Faggots

by Larry Kramer

Certainly the most famous of twentieth-century satires—George Orwell’s widely known visions of universal totalitarianism and Communism—have proved deceptive.

Chor

Unchecked male sexual performance, once past the phenomenal power of adolescence, has now been proven to demand irreplaceable expenditures of mental and physical energy far past the warnings of the direst priest or evangelist.

And who, reading Kramer, could have foreseen that the ego-rapt community which he portrayed could have—for the better part of two decades—so memorably converted itself into a force for the most humbling kinds of nursing care and deathbed vigils

“Baby, I want you to piss all over me!” Fred Lemish had never urinated on anything before, except perhaps some country grass late at night when he was drunk and no one was looking. “Or let me piss on you!”

hahahaaha

in ever so casually, no commitment, only a look, to fuck the friend, who had an attractive and perfectly rounded set of white buttocks, lying just right down there, staring up at him, saying Hello.

While he fucked the Slave, hoping all the while that Master would watch only and not give vent, Fred attempted to remember his decisions: Had he not decided to write about a Voyage of Discovery into this World in which he lived? This Faggot World.

“Buy a dog. Dogs are faggot children.”

“All I want is someone who reads books, loves his work, and me, too, of course, and who doesn’t take drugs, and isn’t on unemployment.”

Anyway, faggots don’t want to know about success. It reminds them of what they’re evading. I spent years becoming a success; when I tell a trick I wrote Sleep, it freaks them out. They either run away or start treating me like an old man.”

He belonged to two gyms and attended them regularly, alternating them to avoid monotony. At Sheridan Square (“The Magnificent Obsession”) Health Club, also known as “Bodyworks (but the mind doesn’t),” he could muscle-build close to home with the Village faggots,

And how his muscles had appeared! His body reacted, his pecs and lats and delts took form, his love handles diminished (Frigger’s suggestion of the Waist Sweat-er had worked!), his stomach tightened, he even had obliques!

fatless state of being in Great Shape, certainly better shape than any of his straight friends (how many of them worked out seven days a week?), and all was now obviously ready at last to lead on to consummation with Mr. Right. All those years of chunkery—was it to keep love away? For, if a faggot bartered with his body, hadn’t he best get his wampum in order?

And what better motivation for becoming a thing of beauty than being in love?

Fred was—in short—your average, standard, New York faggot obsessive kvetch. Nice though. And with smiling, dark-brown eyes. But perhaps a bit too therapeutically prepared. And trying not to ponder if what he has spent all those years and dollars and pounds

Feffer had been tall, blond, incredibly bright, gorgeous, his own age, a Wisconsin Phi Bete, who’d been wonderful until Fred unfortunately discovered he wanted to tie Fred up and beat him.

Dinky Adams’s ass was the first ass Fred had ever rimmed. He had, of course, heard about rimming. It was quite popular with some of the boys. But Fred had never wanted to so taste anyone before.

Dinky having just sterilized the douche’s doucher in hot water on the stove. As Dinky had squeezed it in, Fred realized, horror of horrors, that he was getting turned on. He liked this Dinky! He liked that he was having his first douche with someone he liked. He liked that he was evidently likeable enough for Dinky to get such a nice big hard-on over him. He liked it all. Yes, he did.

and looking up at him, at that thirty-year-old beauty, towering above him, handsome like the devil, with black hair rakishly widow’s-peaked in the center of his forehead, darting black eyes that sometimes looked at you, a round cherubic face protected by a full, short, neat, black beard, biceps the wonderful size of smooth, firm, elongated honeydews, under which resided Fred’s favorite spot, those beautiful armpits, soft, wispily fluffy, nice-smelling of Dial soap, and that rest of his body, a personal

Could it be that for all these years he was unknowingly harboring a very big cock and not only not knowing it, but not using it as well?

you who read books and design gardens and plan interiors and love to travel and dance and cook so well;

And in he stuck his tongue into Dinky’s asshole. He just did it. It tasted good. It tasted very good. It was smooth and clean, rather like a good quality moist satin. Dinky’s asshole was lined with a lovely ribbon!

And Dinky was obviously enjoying it, because he was growing an even larger hard-on than any Fred had seen him grow during their times together, which had not always been the case, Dinky’s hard-ons, which was something Fred didn’t like to think about or look at, as he now was looking at Dinky’s own present giganticism.

No, Dinky had showed him how. With tenderness. Dinky was the most tender lover Fred had ever known. He was soft and, while not actually giving—Dinky was not a kisser or a toucher, unless stoned, when he did both beautifully—he managed to convey in lying

Indeed, to be fucked pleasurably is a gift.

If clothes make the man, what were they making? A way of insisting they were men, more men than men?

navy for fuck and yellow for piss and mustard for big cock and red for fist fucking and robin’s egg for 69 and lighter blue for cock sucker and olive for military and green for hustler and brown for shit and orange for Anything and this kerchief or keys on the Left Side means I Do It To You and on the Right Side means You Do It To Me and on certain streets on certain days at certain times the code might be slightly altered if you knew certain people, and though all of this

I must confess something to you.” “Confess.” “I must confess to you that I’ve read they go and do it in the bushes and on islands and, would you believe, inside of trucks.”

