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!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
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 -
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 -
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