This item is a rare and vintage publication titled JOCK No.1 featuring a 15 page ETIENNE (aka STEPHEN) comic titled "LOCKER ROOM" aka "JOCK ITCH" about a jealous dude who tries to blackmail a pair of football jocks who find love in the locker room, and well, get's what's coming to him." Also included are two pulp fiction stories titled "FAUST" and "SUMMER LOVE". This magazine was produced in 1972 using "CUSTOM PRINTED" heavy stock paper. It is oversized at 8-1/2” x 11”. It is still in UNREAD condition. This item is DEADSTOCK and the original distributor never sold it; it has been in storage for a 50 years.
"As was drove to the ranch, Julio said very little, but I was able to find out that we had been a hand on the Rocking-H since he was fifteen. He had been orphaned when a truck of migrant workers had turned over in a ditch and he was thrown clear--the only survivor. Uncle Jack and his wife had taken him in, and were encouraging him to read--Aunt Doris had taught him most of his English.
The second night after my arrival after all the family news had been exchanged, I wandered around the ranch alone, meeting everyone, and found Julio to be the only person even near my age. I struck up a conversation with him about Tom Sawyer. Finding a treasured and familiar subject released Julio from his former shyness, he confided in me about the "Tom Sawyer cave" that he had discovered in a back canyon above the ranch. It took me awhile to discover that Julio's "cave" was actually an abandoned mine.
To an Easterner, an abandoned gold mine is the symbol of Western romance, so I immediately wanted to arrange for us to pack-in for a couple of days. Julio cautioned me not to let my Uncle Jack know where we were headed, or he might object that it was too dangerous. Julio said that he knew the place well, and would see that I was safe. My brief annoyance at his protective attitude faded quickly. I patted Julio affectionately on the shoulder--much the same as I would pay my faithful dog, Bruno.
Having convinced Uncle Jack that we were headed into the lake area, we set off in the right direction on horseback with a pack mule. But once we had entered the cover of the trees, we cut off up Split Rock Canyon toward the abandoned mine. By the time we reached the mine site, I was no longer quite so cocky; was obviously out of my element, but I was not about to admit it to Julio. We found two of three structures still standing-one in decent enough repair for shelter from the August sun, but open enough to allow the pine breeze through.
Julio immediately set about making the necessary practical camp arrangements. | magnanimously undertook to tether the horses and mule in the trees. Just above, the settlement contained a spring-fed pool, clear and inviting. But I was eager to explore the mine, so, without waiting for Julio, I boldly set out on my own. I was surprised to find the mine entrance was actually a natural cave at its entrance. My curiosity led me into the dark just beyond the light from the wide mouth, and with childish bravery I made my way deeper into the interior by running my hand along the walls and sliding my feet along the loose, rocky floor. Suddenly, I felt the ground begin to give way under me. In the blackness, I became aware of crumbling earth echoing into a deep shaft with a hollow, muted splash. Frantically, I reached out for the solid support of the wall, but I found none.
At that second, someone grabbed me, pinning my arms to my sides, and began pulling me backwards toward the entrance. I could feel the unyielding soft-hardness of work-strong muscles, hear the pounding heart machinery, smell the salty sage and mesquite sweat, the amber breath of panic from my captor, as Julio dragged me into the sunlight. Apparently, it dawned on Julio that what had started out as panic was becoming passion, and he did not release me, he merely relaxed his hold and turned it into a caress. When I realized my own passion, I went rigid with guilt, and turned on him in anger- "What the hell are you doing?" "The cave drops off inside," was all he said. He made no reference to the final outcome of his rescuing embrace. Sensing my confusion, Julio simply shrugged, turned and walked to the shack. Left to myself, I strode up to the spring and threw myself down to drink. My mouth was like cotton, and a fit of shaking overcame me as the shock of my narrow escape hit me. I lay there-Nar-cissus admiring himself_and my inner quivering seemed reflected in the dappled water…”
ALL MODELS IN THIS MAGAZINE ARE CERTIFIED BY THE PUBLISHERS TO BE OVER THE LEGAL AGE OF 18, AS REQUIRED BY FEDERAL LAW.
Due to recent delivery issues with the USPS I now ship all magazines, digests and paperback books via Priority Mail. Up to $100 of insurance is included in this price. If you require additional insurance please let me know before I invoice you. I’m selling my collection of vintage 1950-1980s gay pulp paperback novels, pictorial and hardcore magazines, physique photography, magazines, artwork and other LGBTQ ephemera.