Coming Full Circle (What are Title Contests Good For?)

I end this blog as I began 11 months ago. Although my title year representing the Northwest Region is not finished, I now begin a new phase of my journey as International LeatherSIR 2010.

My friends know that I am NOT a title type. At least, that WAS the popular belief. Now I realize that I make the title. There is no "type." Once I thought that titles meant little. Now, I see clearly what a title contest can do. It can help build community.

Eleven months ago I ran for the regional title and, as a result, grew closer to my brother, John. This week, I went on the ILSb ride and met amazing men and women from around the continent. Together we went on our journey. I represent these people as I begin my year. In short, titles can build brotherhood. ILSb's Mark Frazier emphasized this concept over and over again this week.

The experience is truly unique in our busy, Internet world. It is what might be termed a "slow" experience. Like the choice ingredients one uses in the culinary experience of "slow food," ILSb brings together potential family and then turns up the heat. As the process continues, one find himself/herself changed by the flame. It is not instant. And at times one feels quite jostled, much like liquid in a slow boil.

The result: An actual family is created. Not a virtual or rhetorical family. An actual group of brothers and sisters.

A great deal of thanks goes to my great producer and brother, Gene Romaine. My Leather family and my clan. And to my regional community.

Happy Dore Alley!

Embracing the title -

Many years ago I sat next to Tony Deblase in an airport lounge after a Living in Leather Conference in Chicago, my sir by my side. Tony and my sir spoke for a while quietly in hushed tones. Suddenly, Tony turned to me and asked, "Have you ever thought of running for a Drummer title?"

"No, Sir," I replied. "I am not a titleholder type," I added in clarification.

His retort was simple and direct, "Think about it."

In the ensuing years, I thought about it. I thought about it while I was on the road touring with musical theatre. I thought about it while I was going from city to city teaching movement at colleges and dance studios. And I thought about it as I prepared to return to school for the third time near the end of the nineties.

Finally, I stopped thinking about it entirely. Over the years, people stopped asking me to run for a title. No one even suggested it. I had convinced everyone that I was a non-title type. Indeed, I was far too busy professionally to dedicate the time needed for such a task.

Two years ago, to the shock of my partner and to myself, I began thinking about running for Northwest LeatherSir. I saw things in the community that concerned me. I saw men donning leather and immediately claiming to be sirs. I saw boys putting themselves at risk. I witnessed political intrigues and gossip draining energy from the community that I loved. I decided that I could make the most difference if I stepped up and ran for a title.

During the last eleven months I believe that I have made a difference. My influence has been felt, not so much because of the things I say, but rather, because of the things I do from day to day. In short, the title has not been as much a spotlight as a follow spot. What I do matters whether shopping in casual clothes, in a suit at work, or in full Gear. People watch. They observe the protocols my boys keep 24/7 when they are with me. They know that I will go to great lengths for my boys, that I believe in them.

Today I travel to San Francisco to compete in International LeatherSIR. The road to this point has been interesting, not always the most direct one to the observer but quite direct from my vantage point.

In spite of the weeks of preparation, my head feels quite empty. But my heart is very much alive, the part of a sir that is foundational to all that we do in Leather.

Happy ILSb and Dore Alley Weekend!

Fuck Titles!

A title does not make a leader. A leader makes a title.

I believe this is the problem that we face in the Leather Tribe relative to titles. That is, some believe that leadership comes from the sash.

Stage time does not make a leader. A loud voice does not make a leader. Outrageous behavior does not make a leader. Nor does a full wardrobe of purchased leather.

A Leader understands the opportunity that the title affords and uses it for the Tribe. A sashed Leader also understands that the most effective tool of leadership is the example he/she sets day to day. And that opportunities for true service only come through humility.

A few days ago I faced a firing squad of judges in preparation for ILSb. Not a pleasant experience. I stood steadfast and listened to feedback and thought, "Very important that I change the way I deliver my answers. I want to win."

At the end of the group interrogation a fellow sir approached me, someone who I hold in high regard. We are friends, with a mutual respect that most sirs possess, but not extremely close.

