The Title Scene

I felt proud to stand on the 12th Street Stage with other titleholders at the Folsom Street Fair. "Here they are! Your leaders."

Leadership is an interesting word, a term that often provokes snide comments by many who question the role of those men and women who hold titles. Are titleholders truly leaders?

In the years that I have been involved, I recall a number of titleholders who have amazed me, Leather ambassadors who have worked to raise money and awareness for outstanding causes. And I have known others who have lacked the fortitude to complete their title years. Their motivation seems to have been nothing more than to win the notorious glory of a sash and a free trip to Chicago or San Francisco.

I opine that winning a title is much like stepping into the playroom as a Sir. The toys have been prepared. The limits of the scene, negotiated. The potential players, ready. But, as those of us who play understand, toys and preparation do not guarantee a hot scene.

A good scene, like a good title year, depends on playing without compromise. It requires an investment of the person unlike any other activity. A widening of the senses so that one can play in the moment. It also requires an infectious confidence in one's role as Sir, a strength that serves as a foundation for all activity in the playspace.

Throughout the years I have met men who have made substantial financial investments without any idea what to do with their newly purchased equipment. They believe that their acquired possessions qualify them to be instant Sirs. Often they will list their toys on personals sites in an attempt to convince others of their self-claimed status. But unless someone knows how to play, the toys have little value. I have done scenes in hotel rooms with improvized items purchased in convenience stores. Common for those of us who travel often. These scenes can often be the most fulfilling as they depend on ingenuity rather than equipment.

The night before Folsom I was the guest at the new home of an elder Leatherman. The handsome gentleman related tales from New York in the early seventies, of legendary bars and cruising areas. And he spoke of how he entered the scene with nothing other than an inexplicable desire. No expensive toys. No fancy chaps. Just a man with a hard cock and the balls to be part of the brotherhood of Leather.

A title year is a scene. And in keeping with my role as a Sir, I plan on playing hard. Happy Folsom 2010!

Fast Forward to Folsom

I went to my first Folsom Street Fair in 1991. A much smaller event then, yet still overwhelming, especially for a boy who could not get enough play.

One of my favorite memories of that occasion was the dungeon party the night before. To celebrate the evening's festivities, the International Mr. Drummer Contest, a group of us gathered at one of the bars along Folsom Street.

I stood nursing my drink in an attempt to look nonchalant about the invitation to remain after hours. "Just stay close to the back of the bar and don't say anything," I was told. Honored to be considered, I grabbed my beer and headed for a dark wall.

After the patrons had finished filing out and the doors had been locked, I looked around. Approximately twenty-five men total, all dressed in formal Leather gear. I recognized luminaries in the community, men that I had idolized for years in magazines and in person. And a bevy of titleholders, all known to be serious players.

My Sir told me that I would feel the flogger of the current International Mr. Leather that night. Then he tied me to an open beam and told me to wait, my back exposed to the center of the room. Suddenly, I felt the teasing of those first strokes, a warm-up for what was to follow. As the leather soon began to sting, I felt the rise of endorphins in my body, the flowering of a different consciousness. With more force now, the intensity gradually blossomed until I felt my entire body shake with each blow. More force than I had ever felt. Blow after blow for about an hour, until I knew that my skin had finally split open. At last, I felt the blood slowly drip down the curve of my back.

"You're bleeding," he said in a deep, quiet voice, shoving his ripe armpits in front of my face to service. "You know the safe word if you want me to stop," he taunted quietly .

"No, please Sir," I answered respectfully. I could tell how much he was enjoying the scene and I did not want to disappoint. I wanted to take as much as he would give me. "I can take more," I replied.

The next morning I walked shirtless under a glorious, San Francisco sun, proud to be a Leatherman. I felt privileged to bask in the brotherhood celebrated the night before. I walked in quiet protocol next to my Sir, turning around when beckoned to show off my wounds. In passing, another Sir ripped open the back of his boy's tank to display lacerations like my own. We compared wounds.

Almost twenty years later, I head back to Folsom with my partner by my side. I am thrilled to represent the Northwest Community of Leather/SM/kink men. As I carefully prepare my Wescos and my gear, polishing and oiling each piece as I was taught twenty years ago, I smile to think of my first Folsom. And, in spite of the fact that the Fair is no longer just for those in the Lifestyle, I anticipate it as much as I did in 1991. Still making new friends in the community and bursting with pride at being a Leatherman.

The Scholarship and the Psychophants: Why raise money for the Tony Deblase Scholarship Fund

During the next year, I have consented to whore myself to raise funds for the Tony Deblase Scholarship, a Pride Foundation scholarship that supports students entering the field of sex education, sex therapy research, or studies that further the understanding of sexuality, especially alternative sexuality. With tongue firmly in cheek, I am willing to work the streets for this cause, propositioning you both for financial support and for your participation at fund-raising events.

Recently I was asked why raise funds for a scholarship fund whose seed money already exists. This is an excellent question. Their are many in the community who helped raise the initial funds for this scholarship. Perhaps some may feel that the job was completed at that time. Others question the value of sex research, given the political and financial upheaval today. Finally, many flatter me with false kudos followed by such phrases as "you would be so much more effective as a titleholder by spending your time raising money for [name of esoteric non-profit organization]."

