSTALK,MORE ACTION

Folsom Europe:a beast of its own!

STORY: Will Stone | PHOTOS: Mike Miksche

ON A GORGEOUS SATURDAY AFTERNOON IN MID-

September, I placed a 10€ bill into a donation can, and

entered the leather Valhalla, aka Berlin’s annual Folsom

Europe street fair. The Folsom Europe bacchanal begins

on a Wednesday, and in the days leading up to its Saturday

fair, you can feast on an endless buffet of gear-shopping,

dinners with friends, boat cruises, cigar parties, a fetish

classical concert, backroom cruising, and uninhibited

sex, German-style. Over the course of the week, tens

of thousands of fetish guys from around the world

congregate onto the leafy Fuggerstraße (think Folsom

Street in San Francisco but without the tech start-ups

taking over). This fair-cum-multi-day festival is a beast

all of its own, which is why an international cast of horny

fuckers gather in Berlin every fall, some eschewing the

original Folsom in favor of this Teutonic variant.

Unlike many big leather and kink events, you don’t

get sequestered into one or two host hotels for the

weekend. When you come to Folsom Europe, you and your

fellow gearheads take over Schöneberg, Berlin’s historic

gay district, for five fetish-packed days when kinksters

fill neighborhood bars, restaurants, and shops. At the

posh department store nearby, KaDeWe, not an eyelid

will flutter when you’re browsing in head-to-toe leather,

rubber, or whatever gets you off. You hardly need to leave

Schöneberg for anything, except maybe for one of the

all-night parties, if that’s your thing. Your tricks’ hotels are

likely just a block or two from yours, so your boots become

your main mode of transport for the week.


Folsom Europe is a testosterone-driven affair, with

many of the events and cruising bars in Schöneberg being

strictly men-only (a rarity in the United States!). At the

street fair itself, I’d guess that men make up well over 99%

of the crowd too. Most of these guys are in leather and

many are in full B.L.U.F. (The Breeches and Leather Uniform

Fanclub) gear, which is hugely popular in Europe. You’ll

also see plenty of rubber guys, pups, hi-vis construction

workers, scally lads in Adidas, and “skins” in bleachers,

braces, Doc Martens, and Alpha Industries jackets—there’s

an array of fetish archetypes you don’t see much of in

North America.

But it’s not just the different variety of fetish gear

that makes Folsom Europe special. There’s the German

attitude towards cruising. Forget endless pursuit and

awkward small talk. When you catch another guy’s eye in a

bar, you just walk up to him and start swapping spit. If you’re

a bottom like me, you might soon drop to your knees, but

you had better be ready when he bends you over to breed

you. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for this streamlined

approach to man-on-man sex to permeate guys who are

visiting the city. For several days in September, we all

become Germans. Ich bin ein Berliner, indeed!

It’s this attitude that had me strutting my fully

leathered-up self at the fair, hoping that I'd run into the

guys I had hooked up with over the past several days. I

promptly ran into the sexy leatherman from New York with

a shaved head, who had mercilessly fucked my face at

fetish cruise bar, New Action, Thursday evening. Minutes

later, I crossed paths with the British bloke with the huge

cock who rewarded me with a tasty load at the end of a

role-play scene at cruise club Mutchmann’s that same

night. After that, I bumped into the hard-bodied leather

top from London that shot two loads up my ass Friday night

at Testosterone, a party for daddies. It's great seeing your

new fuck buds in natural lighting.

Folsom Europe doesn’t end Saturday afternoon

at the fair. PiG, Folsom Europe’s official party, takes

place Saturday night. Like Berlin’s best parties, it’s held

in a vast repurposed structure in old East Berlin. Like

Folsom Europe’s best parties, guys come to fuck. Sure,

there are several DJs named on the poster, and there

are dance floors in small rooms with low ceilings. But

mostly, there are innumerable poorly-lit rooms, heavy

with the scent of sweat, poppers, and lube, teeming with

all-male debauchery.

Although Sunday is more subdued, the parties

continue with the Fetish Boat cruise in the late

afternoon and the official closing party of Folsom Europe,

MENtabolism, at night. Schöneberg's cruise bars are in full

swing too.

Yup, Folsom Europe is the kind of event you return

home from with the primary intention of making your

friends insanely jealous. The gear. The camaraderie. The

connections. The cock. I couldn’t resist booking a room for

next year even before I left the city. The total immersive

experience of Folsom Europe had me hooked!