“Love is many things to many people. Love is very complicated. Love is a many-splendored thing.”

to find abandonment and freedom through ecstasy

Everyone’s been to the gym. Even the uglies have muscles.

he was not only good-looking, the president of his class, and liked by all the girls, and boys, too (we all know the type), but his private parts, which Randy had witnessed in the ever-popular gym period, brought out a strange sensation in Randy’s mouth which made him want to know that type, too. He could not put his finger on it exactly, but he instinctively knew that he wanted to take that saintly penis in his mouth and suck it.

How to get that dick in his mouth? How to do it?

slobbered, and Robbie’s penis shortly heeded its call to glory. The bigger it got, the more fervent the liturgical incantations, and, at the moment of orgasm, Robbie, for one brief moment, thought he was entering the Kingdom of Heaven. He almost passed out. It was his very first coming. Randy had bagged his first virgin. Swallowing every drop

The auditorium lights went on, the curtain swung open, and there, before a simply riveted audience of nine hundred boys and girls, swung a wan and exhausted Jesus, his panties down around his lipsticked ankles and his dangling (unfortunately uncircumcised and therefore historically miscast) penis dribbling the last few drops of distinctly mortal fluid.

Randy knew it was time to reroute his direction, to quit both the Defenders of Zeus and Pepperdine University (a rather right-wing, religious place, on the way to Malibu) and, with an appetite whetted by so much experience in theatricals, to enter show business at

He went from mail room to board room in lickety-split time by a combination of charm, insolence, innuendo, instinct, chutzpa, brains, various chicaneries and good lucks—in other words, your typical American rise to the top, stopping along the way to

Who are these people, I don’t want to be like these people, I don’t want to be like anybody in Mt. Rainier, Maryland, ever, ever, ever. Imagine complaining about the price of food and getting up at 6:30 every morning to go to work.

He left them a note: “Dear Mr. and Mrs. Purvis, I am now sixteen years old and desire to be my own man. I shall continue my education in the World. Please don’t hurt and please don’t look for me. I don’t want to come back. Goodbye and fond remembrances, Timothy Peter Purvis.”

A word of warning …” “Shut up, Rolla,” Durwood said. “… about our fair city. We have good faggot folk and we have bad faggot folk. Just like everyone else. I myself, being well-heeled and in constant communication with my mother in Ho-Ho-Kus, New Jersey, whose sensibilities I would in no way injure, am able to see all sides from on high. I hope you will feel free to seek my advice, should your own judgment require counsel.”

“OK, kid, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I really love you, Dinky. I’ve missed you a lot. Your being away has made that abundantly clear. I can’t live without you.”

Fred inlove

’twould appear that if Fred Lemish spent half as much time writing as he did hoping Dinky Adams would say “I love you,” he’d have a ten-foot shelf. And if Dinky Adams spent half as much time legitimately planting and fertilizing as he did scattering his seeds to the winds, he’d be New York’s leading gardener. Though, of course, as we shall continue to see, he already is.

Through the portals came, among others, five attorneys, three art directors, seven models, ten would-be models, twelve said-they-were-models, one journalist, three hair-dressers (one specilizing in color), two antique dealers, one typewriter repairman, one manager of a Holiday Inn, one garbage collector, two construction workers, one toll collector from the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, three policemen, two firemen (one from out of state), seven hustlers (three full-time), one elevator operator (Garfield’s landlord’s son), one bass player, five doctors, twelve students, one ethnic dancer, two restaurateurs (one fancy, one shit food), one judge (rather old, but Garfield had to remember business),

orgy participants

newscaster, one weather man, one football player, one folk singer, four truck drivers, twenty-nine on unemployment, eleven unidentifieds, and the new assistant Orthodox rabbi for a congregation in Seattle. And these were just the starters. The evening had all the earmarks of an eventful one, and Garfield, already busy in the maid’s room with a Puerto Rican efficiency expert, was thus occupied when Winnie Heinz, from across a crowded room, fell in love with Timmy Purvis.

So Troy sucked on, vaguely aware that Timmy was having trouble encompassing as much food as Troy was offering. But the lad was trying, bless his heart, and that was something. Then suddenly, before Troy could wedge his nourishment a little bit further into Timmy’s perfect if still impractical mouth, Timmy’s perfectly inexperienced cock began to emit his little load and Troy, the perfect gentleman, concentrated less on himself and more on keeping up the excitement to the last second for the young boy who was obviously having one of his First Experiences. Ah, well, Troy thought, I’m the daddy once again.

his little ass is squirming for more, wriggling about wanting me to fuck it, look, no don’t look, at the drops of blood on Garfield’s Bill Blass sheets,

Fred never stopped looking for Dinky to appear, from out of the shadows, across a crowded room, back into his arms, and away we go: into the moonlight, into Life!

after a wonderful night of … I said I’m in love with you.”

“No, you’re not,”

“Well, you simply must, you absolutely must. Life is passing us by. Don’t go and fall in love. Bella warned you. Everyone warned you. You just won’t listen. Bela believes that what we most want out of life is our good times.

Winnie was down on his famous knees, sucking off the Jewish cock of Fred Lemish, a little older than he liked them, but young Jews tonight seemed hard to find. Fred, of course, could not believe his good fortune, this, again, was why he loved the baths, for the jackpot nights, like riding the subway and knowing you’re better than somebody, this gorgeous beauty certainly thought so, where had he seen that face?