He expressed his concern about his boy and asked for my help. He went on to express his respect for me as a sir. I was touched deeply by his expression of respect.

Immediately after I was forced to contemplate what makes a leader. Was it the sash that persuaded this sir to ask for my help? No. Rather, it was the rapport that I enjoy with my own boys, the way that I live as a Sir.

I love parades. And I enjoy being on stage. By profession, I am a performer. But these things do not make me a Leader. Rather, it is my compassionate heart as a Sir; the fact that I care deeply about my boys. They are my family. And my community knows that I defend them like a Lion when they are in physical or emotional danger.

Titles are only relevant if titleholders understand that leadership originates from the heart, not from the sash. True leadership emanates from ones way of life.

Living in Leather!

My community

What is community?

This weekend I enjoyed two plus days of non-stop play and comraderie at the Blood, Sweat, and Fear run. An event sponsored by the Dragon Clan, the run was designed to bring together Dragons, whelps, and Queer friends who enjoy heavy play.

The beauty of this run was its open nature. For more than 48 hours, about forty of us played and socialized as a Tribe. From the arrival of guests on Friday to the hour of departure on Sunday, people laughed, played, dined, and played some more. I did not think of the run as a collection of scenes. Rather, the play evolved seamlessly out of social interactions.

No terms exist to describe what we actually did, or to define the bonds that we created. We use words like "Tribe" and "community" to refer this collective. Often these words are co-opted by others, applied in hollow fashion to clubs and money-making endeavors.

To me, the community represents the cooperative that comprised this run. And it is the network of others who come together around the globe for similar runs. These are the people who feed my soul, the Tribe to which I belong together with my boys. This is my community.

Portland Pride

Nothing better than a road trip with members of my Clan, especially when the purpose is to celebrate Pride!

Together with Gene Romaine, his boy Mitch, and my boy pj, we headed for Portland, Oregon on Saturday morning. Upon arrival we met Northwest Leatherboy dan who greeted us with hugs and a hearty laugh.

When we finally settled into our room at the Marriott, I decided to reward our trusty driver pj by binding him securely on the bed with three hanks of hemp rope. A happy boy who soon fell fast asleep for a well-deserved nap.

As if in counterpoint to pj's subservience, dan decided to tell jokes with his unique brand of irreverence and frivolity. After telling one joke too many, Gene and I gave him a time out in the corner. And to complete the "punishment" a trash can was placed on his head, in lieu of a dunce cap.

Hours later we joined more family and together enjoyed a hearty Thai meal.

To complete the evening, a trip to the Eagle for the Bear's monthly beer bust.

Next morning we confronted looming storm clouds and the promise of rain. And the weather did not disappoint. By the time we arrived at the parade holding area, the light rain started. It continued throughout the day.

Nothing stirs up a Pride crowd more than the crack of a whip. Gene and I spent the entire parade route cracking our whips in syncronicity, pausing only to face off in the occasion whip duel. As the parade moved on, the sweat began to run. Finally I shed my sash and shirt and let the cool rain wash over my torso. Freedom of movement at last.

Today I am sore, with the muscles in my back and right shoulder aching from the hundreds of throws.And I look forward to next weekend's Pride in Seattle, my home city.

Thank you, Blackout Leather Productions, for the opportunity to join you in celebration of Portland Pride.

NW LeatherSir and Leatherboy host Twisted Family Picnic

The Butch Factor

The Butch Factor is a film that claims to examine the idea of masculinity in current Gay culture. During the course of the documentary, sports types, blue collar workers, rodeo cowboys, authors, drag queens, bears, and transmen are interviewed. However, in spite of the barage of images of Leathermen, the directors of this film chose to gag us. Rather than allowing a member of the Tribe to speak, Leather was used as a backdrop for the hypermasculine in Gay culture.

Recurring clips of men on Folsom Street wearing chaps and harnesses peppered the ninety minute film. And Tom of Finland's iconic images of muscled Leathermen were in abundance. Still more surprising was the fact that the entire history of Leather was appropriated to support the premise of the film without acknowledging to whom this history belongs. Even black and white images of early Gay motorcycle clubs complete with covers and jackets!

