Entertainment Golden Shower Godfather Troughman

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  1. MilkyDischarge

    MilkyDischarge Se suelto el diablo Gold

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    I Am Troughman: Meet the Elusive Godfather of Golden Showers
    In 1978, a 28-year-old man sat in a bathtub in the basement of a gritty New York City gay bar and asked other men to piss on him. What happened next became the stuff of folklore
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    Author Luke Malone

    Posted: 09/11/14 16:07

    Barry Charles walked through the red door at 835 Washington St. in New York’s Meatpacking District late one Saturday night. It was the first time the then-28-year-old Australian had visited the Mineshaft, a notorious gay leather bar that served as the inspiration behind William Friedkin’s seminal film Cruising. This was 1978, pre-AIDS, and Charles found himself surrounded by other men in various states of undress.

    Exploring the club, he came across a bathtub in the basement. “We know what that’s there for,” quipped his friend. Charles was too embarrassed to admit he didn’t, not that it mattered—he was soon to find out.

    Later that evening, he was again downstairs when someone climbed into the tub. Barely a minute passed before another man started pissing on him, setting off a chain reaction. Charles himself was nearby blowing someone at the time, and the guy began to urinate in his mouth. “I’d never thought about it before. It hadn’t occurred to me that that was a sexual activity,” he says now. “I just loved it from the first moment.”

    He turned out to be a quick study. About 20 minutes later, the bath vacated, and he wasted no time jumping in. He was in and out for the rest of the night, at one stage sharing it with another man wearing army fatigues. He says they were surrounded by 10 to 12 men at any one time, men who were either focusing their attention on the pair or taking part in their own scene off to the side.

    It was around 5 or 6 a.m. when Charles finally left and walked out into the early morning air, his body and clothing drenched in urine. He headed to the subway and felt a buzz of excitement as he made the long journey home. “I felt I’d discovered something,” he says. “I had such a great night.”

    hanky code, as it’s known, is a way for people to advertise their preferred sexual kink with the use of different colored hankies—an idea he’d borrowed from men in New York and San Francisco. He was standing at the urinal alongside other guys and, with Signal lacking the facilities of the Mineshaft, decided to take matters into his own hands.

    “I thought, This is all going to waste, and I just got straight down there and started getting pissed on,” he says. “It was instant rapport. These guys were all into the leather and S&M scene and they were right up for it straight away. And the bar management didn’t mind. They thought it was great fun.”

    To his knowledge, it was the first time that a watersports scene had been initiated within a commercial venue in Sydney. What he didn’t know at the time was that he had also just created the beginning of a legend. Lying in that urinal at Signal, an underground icon was born—and his name was Troughman.

    By the early 2000s, the name Troughman had taken on an almost mythical quality within the Sydney party scene. Men and women of a certain age, usually in their early 30s and up, would tell stories about the friend of a friend who had seen him at parties. But a lot of younger people didn’t know what to make of it. Was Troughman real? Or just an urban legend used to bolster the idea that they’d missed out on the wild, bacchanalian days of yesteryear? Whichever the case, they were still more than happy to help propagate the rumors, along with additional developments, including news of his alleged death from hepatitis.

    The story goes that the mystery man would climb into the trough at major gay dance parties, such as the post-Mardi Gras party or the raunchier Sleaze Ball, and ask guys to piss on him. He would stay there for much of the night, his very presence encouraging guys to create all-out, no-holds-barred orgies.

    It turns out that these stories were true to life.

    “When the parties started in 1982, they were less regulated than they are now. They didn’t have to have masses of security, because everyone was on the same wavelength, they were all there to enjoy themselves,” he says. “That period was unbridled excitement as far as the parties were concerned, and what happened in my case was that, as I said before, seeing all this piss going to waste when there were about 5,000 people at a party, well, if I just hung around the toilets long enough, I could get things going, and that’s what I started to do.”

    To help things along, Charles says he would enter the toilets around midnight in the Hordern Pavilion, the longtime site of the Mardi Gras and Sleaze parties, and climb up to disable the lighting by unscrewing the fluorescent tubes. Once the lights were out, the action would begin—some people, he says, were too nervous or inhibited to take part in a well-lit bathroom. After a few years, someone managed to find a way to kill the lights via a control panel.

    “The lights would go out, and immediately people would start coming together,” he says. “Then some sort of backup system would come into play, and the lights would come back on, and you’d have the hilarious thing of people groaning and starting to separate again, but then someone was able to very quickly disable that system as well, and then it was on for the rest of the night. That’s why the parties became what they were and how I became a legend.”

    “Seeing all this piss going to waste when there were about 5,000 people at a party... If I just hung around the toilets long enough, I could get things going.”
    The sexual happenings that Troughman helped initiate—where he’d be pissed on by “easily over 100 or more” men each night—operated with clock-like regularity over the better part of the next two decades. Though in the late ’90s, his interest began to wane. The parties became more homogenized as corporate sponsors began to realize their potential, and the site of the venue itself was leased out to Rupert Murdoch’s News Corp. Things started to change.
     
  2. SouthernListen

    SouthernListen I don't follow the crowd. Sorry about that. VIP

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