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.

The Sexual Wild

Shakespeare posits in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" that society's sexual mores do not exist in the wild. As the four lovers fumble through the darkness, Robin Goodfellow, a satyr in British guise, opens up the lovers to a realm of relative possibilities that only exists outside the boundaries of their civilized world.

My sexuality is always heightened on the wilderness coast of Western Washington. After the first twenty-four hours, I feel more animal than human. I eat when I am hungry. I piss where I find a spot. I shit under a tree and cover my scat. And I always want to fuck. I feel comfortable in the wild.

This weekend I spent two glorious days on Second Beach near La Push, Washington. A special place to me not only because of its beauty but also because of its relation to my Leather lifestyle. I discovered it twenty years ago with a close friend in the Tribe, long before the trail was well marked and groomed. With its sea stacks, needles, and dramatic sea arch, there is no other beach that can compare in scenic drama. It is also a special place where my partner and I reconnect emotionally and physically.

Prior to leaving on Friday, I threw five pounds of clay into my pack. The next morning I sat looking out into the void of the Pacific Ocean and I felt the urge to work it. I connect with the malleable earth in a very direct way. The clay exposes my internal state. My karma.

The forms that emerged hours later were unabashedly sexual. A male torso that draws the eye down to his semi-erect cock. And two headless bodies merging in a power fuck with the Dominant straining as his rod penetrates the asshole of the recumbent form.

What a challenge to hike out with two clay forms in the "hard leather" stage! Over rocks, across a log strewn beach, and up the trail through the rain forest. And what fun to watch the faces of the day hikers as they came to pay tribute to "Twilight" (the book and the movie), passing me with full pack on my back and two forms held carefully in my hands.

This morning as the clay figures sit in my office drying in the sun, I am reminded that Leather ignites this same animal when I am in the city. An honest sexuality felt when I cover my body in hides. As Leatherfolk we pay tribute to the animal within when we invoke eagles, panthers, wolves, or dragons as totems. And we recognize our instinctual selves when we speak of Tribe. To invoke Geoff Mains, we recognize ourselves as "Urban Aboriginals."