The Dungeon Wild

When we enter a dungeon space, we voluntarily leave the rational mind at the door. We enter the Wild, a dark jungle where instinct and pack dynamics reign. When we retreat, we often can be left with fear and confusion.

"I looked at my back and I could not believe what I did last night," wrote my boy after an intense impact/flogging/single tail scene. In the dungeon space, he had given himself to me with abandon. "I want to do this for you," he said in deference to my Dominance. And baring his back in the bar hours later, he beamed with pride beside me. However, at home before the mirror before going to bed, he contemplated the welts on his back and his logical mind countered the remnants of our scene. His mind puzzled over the darkness of his instinctual self.

Understanding that logic does not exist in the dark wild, we try to balance the experience with a discourse of consensuality. We often reason why we do these activities using psychology or spirituality to validate our involvement. These are but feeble attempts to understand the animal inside, the instinct that encourages us over and over again to play in the dungeon.

In the last ten years we have witnessed the acknowledgment of puppy play, and of animal play in general. Using fetish, we conjure up the animal within to enact power dynamics that are as real as our cultural interactions from day to day. As Leathermen we revel in animal play, delving further and further into its depths. Rather than basing the success of our play on technical prowess, arguing kink into the cultural discourse, we continue to invent new forms of play that probe the instinctual depths.

A Family Gift

We often talk about "family" in our Tribe. Most often we use this referring to those Leathermen and Leatherwomen who we have chosen to be part of our intimate group. Or referring to those who have chosen us. During the Holiday season, many of us also think of our birth families. For many, this can be a challenging subject.

I do not delude myself into thinking that my parents and siblings are happy that my sexuality is far left of "normal." And the fact that I accept this fact as much as the air that I breathe is not a cause of celebration in my family. I find this amusing, as my sexual proclivities and appetites are very much a biological inheritance.

In spite of my family's conservative religion, the sexual discourse is never absent in our private conversations. From these conversations, I would guess that there is no middle ground when it comes to sex in my family. Either a celebration of carnal pleasures within their relationships or a denial of them.

And as far back as I can remember I have been inquisitive about my body. Even before my first ejaculation, I knew how to make myself feel good physically and had no qualms about exploring pleasurable experiences with peers. I believe most of us acknowledged our "dark" side long before our first adolescent sexual experience. Hereditary predisposition?

I am a sexual adventurer, an explorer of the body. And I acknowledge this as much part of my heritage as the color of my skin, my physical build, and my Gayness.

A family trait, a gift, even if they do not celebrate it as freely as I do.

Get Ready for -

Photo by Travis Hughes

Honoring Steve Hines

Almost twenty years ago I was approached by Lee Willis with Guy Baldwin, and Jan Lyons. A boy still wet behind the ears, Lee told me about his pet project, a memorial plaque honoring those "fallen Leathermen and Leatherwomen."

"Would you help me plan a dinner for the presentation of the plaque?" he asked.

I felt quite humbled to be approached by these Elders of the Tribe and asked, "Why me?" I did not feel up to the task.

They explained that they wanted something "classy." A dinner with a performance of high caliber. With decades of experience as a professional ballet dancer, they knew I would do something worthy of the occasion. "I believe that the Leather community deserves the best," added Lee. "Don't worry. If you need help, just ask. We can do this together."

A few short weeks later Lee invited me over his house. "I need help," I said, as I helped him stretch the large piece of leather over the plaque's background. "I do not know how to go about planning a dinner. I know how to organize a show but not a dinner."

"Steve Hines," was his curt reply. "He will do a good job."

Steve was a friend in the community, handsome with a brush of a mustache and a quick smile. As the weeks flew by and the presentation of the event grew closer, I barely heard from Steve. And whenever I would ask him how things were going, he would simply say, "Everything's fine."

On the night of the presentation, I recall opening up Seattle's Russian Hall with Steve. As I unloaded boxes and boxes of food with him, I realized just how much he had done in preparation for the event. Diligently he had worked without fanfare. No paper plates and napkins for this event. He had prepared a high calibre meal that one might enjoy in a fine restaurant.

That evening, Russian Hall was filled with Leatherfolk not only from Seattle, but also from other cities. An evening as memorable as the plaque. After the dinner, the presentation of names, and the performance, I stood in the front of the hall as people were filing out. I looked over to the kitchen, Steve Hines still working in the kitchen.

"Quiet dignity." Two words that Guy Baldwin had shared with me many months before from a book by Geoffrey Mains. "A Leatherman has 'Quiet Dignity.'" As I watched Steve that night, these words returned. I realized that he exemplified these words in his service to the community.

Today, I remember Steve as a man who was always there providing help without complaint. As I look at the plaque hanging on the wall of The Cuff, I see Steve's name. He died three years after its presentation in 1994.

"Steve Hines, Seattle Daddy's Boy '90 - '91."

A man of service. A true Leatherman.

For more about The Memorial Plaque.