“You’ll also see plenty of rubber guys, pups, hi-vis construction workers, scally lads in Adidas, and

‘skins’ in bleachers, braces, Doc Martens, and Alpha Industries jackets—there’s an array of fetish archetypes you don’t see much of in North America.”


I’m sitting at the kitchen count-

er, swiping through a magazine

on my tablet, but my attention is

wavering. I’m waiting for a mes-

sage from Master B., who was

supposed to text me at 7:30 to

let me know which hotel to meet

him at for my training camp “in-

terview.” It’s ten to eight now and

I’m starting to wonder whether

I’ve been had.

It was the first time that we

were supposed to meet in per-

son after three weeks of cam-

ming on Skype every day. Actually, I was the one camming

and he was watching. After all this time, I still don’t know

what he looks like, which sounds crazy when you say it out

loud, and fine, maybe it is a bit strange.

He initially messaged on Recon but he didn’t have any

photos in his profile. I usually delete messages from people

with no photos, but for whatever reason, I didn’t. Anyway, his

message said that he was recruiting guys for some sexual

training camp, which sounded like a scam, especially when

he stressed that if I wanted to join, we needed to talk right

away, typing in all caps as an exclamation point. I chuckled

but had a bit of time before work so I thought, fuck, why

not? I gave him my Skype address, curious about where he

was going with all this.

When he called, his camera was off and he said that it

needed to be that way until I got into this camp. He made it

out like he was part of a secret society that might crumble

if ordinary people knew his identity.

His voice was gruff and conjured the image of this

strapping, stern man who always gets what he wants. He

sounded so confident that you’d think he actually believed

the things he was saying.

He explained that this camp provided “high-level train-

ing” to prospective subs and slaves. I couldn’t even get the

words together to ask him what he meant by “high-lev-

el training.” Instead, I nodded my head and kept a straight

face, even when he said that many of their recruits in the

past were high-profile men: athletes, recording artists, and

CEOs. It was probably not the time to tell him that I work at

an insurance company call center.

“Have you been trained before?” he asked.

“Um, I had a Dom for a bit who showed me some things,” I

said, “but I don’t have much experience beyond that.”

“Do you know how to control your cock?”

“My cock?” Silence. “Not really.”

“Did you ever think that you could control your cock?”

“It hasn’t really crossed my mind.”

“What if I told you that I can control your cock? Would

you like that?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you would. I can tell by the look in your eyes.

You’re hard right now just thinking about it, aren’t you?”

I looked down. It’s not that I didn’t know that I was hard,

because I obviously did, but it just kind of happened. “I am,”

I said.

“Exactly. Stand up and take your clothes off.”

He spoke with such authority that his voice seemed

to grab hold of me; I stood up and started to remove my

clothes. I’d never done anything like that before (not with

someone who didn’t have their camera on too, anyway). I

told myself that I was just humoring him. I even laughed a bit

like it was a big joke, but he remained silent until all of my

clothes were on the ground to one side.

He told me to spread my legs and put my hands be-

hind my head so I did, while I stared at my digital reflection

on the computer screen. I was seeing exactly what he was

seeing and could almost feel his gaze crawling on my skin.

He ordered me to flex the small of my back so that only my

ass was moving up and down, independent of the rest of my

body. He had to guide me through the first few movements

until I got it right because it was a little tricky to move my

ass without moving my stomach or legs too much.

Just as I felt a cramp in my lower back, he said, “You’re

soon going to notice a pinch in your back.” I didn’t want to

admit that I felt it.

He was quiet for a moment and just watched me move.

He finally said, “Why do you think I’m asking you to do this?”

“I don’t know.” I chuckled nervously under my breath.

“That’s how you present yourself to your Master.”

“Are you my Master now?”

His laugh was as blunt as a butcher knife. “No,” he said.

It wasn’t really making a lot of sense, and it sudden-

ly crossed my mind that maybe this was all being record-

ed somewhere and would be used to try to blackmail me.

Granted, I had nothing to lose: I don’t talk to my family and

my job isn’t great but still, I’d rather it didn’t happen, so I

probably should’ve just disconnected and blocked him. At

the same time, I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t having some

fun. I’ve always been a bit of an exhibitionist and will jump at

the chance to take my clothes off in front of others, wheth-

er it’s at the change room at my gym, the clothing-option-

al beach, or wherever. The idea that I was giving this guy a

show, even though he might try to extort me, kind of got

me going.

THE

TRAININGFI

CTI

ON

BY: Mike Miksche

CAMP


We began talking every morning

after that at the very same time.

