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Gay San Francisco: Eyewitness Drummer                585
                The dude with the dozen jockstraps stuffs one of them into the tub
             drain. The tub fills up fast. Piss waves slosh side to side as the man in
             the tub twists and bobs for all the piss he can handle. As row after row
             of men moves in, the piss level covers most of his body. Once he slips. In
             the dripping, shuffling silence his hand makes the squeak of flesh sliding
             in a wet tub. For a moment, his whole head disappears under the piss and
             floating jockstraps.
                A big fucker in full leather reaches down into the piss and dredges
             him up by the hair. The man in the tub gasps. Swallows. Wallows. Kneels
             up. Jerking off. Mouth open. Piss hitting his face. With him kneeling,
             the tub has room for two. Another guy climbs in for the same treatment.
             Both of them make gurgling sounds, mouths open, hunched back waist
             deep in the piss.
                The guy with the jocks starts dredging them out. Fully soaked. No
             reason to wring them out. One at a time he steps into and pulls on the
             dripping jocks until his cock and balls are completely padded beneath a
             dozen straps soaked with the piss of nearly a hundred guys. He moves off
             into the darkly lit cellar and is lost in the crush.
                The second guy into the tub dives for the T-shirt in the drain. He
             comes up with it in his teeth. The men piss harder in his face. He’s work-
             ing for it, begging for it, drinking it, as the tub level goes down. Slowly.
             The last piss swirls, gurgles, and leaves the tub slick. The first man climbs
             out, helped by the men standing nearest the tub. He’s satisfied. He’s had
             his turn. His scene is over.
                Now the tub is ready for the new guy. He’s busy already sucking the
             piss off the thigh-high rubber boots of a man who has thrown his fireman-
             booted leg across the tub. A fresh dozen dicks stream into the changing
                Off in another Mineshaft corner, in more private spaces, other men
             have waded off to bridge waters of their own. Near the bar, a short mus-
             cular man pisses into his empty beer can. He hands it to his buddy. They
             nod. They smile. The buddy drinks.

             WET REALITIES: USMC

             Camp Pendleton survival training teaches the young Marine recruits that
             to survive they can drink their own piss twice and eat their own shit
             once. Navy survival training is even better. For years, in fact, naval offi-
             cers and cadets have whispered about the Navy Torture Camps: beatings
             by guards, “tiger cages,” the starvation, and especially the exotic water

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