SIR | object

During this Holiday season I have had little to give the boys in an emotional sense. In spite of Leather Family, friends, and a supportive partner, I have felt alone. I have been focused on how to survive the end of December, a period usually filled with the joy of Yuletide.

My partner observed my struggle this season and admonished me last week to focus on myself. This is challenging when others look to me for mentorship and service in the form of guidance. I have little to give to them. And the boys, concerned about SIR, want to help but there is nothing that they can do. Surviving the first Holiday without my mother has been one of the most painful times of my life.

My struggle to survive has has caused me to think about the question I usually ask SIR contestants in interviews, “What makes you a SIR?” I have yet to hear the answer that I want to hear, a comment pointing to the fact that a SIR is defined by the role he plays in a boy's life. Given that I have offered little to the boys during this Holiday season, I question if I am indeed a SIR.

A SIR should always strong for his boys. A SIR should not vulnerable to depression and despair. Leather textbooks say nothing about those moments when a SIR feels vulnerable to his own emotions. Images do not exist showing SIRs in contemplation and grief. Indeed, the palette of emotions that a SIR should show seems to be limited. A butch man castrated by a fantasy self.

The roles that have historically emerged in our Community are idealized portraits. The praxis of SIR/boy has been modified by fiction, porn, and the fantastical images of visual artists. They exist solely as models, sexual paradigms. Images that fuel our fantasies during masturbation.

As I look in the mirror each morning, I do not actually see myself. Rather, I see a self through the filter of my experience and my desire. An idea that I use as a measure. To see myself honestly and outside of this measure is also an idea, an impossibility. I submit that there is no escape other than to recognize this process, especially in times of crisis. In short, the understanding of myself as SIR must always be approximate.

Recognizing this process is an honest act. An act of integrity and strength. As counsel to boys, I invoke the wise words of a foolish man. “To thine own self be true.”

Removing the collar

Last week I removed the collar from one of the boys in my family prior to receiving medical treatment. As I turned the key to the lock and slid it from around his neck, I said, “Remember that the collar is still there, even if the chain is not.”

The collar was simply the outward sign of the bond between us, Sir and boy The remnant of continuing negotiations.

Physical attraction plays an integral role in identifying a potential boy. After acknowledging this attraction through sexual play, I allow the relationship to gestate for a period of months in order to learn what role I might occupy in the boy's life. I allow the relationship to grow naturally. The boy receives a collar when we both understand what role I will have in his life.

Even before a collar, the boy needs to show that he is committed to the Leather Family and to his Mentor. He must understand the boundaries for proper behavior, the protocols that define the relationship between himself and his Sir. And he must understand that this bond is not easily broken. The collar is simply the vestigial manifestation of the familial bond.

As I remind my boys often, “you are extensions of Myself.”

The Importance of Being Earnest

After four months of rushing from one event to another, I have found myself struggling to maintain the role that Leather has in my life. Leather is the crucible where my sexual identity continues to be formed. Together with my Zen practice, it is the foundation of my spirituality, the means whereby I approach the act of living moment to moment.

Between weekend events and other activities related to fulfilling my role as International LeatherSIR, my partner reminds me gently not to forget who I am as a Leatherman. "Don't forget why you do this," he says when I become too manic. "Don't forget your joy."

It is very easy to forget myself in the bustle of trying to live up to the standard of my title. Without this compass, the sincerity of my efforts begins to erode. This is the danger of all leaders and public figures, whether in the Leather Community or life in general.

This morning I sit next to my partner in Kauai. We are just feet away from the morning surf. I feel the healing ocean breeze and breathe deeply. And I feel concerns fall away with each wave. As we say in Zen, I feel a return to stillness.

I recommend pausing every now and then to all who work within our Community. Stop. Breathe. Returning to stillness allows us to remember who we are and why we give our time, our talents, and our energy. We allow ourselves to understand the brotherhood that is the foundation of Leather. Or, in the terms of the Islands, we begin to understand the spirit of "Aloha."