This film suggests that Leather has emerged from the shadows of Gay culture only to be placed within the darker context of the Other. An object of desire without voice. I believe this is necessary so as not to interfere with the prevalent drive by many Gay men for acceptance into society at large. Throughout the film, we are reminded that the men interviewed are just like heterosexual men. Except, of course, for the fact that they suck cock and fuck each other up the asshole.

As a Leatherman I do not want acceptance by either polite Gay society or the hegemonic group. Nor do I want the culture of my Tribe to be brought into the light and subsequently appropriated. I prefer to remain in the shadow together with my rebel Tribe.

Boise boys and Ruff-n-Tumble

This weekend reminded me that as Leather and kinkfolk, we are everywhere. A well-attended event in Boise, with a contagious enthusiasm from the uninitiated and the curious.

Boise is a small, liberal city located in the middle of a desert of Mormon towns in southwest Idaho. Steeped in the conservative pioneer history of that religion, the state is a bastion of intolerance that hides under the masque of patriotism. This, in addition to its location and size, prejudiced my expectations. I did not expect to find a burgeoning community of like-minded Gay and Pan folks.

Together with the other Northwest title-holders, Leatherboy dan and Community Bootblack Scout, we arrived on Friday to present classes and demonstrations on Leather history, protocols, ropework, single tails, and bootblacking, with a hearty dollop of electroplay thrown into the mix.

On Saturday at one in the afternoon I conducted a discussion focusing on the history of Gay Leather and moving into the dynamic between a Sir and His boy, the foundation of the Tribe. To complete the class, I held a public negotiation between myself and boy dan. Earlier in the day over breakfast, I told him that I was anxious to give my signal whip a workout on his back, an idea that terrified him. I made my comment while breakfasting with others who would be in attendance.

"But that isn't fair," dan remarked. "How can I say 'No' to a whip scene if the negotiation takes place on stage?"

"you can alway refuse," I answered. "My toy bag will be onstage and I have plenty of things to play with." I smiled, knowing now that boy dan was facing a fear that he had voiced months before during a public dungeon.

(Note to boys: If you tell your Sir about your fears, you are laying a blueprint for future play together.)

As boy dan and I negotiated the scene publicly at the climax of the class, he voiced his trepidation again. "I don't want my back ripped up and bloodied," he said.

"My intention is NOT to bloody you or to split your back open. Trust Me! And you can always tell Me to stop if it becomes too intense. But you won't. you'll see."

Moments later he was standing with arms outstretched under the kiss of my beautiful single tail, its plaited colors moving effortlessly from my hand, curling in the air, to land in the meaty center of his back.

A brave boy.

That evening I faced two nervous but eager boys that I would use in my rope demonstrations. The first was scheduled at 8:45. As soon as I touched the rope to the wrists of the first well-defined boy, he responded. His eyes widened and his voice became soft and almost child-like.

"I like this," he said quietly.

Winding the 8mm hemp around his chest, under his arms, weaving a harness that would attach to the wrist restraint, his body became more and more taut. his lean muscles pulsed against the rope and I could feel myself growing hard in my tight, leather pants.

I watched as he walked up to the mirror at the side of the room to admire himself. "May I wear this for a while?" he asked. "I like this a lot. 'In restraint there is freedom,'" he added, citing an artist that he admired.

I love intelligent boys!

An hour later as I unwound the rope, he sighed in dismay.

"Don't worry," I assured him. "you will be joining in the second demo later," my remark rewarded with a flashing smile.

Shortly before the second demo at midnight, the boys wired up their cocks under my direction. With wires strategically placed through the belt loops of their jeans, we were ready.

Again on stage, the first boy's eyes became focused, intense. And as if to counter his intensity, the second boy grinned from ear to ear. I began by binding the two together wrist to wrist. Then I constructed a dual chest harness so that they were forced to look at each other face to face. As I tied them up, I forced my hand between their chests, rising and falling together in nervous breaths. Finally, I attached the Tens unit. Two separate circuits.