I liked getting naked for him and

it was amusing to hear him tell

more tales of this training camp. If

nothing else, I was impressed with

how detailed his accounts of the place were, and I wondered

whether he wrote this all out somewhere and studied it to

keep all the facts straight.

I found myself looking forward to our morning dates; his

voice became the soothing sound of escape from the mun-

dane. He never skipped a beat with his storytelling, building

more layers onto this fabled training camp each time. I start-

ed to think about how cool it would be if a place like that

really existed. Soon, I got so into the fantasy of it all that I

began wondering whether he was telling the truth. I mean, is

it possible for someone to construct such an intricate lie?

I decided that I needed to find out if this place was real,

so I suggested that we finally meet in person. He insisted

that we could only meet at my interview and only when I was

ready for it. When I asked him when that would be, he simply

said, “Be patient.” I promised that I would be.

During our time together online, he wouldn’t just talk

about the camp; he would teach me different exercises to

improve my core body strength so that I could handle some

of the more strenuous fucking positions I’d have to endure

during the interview. His voice became like hands; I could

feel them on my body as he spoke, contorting me in ways I

didn’t think possible.

He also taught me how to cum four times in a row,

which you hear about people doing, but I didn’t think was

real. He was so proud when I finally got it but the strange

thing is, I don’t think he got off on any of this. I really believe

that he wanted to make me better and I wanted to be better

for him. As stern as he was, there was a tenderness in him

too that came out when he was pleased with me.

“You’re going to make all the other boys at camp jeal-

ous,” he said.

“What about after camp?” I asked. “What happens when

we’re done?”

“I already told you, boy. Don’t you remember?”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I must’ve forgotten,” I said, even though I

was pretty sure he hadn’t told me.

“It’s okay, boy. I know it’s a lot to take in. When you’re

done camp, we pair you up with a Master who will compli-

ment your skill level.”

“Oh.” Silence. “Do you have a boy?”

“What do you think?”

“I assume you have many.”

“I don’t have a boy.” More silence. “Are you surprised?”

“I guess so, Sir.”

He told me to turn around and bend over in front of the

camera like a doctor inspecting a patient, except he got me

to spread my ass cheeks too, claiming that he needed to

see right in there. He seemed satisfied and told me to turn

back around. “You like me looking at you, don’t you?” he said.

“Maybe.” I was still hard.

“You’re a nice specimen.” I could hear him smile. “I have

another call in a minute so you should jerk off now.”

“Like, right here?”

“Yes. Do it for me, boy.”

When I grabbed my cock, I could feel the sexual sensa-

tion move from my crotch to every inch of my body, gushing

through my veins. I took a deep breath and held it in for a

moment just to cope with the feeling as I began tugging at

myself.

I closed my eyes and listened to him telling me how

much of a “good boy” I was, and how I was exactly what he

was looking for. He even asked me, “Are you my good boy?”

and I nodded but he said that wasn’t good enough, that he

wanted me to say it out loud.

“I’m your good boy,” I said.

“Louder!”

“I’m your good boy!”

I came in no more than a minute, spilling right onto the

floor. He was saying something but I couldn’t really focus on

it. I was still coming to.

I opened my eyes and looked down at the mess I’d

made. I then lifted my left hand to show him that it was cov-

ered in cum. “I should probably clean up,” I said, interrupting

whatever he was going on about.

“You did good today, boy,” he said. “Be online tomorrow,

at the same time. Got it?”

“Yes,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure that I would be.

“Yes what?”

“What?” I showed him my hand again as a reminder that

I needed to clean up.

“Yes Sir.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh. Okay. Yes Sir.”

I went about my day after that as I normally do, going to

work and fielding questions over the phone about insurance

policies for customers. I left right at five and went to the

gym, where I met my friend Edwin. We worked on biceps and

legs, spotting each other while I listened to him complain

about his job. He works at an insurance company too but it’s

all he ever talks about because he hates it so much—and I

enjoy listening to him as much as he enjoys his job. He’s a

good guy but I often wonder why I meet him each day.

When I got home, I took a chicken breast out of the

freezer and made a spinach salad to go with it. It’s what I

ate the day before and the day before that. I had one more

chicken breast in the freezer for the next day too.

I ate dinner in front of the television and watched four

back-to-back episodes of a police drama on Netflix that I

wasn’t really into, but I just kept watching anyway since I’d

already started it. There were enough cheap hooks in the

plot to keep me going.

