Page 403 - Gay San Francisco_Eyewitness Drummer
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Gay San Francisco: Eyewitness Drummer                383
             Top. Who is? Just that in sex, business, or relationships, I usually end up
             dominant, not by my choice, but by others’ deference.
                Keys worn on the right always mean Bottom. Keys on the left mean
             no more than Negotiable. Get the picture?
                To balance our scene’s energy I turned on the negotiable Thumper.
             He glided gladly out of his Top space. A real down-hill racer. I tied his
             arms with rope behind his back.
                “I’ve never been tied up before,” he said.
                “I’m not tying you,” I explained “I’m making you secure.” I attached
             his bound wrists to a pulley in the ceiling and hoisted his hands up toward
             his shoulders. His feet, booted on the cool cellar cement, ferreted for a
                “Be good to me,” he said.
                “I’ll be very good to you. Very good.”

             S&M: A NEW DEFINITION

             S&M does not stand for sadism and masochism. S and M stand for Sen-
             suality and Mutuality. Sensuality: the action must feel good to both men.
             Mutuality: both men consent to a definite energy exchange.
                Sensuality and Mutuality, as practiced in San Francisco, LA, New
             York, and all the farmburgs in between, is not only healthy sexual encoun-
             ter, it is very often extraordinarily good therapy. One man, for example,
             gets very nervous when he hasn’t recently played a bottom scene. He works
             as a radio dispatcher for a police department, and every six weeks or so,
             when his hunger and his tension peak, he submits himself to a Catholic
             priest [Jim Kane] who is one of the heaviest leather disciplinarians in the
             USA and gets his body well worked over, his head nicely shrunk out, and
             his “sins” conveniently forgiven.

             “Come on, Thumper,” I said. “Give it to me.” I looked directly into his
             beautiful eyes. He focused on mine. His mouth fell slack. Receptive. I
             came in to him through his eyes. Talking, in through his ears. Close
             enough in the candlelit heat of the cellar for him to smell my body hot
             in my leather. Massaging his tits, to come into him through his sense of
             touch. “You are,” I said, “Where you want to be. Say yes. Say yes.”
                And he focused through the “Vitamin Q” [Quaalude] on the reality
             flooding forward from his pituitary, from his adrenaline, from his cojones,
             from his subconscious. He said Yes.
                “Yes. Yes. Yes. Anything.”

           ©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved—posted 05-05-2017
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