$14.95
ISBN 1573441945
available through
Amazon
Reviewed by Julian Robinson
(09/22/04)
"Come on, boy, come up with something real. Any fairy will do those things for me."
"I'll be your slave, Sir."
"That's right, boy, you'll be my slave. I'm going to put you through a test that will be worse than your worst vision of hell."
Occupying an indisputable place on any top ten list of leather literature, Mr. Benson is the gay male Story of O. It's that iconic and that well-written. The fundamental difference is that O is strictly fantasy, penned by a middle-aged Frenchwoman of literary prominence -- a woman who had no firsthand knowledge or experience of real-life sadomasochism -- as a come-on to an older Frenchman of even greater literary prominence. Mr. Benson, while possessing some fantastic plot elements, is based on activities that were going on in apartment bedrooms, black rooms, and dungeons all over Manhattan's West Village at the time, and still do.
Author John Preston (1945-1994), an activist for civil rights as well as gay rights, was a career writer and editor who always celebrated the sex in homosexuality. He edited The Advocate, as well as many other publications, both gay and straight, and founded one of the first American gay community centers in Minneapolis.
Mr. Benson was serialized in Drummer magazine starting in 1979; there were long lines waiting for the next installment at West Village newsstands. It tells the story of Jamie, a cute, cocky disco clone who doesn't even know what he's looking for when Mr. Benson finds him. Aristotle Benson, a man's man and a master's master, lives in a servant-attended penthouse on lower Fifth Avenue where his slaves are not permitted to use the furniture. He's a charter member of the Topmen, an international cadre of elite sadists.
Jamie not only falls in love, but senses the emptiness of his life and the meaning and purpose to be achieved under Mr. Benson's cruel tutelage. Calling this lifestyle d/s or a 24/7 scene mocks its almost religious solemnity. Jamie's quest purifies him, proofs him in the fires of torture, teaches him dedication, devotion, and duty.
Jamie is gradually, agonizingly molded into his master's ideal. Every morning he must kiss Mr. Benson's feet, shave his own pubes and asshole, polish Mr. Benson's boots, and meticulously clean his toilet. And that's just the beginning. A riding crop supervises Jamie's workouts. He's given to other masters and ordered to perform with other slaves. Jealousy is forbidden.
Jamie's flat tits are unacceptable, and Mr. Benson torments them nightly to bring them out, cuffing Jamie spread-eagle to a wall and attaching vicious sawtooth clamps:
"He'd leave me there for an hour sometimes....Red rivulets would travel down my chest and over my stomach and stain my jockstrap....The pain from those two little clamps tearing into my body every night was worse than anything else Mr. Benson did to me....He would watch me intently as I hung there."
The disciplinary rituals and strict protocol to which Jamie is subjected -- their style and substance -- derive from an archetypal and somewhat apocryphal gay male leather movement known as the Old Guard. Whether or not the Old Guard ever existed in a monolithic sense, understanding Mr. Benson today requires some familiarity with its historical influences and the style of sadomasochism they inspired.
In the WWII military, many gay men (closeted, of course) came to love the all-male camaraderie, the uniforms, and the discipline of their combat units. Depending on their buddies for moment-to-moment survival forged some of the closest bonds imaginable. A man lucky enough to be assigned to ride a motorcycle had it made. He could go where he chose, alone and free. This milieu created a new gay male identity counter to the previous effeminate stereotype. These men were not called pansies; these men were called "Sir." Their image was exemplified by the sculpted, powerful, ultimately macho musclemen drawn by Tom of Finland.
After the war, some disaffected veterans of various sexual preferences never bothered reintegrating into society. Many of these formed motorcycle gangs. The gangs lived by simple values and rough justice. They didn't particularly care whether a man was queer or even a sadomasochist, as long as he was tough, he could ride, and he placed loyalty to his buddies above all else -- for they were all outcasts. Denim and leather weren't fetishized at first, but worn for practicality, to save their skin should they take a tumble from their bikes.
Out of these factors emerged what came to be known as the Old Guard style of SM. Community acceptance required a long, hard apprenticeship, usually starting on the bottom. Leather was earned one piece at a time. They used tools, not toys, and called it work, not play. It was a craft, a calling, a quest. As Thom Magister wrote in his memoir, "One among many: The seduction and training of a leatherman:" "SM is the search for excellence in ourselves and in others." A master was a master craftsman, a highly-trained expert in the dark arts of physical domination. Command and obedience took on a military formality.
This is where Mr. Benson comes from.
The plot may be standard, with Jamie's apparent abandonment, and melodramatic, with his abduction by sinister villains, a device that Preston himself doesn't take too seriously: "Did you have to do it in Jersey City? Do you know what the media is going to do with a story about a slave ring selling blond boys to Arabs in Jersey City?"
But what makes Mr. Benson a superb piece of writing is John Preston's great skill in literary voice, an art involving much more than merely dialogue. The subtleties of prose rhythm, sentence structure, word choice, point of view, attitude, and emotion are masterfully orchestrated. Compare the narration, which is in Jamie's voice, to the short Epilogue, where Mr. Benson adds his gruff, crusty comments, retelling the story from his side:
Jamie: When you're a slave and you give in to the demands of a master, you are someone. But being someone demands having a master to give you meaning. You let them take it from you to give you something better back.
Mr. Benson: Not that he hasn't told you the truth, at least basically. He's right about the meeting, the training, and the ridiculous mess he got himself into. He's even right when he tells you this is basically a love story. I'm man enough to admit that I love the little bastard.