Needless to say, talking to Master B. was by far the

most interesting thing that happened to me that day. Hell, it

was the most interesting thing I’d experienced in months. So

yeah, I woke up earlier than usual the next morning so that I

could talk to him again. He was already online when I logged

on and messaged me right away: YOU READY BOY?

He got me to take my clothes off and told me that next

time I should already be naked when we start. He told me

to spread my legs and put my hands behind my head while

flexing the small of my back just like the time before. As

my ass moved up and down, he explained more about this

camp, claiming that there were three other Masters, his

“co-trainers,” who ran this place with him and that they were

recruiting 25 young subs from New York, Boston, and Mon-

tréal to serve “with purpose and skill.” He said that if I got

in, I’d be pushed to my limits, having to endure things like

heavy bondage, brutal beatings and, from time to time, a

milking machine that would suck me dry for hours. The milker

sounded kind of sci-fi to me, but I looked it up later and it

turns out that these things really do exist.

“Is there something else you’d like to ask me, boy?” He

sounded hesitant and he was never hesitant.

“Can I be your boy?”

He laughed. “I’ve already decided that. I knew that you

were special the moment I saw you. And we have this bond;

you can feel it too, can’t you? Am I right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“I can’t even explain it, Sir.”

“It’s not ‘Sir’ anymore. You will call me ‘Master’ from

now on.”

“Okay, Master.”

“This is what you were always meant to be, boy. One day

you’ll know exactly what I mean.”

He said that when we eventually lived together, I was

to be naked from the moment that I got home until I went

to work the next morning. I’d go to sleep with his cock in-

side me, wake up with him inside me, and I was to follow him

around the house, no matter where he went, to serve him.

“How does it feel to know I need you day and night?”

“It’s incredible,” I said.

“This is who you are. Do you understand that?”

“I think so, Master.”

The only way that we could be together though, was if

I did well at the interview. “And do you know what?” he said.

“What, Master?”

“You’re ready for your interview.”

My phone suddenly vibrates in my pocket, startling me

and taking me away from my thoughts. It’s a text message

that pops up on my tablet too. It’s from Master B. He didn’t

abandon me: Meet me at the Hilton, room 819. 9 p.m. The door

will be slightly open and the lights off. You’ll be blindfolded

once you get into the room. You have to trust me, boy.

TO BE CONTINUEDGet your number — join.bluf.com4000 members in 55 countries • over 180 events in 27 cities

81

“The Hun” Born April 30th, 1938. Died September 12th, 2019

Drummer Legends

BY: Peter Fiske

BILL SCHMELING AKA

I AM VERY SAD TO REPORT THE PASSING OF EROTIC ARTIST, BILL

Schmeling AKA “The Hun,” on September 12, 2019. His work will live

on in his magnificent illustrations of men who were larger than life,

with bulging muscles, big pecs, and huge cocks that inspire.

Bill is best known for his work as “The Hun” but he started in

the 1960s with Physique Pictorial magazine under the moniker Torro.

By the late 1970s, his “Hun Comic” series found huge success in

publications like Meatmen and, of course, Drummer, which is when

he became known as “The Hun.” His various series became famous

for featuring masculine archetypes like hot cops, cons, masters,

slaves and the like, putting his cast of characters in impossibly sexual

scenarios that made fans salivate.


In 1988, Jack Fritscher worked with The Hun on two feature-

length films for Palm Drive Video that highlighted hundreds of his

drawings: The Hun Video Gallery 1: Rainy Night in Georgia and The

Hun Video Gallery 2: Chain Gang Bang. His sex-positive imagery was

brought to a wider audience as a result, which was much needed

during the more dire times of the AIDS epidemic.

The Hun was very generous with his art: in the 1980s he always

said yes when asked to donate to AIDS charity auctions, and there

were many of them, including the AIDS Emergency Fund in San Fran-

cisco, as well as others across the country.

One of my fondest memories of Bill is seeing him at leather

events and markets with his art piled on the table all around him, and

a crowd of men looking through his work. He’d be smiling and talking

to them all.

I also remember him at sex clubs and play parties having fun.

Bill Schmeling died in Portland, Oregon, surrounded by his family.

He is beloved as one of the best erotic artists who helped to create

the leather, fetish, and kink scene that his work represented.

“His various series became famous for featuring masculine archetypes like hot cops, cons, masters, slaves and the likes, putting his cast of characters in impossibly sexual scenarios that made fans salivate.”

Photos: Courtesy of the

Bill Schmeling Collection at

the Leather Archives & Museum


Coming up in Drummer issue 216: The “MACHO” issue! Hi-vis, sludge, man scents, street sex, and more….January 2020

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