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.

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.