The boys did not disappoint. Working the controls, I played one against another. Laughter against intensity. The softer muscles of one boy (a farm-bred from Idaho Falls) pushing against the lean frame of the other.

I felt as if I were playing two instruments in an improvised, double concerto. To add variation, I suddenly proclaimed loudly, "Oh shit, I forgot which dial belongs to which circuit." And then the fun really started. The combination of rope, electricity, and mind games created an entertaining scene to watch and a satisfying scene for all three participants.

Later, one of them said, referring to the other boy, "I didn't know this guy before but now I feel so close to him. Wow!"

That remark alone made my trip to Boise worthwhile. A player is born.

Fetish | Mask

I pull the vegetable tanned leather mask off the positive form and examine it. Feeling the smooth, shiny surface of the external side, I turn it over and place it on my studio desk. The intentional ridges of the wolf mask appear as furrows in the complexity of its valley. The indentation of the muzzle, flesh-toned and velvety. The eyes, still waiting to be opened.

Slowly extracting my engorged cock from my jeans, I stand over the mask face down, a negative shape ready to be filled, and I begin stroking.

The traditional method of shaping leather still amazes me. A technique hundreds of years old. The result continues to make me hard, leather hammered and smoothed for hours.

Stroking faster, I aim for the hollow of the upper lip.

I feel the cum work its way up my thick shaft, the head of my cock now as tumescent as the exterior of the mask appears. I pump faster, and then I shoot. My white, sticky load coats the hollow and then slowly spreads into the muzzle. Squeezing out the last few drops of cum, I rub it on my fingers and then on the inside surface of the mask. I manually work the thick ooze into my inverted face.

Tomorrow, I will coat the inside yet again with thin shellac to preserve the mask's form. This will also permanently adhere my dried cum to the heavy leather.

My wolf -

Northwest LeatherSir, Leatherboy, and Community Bootblack Head to Boise

For more information about this event, see the ruff-n-tumble website.

Fucking politics

Fucking on film can be a political act when the man in front of the camera falls outside the capitalist notion of the sexual icon. The historic consumption of porn focusing on younger men, some often in leather drag as Sirs, parallels misogyny in the hetero culture. Many porn studios, like fashion magazines, assume that younger is better. However, this trend does not reflect the values of our Tribe built on the Sir/boy paradigm. Nor does it reflect the constant stream of requests I receive from boys who want to be trained. And I am not naive enough to be believe that this is based solely on my experience in Leather, especially since the requests come via Internet sites such as Recon and M4M Kink.

The celebration of the experienced Daddy in Gay porn, whether in a suit or in chaps and cover, is aligned with the respect offered to a Sir in traditional Leather. Instead of complaining about penile dysfunction or prostrate hypertrophy on camera, the older man actively thrusts himself not only into the ass of the submissive, but also into the consciousness of consumers.

Older men fuck. They are sexual. And they love to cum.

For What It's Worth

"Stop! Hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look what's going down." (Stephen Stills)

As a child of the sixties, I still hear the sound of revolution in the acts of deviance that define my Leather. Leather is about breaking rules, pushing boundaries, venturing outside of the group. Like the activists of my adolescence, I do not measure myself by the meter of the status quo but by the clarion call of my own heart.

Leather requires that I must never settle comfortably as a member of the group. Popularity is a cancer, eating away at the foundation of the training I received as a Leatherboy. For this reason, I have avoided titles for almost twenty years. Until this year, that is.

Halfway through my title year, I find I have little patience for bullshit. Today I stage a new revolution and encourage you to do the same.

Don't give a FUCK about those who enter our Tribe carrying with them the same bad manners and rumor mongering ways as those in the mainstream. Shun them as our Elders did. Do not join in the small talk of politics and gossip. To quote one of the Temple rules that have been handed down in Zen for centuries, "Keep the stopper in the bottle!"