Ten years ago I returned to school and spent the next few years as both a student and a working professional. I understand the costs of higher education. My experience has shown me that for a scholarship to be truly viable, it must be able to alleviate this financial burden. Funding must be robust. I realize that this is especially true when I read of recent budget cuts in higher education, cuts that have caused tuition to rise at an alarming rate.

I also understand that obtaining money for sexual studies is not easy, especially funds to research the Leather/kink/alternative community. This research is extremely important not only because it helps us understand ourselves, but also because it helps diffuse the prejudice in our country against those who exist outside of society's approved definitions.

I have observed over the last two decades that Leathermen and Leatherwomen have long been the harbingers of sexuality. I am constantly amazed at the introduction of terms and fashions that we once guarded as our own. As a humorous example, a few months ago I happened to hear a conversation in the office. "Damn," said a married, heterosexual co-worker after a difficult telephone encounter with a client. "That wasn't even safe, sane, and consensual. I didn't even have a safe word!" Everyone laughed.

I was stunned. Terms introduced by Leatherfolk more than two decades ago now part of the mainstream discourse.

As I see it, Leatherfolk have long played an integral part in creating the discourse of mainstream culture. Our historic role for the last few decades.

Therefore, expect me to use the pedestal of my title to ask for your support. Join me in supporting the education of the next generation of Leatherfolk as they build on the foundation laid by those who came before. And if you can't donate, the least you can do is to tie someone up and hurt them in Tony's memory (plagarised without shame from the Tony Deblase Scholarship brochure).

Find more information about the Tony Deblase Scholarship at www.pridefoundation.org/scholarships/scholarship-funds/.

The Sexual Wild

Shakespeare posits in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" that society's sexual mores do not exist in the wild. As the four lovers fumble through the darkness, Robin Goodfellow, a satyr in British guise, opens up the lovers to a realm of relative possibilities that only exists outside the boundaries of their civilized world.

My sexuality is always heightened on the wilderness coast of Western Washington. After the first twenty-four hours, I feel more animal than human. I eat when I am hungry. I piss where I find a spot. I shit under a tree and cover my scat. And I always want to fuck. I feel comfortable in the wild.

This weekend I spent two glorious days on Second Beach near La Push, Washington. A special place to me not only because of its beauty but also because of its relation to my Leather lifestyle. I discovered it twenty years ago with a close friend in the Tribe, long before the trail was well marked and groomed. With its sea stacks, needles, and dramatic sea arch, there is no other beach that can compare in scenic drama. It is also a special place where my partner and I reconnect emotionally and physically.

Prior to leaving on Friday, I threw five pounds of clay into my pack. The next morning I sat looking out into the void of the Pacific Ocean and I felt the urge to work it. I connect with the malleable earth in a very direct way. The clay exposes my internal state. My karma.

The forms that emerged hours later were unabashedly sexual. A male torso that draws the eye down to his semi-erect cock. And two headless bodies merging in a power fuck with the Dominant straining as his rod penetrates the asshole of the recumbent form.

What a challenge to hike out with two clay forms in the "hard leather" stage! Over rocks, across a log strewn beach, and up the trail through the rain forest. And what fun to watch the faces of the day hikers as they came to pay tribute to "Twilight" (the book and the movie), passing me with full pack on my back and two forms held carefully in my hands.

This morning as the clay figures sit in my office drying in the sun, I am reminded that Leather ignites this same animal when I am in the city. An honest sexuality felt when I cover my body in hides. As Leatherfolk we pay tribute to the animal within when we invoke eagles, panthers, wolves, or dragons as totems. And we recognize our instinctual selves when we speak of Tribe. To invoke Geoff Mains, we recognize ourselves as "Urban Aboriginals."

What is a Leatherman like ME doing in a contest like this?

For twenty years I have dismissed title contests. "Not for this Leatherman!" I often said. As a professional performer who traveled extensively in the nineties, I had no time. In subsequent years, I reasoned that I was too old. "What is the big deal anyway?" I asked myself.

Also vying for the Northwest LeatherSir title, my Clan brother John, one of the newest members of the Dragons. A person that I did not know very well until this past weekend.

A title contest pushes contestants to the edge. After days and often weeks of preparation, contestants are asked to move quickly from one arena to another, from the very social Meet and Greet to the intensity of an interview facing a panel of judges. And then on stage in the spotlight, challenging even the seasoned performer. With limited time to eat and sleep, the weekend becomes a whirlwind of activities that continue almost non-stop until the Victory brunch on Sunday.

As energy wanes, contestants face challenges that are not apparent to those who have never participated in title contests. Questions arise within. Self doubt surfaces. Physical and emotional limitations come to the fore. And contestants find they must overcome the subsequent demons often while facing the unforgiving gaze of a bar crowd.

This pressure cooker brings contestants together for support. Exactly what happened this past weekend with John. As we walked back to The Cuff following our interviews on Saturday, I listened respectfully as he shared with me his personal feelings about Leather. And I answered his questions regarding my days as a rebellious and hard-playing boy. This was the beginning of a number of discussions that day that culminated in a greater understanding between us. A new bond between brothers.

While some may argue that titles no longer serve a purpose in the Leather community, I argue that they are worth it if only to bring contestants closer together. The bonds created are real. They are formed in the refiner's fire of public competition.