| THE CLUB By Colin Crown (Honcho.Sept.1981) Last summer I took a job as a pool cleaner and attendant at the swimming pool of our university's faculty club. I go to school there and live within walking distance of the club, in a small campus community. I took the job to make some money, have something to do and to be able to swim in the pool and occasionally use the handball court. I admit I was also attracted by the fact that several of the more handsome and fit members of the faculty, including profs from my own English department, went there regularly, swimming manful laps, lying in the sun like untouchable gods — and besides that, they changed, stripped and showered in the men's dressing room. |
| A LOVELY ASS-FUCKING EVENING By Pete Hartman (Cummin’Up.Vol2.No2.1990) When I regained consciousness I was totally naked and being bullied into position over a table size chunk of metal that resembled a blacksmith's anvil that was designed to raise my ass high, with my arms and legs spread and roped securely to metal rings imbedded in the concrete floor. Congressman Baxter had a gun in his hand pointed in my direction, but I was completely helpless anyway, thanks to a kick in the balls his ex-wrestler Chauffeur/Bodyguard had given me. When I was roped into place, the two men removed their tight leather clothing. An instant later Baxter's good sized cock appeared in front of me, erect and ready to fuck my mouth. Behind me, I felt Mr. Macho's even bigger cock nudging my ass crack and my asshole quivered at the realization that it had become the target for that massive missile. |
| THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS By Cooper Bullock (InTouch#98.Dec.1984) Every time the Yuletide season comes around I get this funny feeling between my legs as 1 remember one Christmas many years ago when me and my brother, Billy, stayed at a motel with our father in Vermont. My dad and mom got divorced when I was ten years old. Billy was four years older than me so he didn't seem to care as much as me. I mean, I was real broken up about it. I didn't want to lose Dad but the judge at the divorce trial insisted that we live with Mom. He said that Dad was a degenerate or something. Billy told me that Dad had robbed a bank and had to go to jail. Mom divorced him because she couldn't believe he was a common criminal. I thought he was the greatest Dad in the whole wide world. He was tall and handsome, just like Gary Cooper was. He was so proud of his body too, spending a lot of time in the basement lifting weights and doing exercises. He was always keeping in shape. |
| By George Hillarde (Stallion.Jan.1983) For many years — the last six, to be exact — I have spent Christmas Eve at home with friends, exchanging gifts, trimming the tree, and watching It's a Wonderful Life, Miracle on Thirty-fourth Street, or some such festively sentimental film on television. Even a cynic is entitled to be mawkish once a year. Right? Home is a small two room apartment in New York's Chelsea area. There is a wood burning fireplace and a view of the Empire State Building from the living room window, but otherwise the place is not particularly special. No, that's not true. |
| Story by Mike Williams (Photos by Nova, from the Nova loop "The Boiler Room," featuring Dean Goodman (dick) and Buck Williams. Date Unknown) Steve was only nineteen years old and his job at the Amery Iron Works was the first position he'd obtained after leaving high school. He'd planned on becoming a journeyman plumber at night while he labored at Amery in the day. The work was hard and the hours were long but Steve was a tough, determined kid with a lot of guts and energy. Being on the track team at Central High had kept the young hunk in tip top condition. A stiff set of barrel-like biceps bulged forth from the sweaty white shirt he wore underneath his olive-drab uniform. Beads of warm perspiration dripped from his forehead as Steve hoisted up a twelve foot slab of iron pipe. |
| TRUCK STOP By Michael London (Honcho.Sept.1981) Jesus Christ, it was hot. The goddamn air conditioner was broken and I had four more hours to go before I was going to be home. I was plowing along at 70 mph, south on I-71 — at least there weren't any cops around. I was trying to keep cool by using my old 4-70 air conditioner — all four windows down at 70 mph. |
| FIRETRAP By Michael Williams (Honcho.Sept.1981) The South Bronx district of New York is a decaying mountain of rubble and debris. The bombed out, burned down buildings that compose much of the area are the by-product of the angry, economically deprived people who live there. They are people born in the desperate wake of poverty who live in fear of never escaping it. The South Bronx was Jack's district. He'd been a fireman for three years and he'd seen it all. He had witnessed children being burned alive and dismembered in explosions and fires and he had been to many funerals for his fellow firemen. His comrades were dedicated men, many of whom gave their lives in exchange for an insurance payment collected by some bankrupt slumlord who'd decided his building was worth more burned than standing. Frustration was a big part of Jack's job and often it was difficult for him to see exactly what it was that he was accomplishing. |