When I play, I see trust in the eyes of the boy. I work his body, allowing My energy to remove any societal barriers that might stand between himself and My own demons. I allow him to see deep within Me and do not flinch when he looks back in terror and confusion. Whether with rope or with fear, I have bound him. And when he finally opens himself to Me without compromise, this is Leather. Without requesting it, I receive the boy's gift. I receive it with honor.

First and foremost, W/we are M/men of honor. Without it, we flounder in the values of the mainstream.

The Politics of Watersports

From a conversation about building community-

Me: Many sirs seem to spend a great deal of time in competition, lifting their legs against trees to mark their territory.

Aubrey: Personally, I would rather piss on a boy!

Unlocking the boy

With My collar fastened tightly around his neck and his hands bound tightly behind his back, the handsome submissive watches Me intently. he knows that I intend to push him to his limit, then beyond. he has watched Me as I played with others earlier in the weekend. "You are a hard SM Top, Sir," he remarks.

With electrodes fastened to his cock and balls, I begin. "Let Me feel the pain through your open mouth," I admonish. And I kiss him hard. he yields by opening his mouth, his tongue probing quickly into My own.

I turn on the Tens unit and begin to adjust the juice with My right hand. I place My left hand behind his head and force him to kiss My opened mouthed even harder. I do not shy away from the passion that I feel for him. An instinctual feeling that comes from a beastial center.

I turn the Tens dial and feel the tension in his body increase. his tongue moves wildly within My mouth and I return with tongue thrusts of My own. he succombs by opening his mouth wider and groaning. he strains against the rope, making his beautifully orbed biceps stand out.

"Good boy!" I growl quietly as I draw My mouth away and turn down the juice.

he breathes hard now and looks at Me. The lines on his temples smooth. I can tell that he, too, has unlocked the passion deep within himself. Nothing turns Me on more than seeing an intelligent boy surrender to instinct during play. he is helpless.

I turn up the juice and begin again. Open mouths, tongues, and I hold him against Me. he is a generous boy and relishes My attention by searching My mouth with his tongue, thrusting in and out like an erect cock. By sharing the gnosis of his journey toward the pain, he drives Me forward. I continue cycling the electricity and bask in the strength of O/our passion.

After 40 minutes I turn the Tens unit off and draw back slightly. he gazes at Me a vulnerable and trusting boy. "I want You to train Me to take more pain," he says. "I want to serve you and make you proud of Me. I want to be your pain pig."

Moments later W/we collapse on the bed. he is still hard. I place his handsome head on My chest. the boy that I had sensed two days before has now fully emerged. A bond has been established between U/us, LeatherDad and son, a foundation that W/we will build upon for years to come.

"May I call you 'Daddy Sir'?" he asks.

I receive the gift of his request. "Of course," I reply quietly, holding him firmly to Me. I feel him readjust his body to fit My own, his pecs filling the hollow between My chest and My navel. he strokes My abs and returns My embrace.

A Sir and His boy

I will be facilitating a discussion about the Sir/boy dynamic for Seattle Men in Leather's Tribal Instincts this Friday, February 19th, from 8 pm - 10 pm.

I believe the Sir/boy bond is foundational to everything we do in the post-modern Leather Tribe. Although the application of protocols may differ today, still, the dynamic has not changed much since I first came out in 1985.

I consider my boys an extension of myself. I expect people to treat them with the same respect they treat me. And if I learn that someone has either mistreated one of my boys or spoken disrespectfully to one of them, I become as defensive as a lion.

As a Sir, I NEVER tell my boys to be quiet or treat them as property, although I can use strict tactics as a disciplinarian. I especially like listening to what my alpha boy gabe has to say. I often use him as my counselor, my confidant. The depth of this trust is near sacred to me.

I invite you to attend Tribal Instincts on Friday to discuss what it means to train a boy. This more than anything else makes what we do different from the hetero and pan kink communities. It is the heart of our Tribe.

More than an elaborate masturbation

My Leather is more than an elaborate masturbation. It is the heart of who I am.

Recently I came face to face with my Buddhist spiritual practice and Leather. As I struggled to explain to my Zen teachers regarding the responsibilities I felt as a Sir relative to my boys, I felt compelled to walk away. After fifteen years in the sangha, I left.

