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.