The Procrustean Bed

According to Greek Myth, Procrustes guarded the sacred access to Eleusis from Athens. Within his stronghold he kept an iron bed upon which he forced those making the pilgrimage to spend the night. And if his guest did not fit the bed, Procrustes, being a smith by trade, would make him fit, working away on the guest's body with his hammer. In contemporary use, Procrustes bed serves as a metaphor for an arbitrary standard used to force conformity. That is, a standard that has been imposed on others in order to control access to knowledge and experience.

During my extensive travels, I have encountered many variations on Leather and protocols. In my hometown of Boston, the role of a boy has a more rigid standard than in Seattle. And in European countries, the relationship between a Sir and a boy are often closer to the the Master and slave paradigm. Protcols, the manifestation of the bond between a Sir and His boy, reflect such regional differences.

While writing books and giving workshops on the subject certainly has its place, we must remember that the traditions of Leather have always varied from place to place. To flatter the protocols of one club or region excludes the traditions of another, the imposition of history and tradition through a biased lens. Those of us who do not fit the heterosexual, white male American stereotype recognize a similar tactic in the interpretation of history. Still, some in our community believe that the existence of books on protocols and "Old Guard" culture can substitute for a firm foundation in Leather based on practice. And that these should be accepted as a measure of the authenticity of a Leatherman. A fundamental truth.

Fundmentalism forms the basis of a great deal of political and religious debate today not only in the United States, but also throughout much of the world. People tout the written word as canonic law and claim that variance from that law forms the basis for exclusion. I see such tactics used in the Leather Community, with books like "The Leatherman's Handbook" and "Mr. Benson" treated with the same reverence as the King James Version of the "Bible."

I do not mean to suggest that such texts do not have a place within our Community. On the contrary, they serve to record the authors' observations. The also act as guides in understanding our tradition, a finger pointing at the moon, as we say in Zen. We must remember, however, never to mistake the finger for the moon. No matter how authoratative these texts appear to be, we must understand them within the context of time, place, and privilege. A professional, white male would write a very different record of Folsom in the seventies than a young, blue-collar Transman struggling with gender identity. We must be wary in understanding any one point of view as the official record of an era. More important, we must avoid the acceptance of these texts as a Levitical code for contemporary praxis.

Claimed ancestory often acts as a corollary of the fundamentalist stance. In Leather and kink, claims as to authenticity abound. Men trace the beginnings of their Leather back as far as they can to substantiate their roles as sirs. I find this interesting. Twenty-five years ago when I began dabbling in kink not one of my tops made such claims. And when I joined the self-defined Community a few years later, not one recognized sir produced his pedigree. "And Joe begat Stephen. And Stephen flogged Michael. And Michael fist-fucked Christopher again and again."

Returning to the exercise of protocols, in my own Leather Family I have four boys. Each is very different from the other. To expect the same protocols ignores the identity of each. The alpha is a traditional Leatherboy. The second, a sub with a penchant for boots and bootplay. The third is a young, dapper sir who harbors a fetish for suits, and who insists on wearing argyle socks with his boots. And the newest is an experienced player who is openly Trans. Like the blind men and the elephant, I am different to each according to his experience and need. I am a Daddy. I am a Dom. I am an older Sir apprenticing a younger one. And I provide the companionship and security of an Older Gay Man. Although I have a few protocols that are universally recognized by all four, each boy has his own that have grown organically from his interaction with me.

What unites my Leather Family is not shared protocols or mode of dress. As Sir, I refuse to impose a set of Procrustean protocols on all four boys. Instead, we are united by the shared role that Leather/kink has relative to our identity.

In Christian lore we are reminded to "Judge not, that ye be not judged." In a similar fashion, we must remind ourselves to avoid the two-edged sword of Leather Fundamentalism. Just as Procrustes was ultimately subjected to the cold standard of his own iron bed, those who try to impose rules on others in the Leather Community may find themselves excluded by the strictness of their own measure.