I anticipated that leaving the sangha would also be a struggle but I found just the opposite. As I sit in mediation in the morning, I feel freed from the constraints of Zen. The idea that one sits in meditation to know oneself is wonderful. In Leather, we play to know ourselves. In play, the social masks are dropped. Too much energy to maintain them when play becomes heavy and all one can do is hold on to a thread of awareness to make it through the scene.

I am a Sir 24/7. My boys understand this. As they sit beside me in meditation, they know that I will continue to watch out for them. They do not drop their collars at he door of the Dharma Hall.

A boy once again

This weekend I am in Woodland Hills, Utah, a town built on a mountainside in the southern part of Utah County. An area quite different from my "center-of-the-universe" neighborhood in Seattle. I am here to visit my parents, still insistent on their independence in spite of failing health.

As my mother takes the wheel of their four-wheel drive and heads down the mountain at a snail's pace, I grip the edge of my seat. I appreciate her determination to show me that she is still very much in control. Her hands shaking on the wheel, she asks if "The Colonel" would do for dinner. KFC has a small all-you-can-eat buffet with a special senior discount. My parents love buffets!

Hours later, knowing that I must work out daily to maintain my sanity, I ask for the keys to the car. A long silence ensues. "Well," says my father plaintively. And suddenly I am placed in the position of boy again.

My parents seem to like the fact that at fifty-four, I am still their boy, the youngest of three sons. And I do not mind being placed in this position once again. Sir becomes boy.

Years ago as a young Leatherman, I learned how to be an obedient and respectful boy. In fact, I am certain that I am a better boy as an adult than I ever was as an adolescent. Respect, honesty, integrity. All lessons learned well.

Two decades ago at my first run, Mr. Guy Baldwin told me that Leather was built on these principles. At that time, I was still very angry at what I considered a harsh adolescence. My father and mother were strict disciplinarians, often to the point of abuse. They never spared the rod. Thus, I felt justified in my anger, still holding on to vestigial emotions in spite of years of therapy.

However, after training and hard play, I found that I no longer held on to this anger. I was able to let it go. And now I move freely back to my boy space to please my parents without any negative feelings.

I am a Leatherman. I am a Sir. And I have learned to be a respectful son.

If you meet the Buddha in the road, flog him!

As the Buddha lay down for the last time, he prepared for the end of his last cycle of life. Years before, his eyes had been opened upon seeing the morning star. He saw the true nature of all things. The sky is blue, the grass is green. The sun hides behind the clouds. The wind blows.

This heightened state, which actually is not a heightened state at all, is similar to what we discover often during play. Almost as if eyes were opened wider than they have ever been before we experience an arousal of all senses from their slumbering state. As if the blinders have been dropped from our eyes.

Yesterday, I surrendered myself to the clay once more. The question I held was suggested by my boy jay. "How does Leather meet Zen?"

In the late eighties and early nineties we often spoke about the state brought about by Leatherplay. Geoffrey Mains was perhaps one of the first to examine the topic in his seminal work, "Urban Aboriginals." Later, other authors embellished the topic, drawing on Leather to expound on their own spiritualities. New terms and the adoption of forms of Leatherplay into new communities.

While I find this all very interesting, I return to the spiritual tradition that I have practiced as long as I have been a Leatherman. In Zen, we know that one cannot try to reach enlightenment. The harder one tries, the more elusive it becomes. I would suggest that the desired state during play is very much the same. And, like Zen, I find this state to be a heightened awareness of my surroundings, as if I am experiencing my body for the very first time. It is not a feeling of being drugged or removed from one's surroundings. Rather, it is an arousal that one is very much part of things. As if one has felt his body for the very first time.

As I prepare myself to begin another Winter Kyol Che, I approach my Leather with new eyes and new questions. I look back on my Leather journey and ask myself how I arrived here. And, as I did last Winter, I turn back to the earth to help me answer my riddle. A true Virgo dirties his hands in clay.