When we enter a dungeon space, we voluntarily leave the rational mind at the door. We enter the Wild, a dark jungle where instinct and pack dynamics reign. When we retreat, we often can be left with fear and confusion.
"I looked at my back and I could not believe what I did last night," wrote my boy after an intense impact/flogging/single tail scene. In the dungeon space, he had given himself to me with abandon. "I want to do this for you," he said in deference to my Dominance. And baring his back in the bar hours later, he beamed with pride beside me. However, at home before the mirror before going to bed, he contemplated the welts on his back and his logical mind countered the remnants of our scene. His mind puzzled over the darkness of his instinctual self.
Understanding that logic does not exist in the dark wild, we try to balance the experience with a discourse of consensuality. We often reason why we do these activities using psychology or spirituality to validate our involvement. These are but feeble attempts to understand the animal inside, the instinct that encourages us over and over again to play in the dungeon.
In the last ten years we have witnessed the acknowledgment of puppy play, and of animal play in general. Using fetish, we conjure up the animal within to enact power dynamics that are as real as our cultural interactions from day to day. As Leathermen we revel in animal play, delving further and further into its depths. Rather than basing the success of our play on technical prowess, arguing kink into the cultural discourse, we continue to invent new forms of play that probe the instinctual depths.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Honoring Steve Hines
Almost twenty years ago I was approached by Lee Willis with Guy Baldwin, and Jan Lyons. A boy still wet behind the ears, Lee told me about his pet project, a memorial plaque honoring those "fallen Leathermen and Leatherwomen."
"Would you help me plan a dinner for the presentation of the plaque?" he asked.
I felt quite humbled to be approached by these Elders of the Tribe and asked, "Why me?" I did not feel up to the task.
They explained that they wanted something "classy." A dinner with a performance of high caliber. With decades of experience as a professional ballet dancer, they knew I would do something worthy of the occasion. "I believe that the Leather community deserves the best," added Lee. "Don't worry. If you need help, just ask. We can do this together."
A few short weeks later Lee invited me over his house. "I need help," I said, as I helped him stretch the large piece of leather over the plaque's background. "I do not know how to go about planning a dinner. I know how to organize a show but not a dinner."
"Steve Hines," was his curt reply. "He will do a good job."
Steve was a friend in the community, handsome with a brush of a mustache and a quick smile. As the weeks flew by and the presentation of the event grew closer, I barely heard from Steve. And whenever I would ask him how things were going, he would simply say, "Everything's fine."
On the night of the presentation, I recall opening up Seattle's Russian Hall with Steve. As I unloaded boxes and boxes of food with him, I realized just how much he had done in preparation for the event. Diligently he had worked without fanfare. No paper plates and napkins for this event. He had prepared a high calibre meal that one might enjoy in a fine restaurant.
That evening, Russian Hall was filled with Leatherfolk not only from Seattle, but also from other cities. An evening as memorable as the plaque. After the dinner, the presentation of names, and the performance, I stood in the front of the hall as people were filing out. I looked over to the kitchen, Steve Hines still working in the kitchen.
"Quiet dignity." Two words that Guy Baldwin had shared with me many months before from a book by Geoffrey Mains. "A Leatherman has 'Quiet Dignity.'" As I watched Steve that night, these words returned. I realized that he exemplified these words in his service to the community.
Today, I remember Steve as a man who was always there providing help without complaint. As I look at the plaque hanging on the wall of The Cuff, I see Steve's name. He died three years after its presentation in 1994.
"Steve Hines, Seattle Daddy's Boy '90 - '91."
A man of service. A true Leatherman.
For more about The Memorial Plaque.
"Would you help me plan a dinner for the presentation of the plaque?" he asked.
I felt quite humbled to be approached by these Elders of the Tribe and asked, "Why me?" I did not feel up to the task.
They explained that they wanted something "classy." A dinner with a performance of high caliber. With decades of experience as a professional ballet dancer, they knew I would do something worthy of the occasion. "I believe that the Leather community deserves the best," added Lee. "Don't worry. If you need help, just ask. We can do this together."
A few short weeks later Lee invited me over his house. "I need help," I said, as I helped him stretch the large piece of leather over the plaque's background. "I do not know how to go about planning a dinner. I know how to organize a show but not a dinner."
"Steve Hines," was his curt reply. "He will do a good job."
Steve was a friend in the community, handsome with a brush of a mustache and a quick smile. As the weeks flew by and the presentation of the event grew closer, I barely heard from Steve. And whenever I would ask him how things were going, he would simply say, "Everything's fine."
On the night of the presentation, I recall opening up Seattle's Russian Hall with Steve. As I unloaded boxes and boxes of food with him, I realized just how much he had done in preparation for the event. Diligently he had worked without fanfare. No paper plates and napkins for this event. He had prepared a high calibre meal that one might enjoy in a fine restaurant.
That evening, Russian Hall was filled with Leatherfolk not only from Seattle, but also from other cities. An evening as memorable as the plaque. After the dinner, the presentation of names, and the performance, I stood in the front of the hall as people were filing out. I looked over to the kitchen, Steve Hines still working in the kitchen.
"Quiet dignity." Two words that Guy Baldwin had shared with me many months before from a book by Geoffrey Mains. "A Leatherman has 'Quiet Dignity.'" As I watched Steve that night, these words returned. I realized that he exemplified these words in his service to the community.
