Page 501 - Gay San Francisco_Eyewitness Drummer
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Gay San Francisco: Eyewitness Drummer                481
             reached my limit in a spontaneous scene I had not expected to be part
             of, and we smiled, and I rose up, and as quickly as I rose to my feet from
             under their belts, a fourth man, who had been watching from the door-
             way, fell to his knees at the booted feet of the three of us, and the belting
             began all over again, on him.
                The very architecture of the Mineshaft as well as the shifting crowd
             allowed scenes to flow from one intensity to the next, and the players to
             change within a scene, so that a man could enter any scene, upstairs, or
             leave any scene downstairs, exactly when and how he chose, free, always
             careful not to break the erotic trance of the participants in the scene.
                In fact, erotic trance was goal and mantra at the Mineshaft.
                “Fantasy imagined” was exchanged at the door in favor of “fantasy
             actualized into new reality.”
                In the Mineshaft, a man knew there were men who would gladly do
             to him the things he never thought anyone would do to him.
                Eyewitness Scenario 2: Interior Mineshaft. 3:30 AM. Another night. In
             a corner, on the first floor of the Mineshaft, an incredibly handsome man,
             well built, started out giving a certain vibe in the middle of the room. He
             was soon backed into a corner by a dozen men worshiping his wonderful
             body. For almost a half hour, the small gang stroked, petted, and licked
             at his god-flesh naked but for a dirty piss-soaked jockstrap and boots. On
             their knees and standing, they shuffled in towards him, and reshuffled
             themselves among themselves, sucking on each other’s cocks, working
             nipples, writhing in orgy between his big, hairy thighs. On a close look
             at him, he was well worthy of desire.
                So I reached my right hand over and through the scrum of men
             thrashing around his legs and torso and I touched his nipple. Surprisingly,
             he looked up, smiled, and reached out toward me, leaning into him, both
             arching above the worshipers, judging what this erotic negotiation might
             mean. He had that light in his eyes that made me feel he read us both.
             He was so hot I figured to do anything he wanted. He wasn’t shy. He
             grabbed onto my nipples and pulled himself out of the worshiping suc-
             tion toward me, and kept flowing by me, towing me by the pecs into the
             next room where a sling hung vacant and waiting. We danced a primor-
             dial, ancient, prehistoric, genetic, and sacramental choreography. Neither
             asked the other our motivation. And what happened, happened very fast.
             He walked me up to the sling hung from huge 8x8 posts, unbuckled my
             belt, peeled my jeans down around my ankles, knocked me back into the
             sling, and I was thinking Am I ready? for this specific trip within all the
             general erotic possibilities of the Mineshaft, when my ankles went up into
             the stirrups, and loose change fell to the floor from my jean pockets, and
             he leaned into my biggest arch, and drove his hand skillfully, and most

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