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386                                     Jack Fritscher, Ph.D.
            perceived excess of touchy-feeliness, especially as merchandised by CEO
            David Goodstein at The Advocate in “The Advocate Experience.” As HIV
            and AIDS terror struck, it was this kind of corporate “sensitivity training”
            merging with the Marxist “politically correct” that in a perfect storm, a
            perfect hurricane, ruined the gay liberation movement and the gay press.]


            THUMPER’S SECOND ROUND
            I took Thumper down from the hooks and led him obediently across the
            cellar to the rack and tied him down again. For a good hard bellydown
            fuck. Leather restraints tighten around his ankles, his thighs, his waist,
            his neck, his biceps, and his wrists. His butt shines like Christmas orna-
            ments in the candle light.
               “I’m secure,” he says.
               I smile and plunge on in. Like quicksand, the more you wiggle, the
            deeper you go.

            NEAPOLITAN SEX: 3 FLAVORS

            Sex is Neapolitan ice cream. Vanilla is for plain old kissy face. Strawberry
            is for S and M exotica, because a “strawberry” is jocker talk for the bruise
            you get on the playing field. Chocolate covers the currently trendy, but
            understandably closeted, interest in scatology. (See Salo, Pasolini’s last
            film before a Roman hustler caved in the side of his head with a two-by-
            four.)
               Lovers of vanilla sex often have as much fear of strawberry sex as
            straights have of gay sex. Vanilla fans fear, or fantasize, that if they hit a
            leather bar or bath, they will be attacked like Sebastian Venable in Sud-
            denly Last Summer. Hardly.
               While men sometimes get pantsed, spread on pool tables, beaten
            with belts, and maybe fisted, you can believe they gave their consent one
            way or the other. As long as you don’t wear cologne or deodorize your pits,
            you’re safer in a leather bar than in twink bar where All-American boys
            might toss you and your leathers into a Lacoste alligator pit.
               As Joel Grey said in Cabaret: “Live and let live.”
            NEW YEAR’S NOSTALGIA: FOLSOM STREET BARRACKS


            Sometimes places like the classic Folsom Street Barracks conjure so much
            energy, they go up in flames. When the Barracks was golden [from 1972-
            1977], not only were you safe, you were transported. For guys liking the
            best bodies mixed with the farthest fantasy, the Barracks was Christ-

          ©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved—posted 05-05-2017
               HOW TO LEGALLY QUOTE FROM THIS BOOK
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