Today, I remember Steve as a man who was always there providing help without complaint. As I look at the plaque hanging on the wall of The Cuff, I see Steve's name. He died three years after its presentation in 1994.
"Steve Hines, Seattle Daddy's Boy '90 - '91."
A man of service. A true Leatherman.
For more about The Memorial Plaque.
Monday, November 30, 2009
A United Effort Always Guarantees Success
I would like to thank those who helped make Spanksgiving and Heart of Darkness successful. Lady Lydia and Tony Buff were exceptional Thursday night together with my co-titleholders, Dan and Scout. Not to mention the spanks peddlers who did a magnificent job.
I cannot take credit for the impressive sum of $1000 that was raised over the Holiday weekend. This was a united effort. When we work together, we create stronger bonds within our community.
I cannot take credit for the impressive sum of $1000 that was raised over the Holiday weekend. This was a united effort. When we work together, we create stronger bonds within our community.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Celebrate the Holiday Weekend with Northwest LeatherSir/boy/Community Bootblack
If you are like me, you welcome the Thanksgiving Weekend with mixed emotions. I always enjoy the bountiful family dinner, although I am not crazy about turkey. And in spite of its heterocentricity, I always enjoy hearing all the new tidings regarding my family. But after the turkey, yams, and blueberry pie, I find myself missing my Tribe.
This Thanksgiving, the Northwest titleholders offer you Alternative Family Fare. Together with special guests, we will be busy at Spanksgiving on Thanksgiving evening. And at a men's only dungeon party on Saturday night directly following Seattle Men in Leather's Daddy/Daddy's boy contest.
Proceeds from both events go to the Tony Deblase Scholarship. Come celebrate the Holiday with us and help us reach our goal of one thousand dollars this weekend.
See the Events section on this blog to learn more.
Happy Thanksgiving!
This Thanksgiving, the Northwest titleholders offer you Alternative Family Fare. Together with special guests, we will be busy at Spanksgiving on Thanksgiving evening. And at a men's only dungeon party on Saturday night directly following Seattle Men in Leather's Daddy/Daddy's boy contest.
Proceeds from both events go to the Tony Deblase Scholarship. Come celebrate the Holiday with us and help us reach our goal of one thousand dollars this weekend.
See the Events section on this blog to learn more.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Friday, November 13, 2009
Why I like Wescos
My bootpig boy lay flat on his back, the heel of my Jobmaster placed firmly below his right nipple. Rolling the flat of my boot on the meaty part of his pec, I watched as he writhed in pain, his groans punctuated by the affirmative exclamations of my other boy standing shoulder to shoulder with me. Taking my foot away, I admired the red imprint of my Vibram soled boot on his flesh.
Jumping up, I grabbed the suspension rack above and hung over the piggy boy. My two boots now hovered over both of his thighs and I watched him tense up in anticipation of my full weight. Slowly at first, then more firmly, I eased myself down until I felt his quadriceps roll outward. Then I stood still and looked down at my bootpig boy's anxious face.
"Uh" was all that he could say, a signal that he was nearing the edge after one hour of bootplay. Reaching up to the rack again, I lifted myself off and paused momentarily before I dropped to the floor, barely missing the boy's torso with both boots. I nudged my boot right up to the boy's cheek. And, as if to give an architectural structure to the scene, he turned his head toward the boot and began licking it, just as he had done at the beginning of the scene. His tongue worked the instep and slowly worked around the hard toe to the lateral area. Then up the sides of the boot until he had drawn himself up to a fetal position around it. That was my cue to untie his hands from his thighs. I wanted to give him a moment to caress my boot with both hands before finishing the scene.
"Help me untie him," I commanded the boy who had been looking on. "Help me because this bootpig needs to get fucked!"
Moments later I stood in ecstacy, one boy by my side and the other, curled up around my right boot with a big smile on his face. Gently, he rubbed his cheek against the shank, almost rocking.
"I'm ready to be fucked, Sir," he said.
No other boot in the world like a Wesco!
Jumping up, I grabbed the suspension rack above and hung over the piggy boy. My two boots now hovered over both of his thighs and I watched him tense up in anticipation of my full weight. Slowly at first, then more firmly, I eased myself down until I felt his quadriceps roll outward. Then I stood still and looked down at my bootpig boy's anxious face.
"Uh" was all that he could say, a signal that he was nearing the edge after one hour of bootplay. Reaching up to the rack again, I lifted myself off and paused momentarily before I dropped to the floor, barely missing the boy's torso with both boots. I nudged my boot right up to the boy's cheek. And, as if to give an architectural structure to the scene, he turned his head toward the boot and began licking it, just as he had done at the beginning of the scene. His tongue worked the instep and slowly worked around the hard toe to the lateral area. Then up the sides of the boot until he had drawn himself up to a fetal position around it. That was my cue to untie his hands from his thighs. I wanted to give him a moment to caress my boot with both hands before finishing the scene.
"Help me untie him," I commanded the boy who had been looking on. "Help me because this bootpig needs to get fucked!"
Moments later I stood in ecstacy, one boy by my side and the other, curled up around my right boot with a big smile on his face. Gently, he rubbed his cheek against the shank, almost rocking.
"I'm ready to be fucked, Sir," he said.
No other boot in the world like a Wesco!
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