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.

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.

"- and entertain guests tonight."

When I was younger I recall a TV advertisement that depicted a housewife. Dressed in stiletto heels, a pinched waist dress, a perfect bob hairdo, and a big smile, the effervescent woman walked around the tiled floor squeezing out floor wax. Effortlessly she squeezed out liquid cleaner on the floor and spread it around with a shiny mop. Silent and always happy, she was the icon of the early 60s wife. Such advertisements were common.

During the last two decades in the community, I have observed Sirs who seem to believe in a similar paradigm relative to boys. They chastize their boys openly if they are not always pleasant, well-scrubbed, silent, and busy. They reason that boys exist only relative to Sirs, icons of service in the community. Always ready to drop to their knees or to lay back with legs in the air.

A number of years ago during a lecture at the release of his latest book, Armestad Maupin suggested that older Gay men display a form of displaced misogny when they treat young men as objects. A feminization of young men, always passively sexy and ready for action. I would extend that observation to include men in positions of power.

In Leather we talk about the EXCHANGE of power in our play, a dialogue between Top and bottom, Dom and sub, Master and slave, or Sir and boy. Understanding this, the majority of experienced Sirs work with negotiated protocols that provide security to their boys and facilitate this exchange. Their boys are free to express themselves next to their Sirs within these parameters, even to "misbehave" at times. Otherwise, without an active exchange, boys become nothing more than parodies of the perfect, pre-liberated wife.

Unmasking the Dottore

I keep a framed print of Il Dottore always sitting close at hand. Sometimes I wear a small, golden Dottore mask around my neck, made for me years ago by a craftsman in Venezia. During this period of my life I recognize the emergence of the Dottore from time to time, that classic Commedia dell'Arte character who personifies the absurdity of the mature, educated man. The fact that I have lived for an extended period in Bologna and obtained part of my education at that city's university further validates this recognition.

As a LeatherSir with decades of experience, I often find this mask placed firmly on my face when I allow myself to act without fully comprehending my boy's situation. Bushy eyebrows leading down to a red, bulbous nose, my judgment can be marred by the inebriety that comes from the belief that I always know best. When this happens, my words become as ineffective as the scatalogical prescriptions of the Old Fool. I must proceed cautiously.

In short, humility is the key to judicious behavior. And often using logic based on experience is not enough to understand what is best for a boy. This is true not only in play but in life.

Without an open mind and heart, extensive experience alone can often mask the Sir.