Also see Race Bannon's article "Leather Fundamentalism" at http://bannon.com/blog/

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Epilogue to Asolando: Madison, Wisconsin

"Mom will be ok now. She has agreed to the feeding tube," my sister assured me. Feeling a great weight off my shoulders, I boarded the plane for Chicago, the first leg of my trip to the Northern Plains LeatherSIR/Leatherboy contest.

My daughter had called two days before, informing me that my mother had been admitted to the hospital with complications from a sinus infection. And, even though she did not look well, she should be fine. That was Wednesday. On Thursday, my mother was up, shuffling about, sitting in a chair. I called and talked briefly to her, her responses a quiet whisper.

Three hours later as I made my way to my connecting flight, I noticed three messages in queue. A sense of foreboding told me that things were not good. "She has refused the feeding tube and was not expected to last more than one week," my sister said.

I immediately called my mother's bedside. "Please put the phone up to her ear," I pleaded. And to my mother, I chanted over and over, "I love you. I love you. I love you." I could not stop. Then I turned my face toward the wall and cried.

I decided to continue on to Madison, Wisconsin.

Early the next morning I searched for flights. Nothing seemed to work. I sat quietly over my morning coffee. Nothing else to do but complete my commitment to the producer at Northern Plains, return to Seattle, and then fly out again to be at my mother's side.

Hours later I received the news that she was unresponsive. A half an hour after that, I glanced at the clock. "My mother just passed away," I said to Solomon, the boy accompanying me.

I am my mother's son. She was a woman of fortitude. A matriarch who taught me to be independent and strong like herself. Although I knew she disagreed with the life I led, she acknowledged my deep-seated belief in myself and my strong direction.

Saturday night I asked myself what my mother would have done in my shoes. I knew that she would have finished what she started. She was a woman of her word. With this in my heart, I dedicated my evening to her. I did an impact demo on my boy Solomon with boy Ian assisting, and then an intense whip demo on redwarrior. "If you aren't going to do it all the way, don't do it at all," my mother said again and again during my adolescent years.

As I write this, I am on a plane flying to my mother's funeral. I listen to her favorite music, Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto. I am empty and focus my energy on writing down my feelings. My partner sits next to me. He has made all the travel arrangements. Now securely by his side, I feel the intensity of my loss.

Intense play often requires us to go to a dark place and then be led back to the light by a trusted Sir. This type of play becomes a paradigm for facing death. During the nineties, I recall dungeon parties where we would acknowledge the loss of a close friend in play. Today, I draw on my Leather and my Zen to help me through each moment, trusting that this darkness will transform itself soon. I cannot escape the pain of this loss. And this is correct action.

A great deal of thanks to my Title Family boy Ian and redwarrior for their support in Wisconsin. To my boy Solomon for his deep sense of loyalty and compassion. And to my partner, Michael, for his constant strength.

Protocols and Leather Family Values

As an older LeatherMan I have been involved in a number of Leather families. Each family seemed to define itself by its members and the person who facilitated its inception. In a community where identity often falls outside of mainstream classifications, this is not surprising. The common element uniting all of these families, the desire to create a safe and nurturing environment.

Each sir creates his family based on the values he embraces relative to the Leather tradition. For some sirs, protocols define the family. Others feel a physical home is essential in establishing a family. For others, a shared role relative to the Community.

To me, a Leather Family is a place of total security. A place where one knows that he is always valued and respected. It is an environment free of the politics and drama of the mainstream. Bonds founded on trust.

I grew up in a biofamily that was, for all practical purposes, a combat zone. My father ruled with a patriarchal fist. My brothers and sisters were always jockeying for position. Who was the most intelligent? The most talented? The most athletic? As the middle child and the Gay son I soon grew adept at playing a role, too. In short, my biofamily was not much different from other biofamilies, a dysfunctional group where appearances were everything.

A boy in my Leather Family knows that he can share things without judgment. he understands that he can express his deepest feelings and desires and be respected for them. he can take off the mask that filters the gaze of parents and siblings and show himself for who he really is. Sir facilitates this secure environment.

In my Leather Family I relate to each boy differently. And each has his own protocols depending on the bond that we share. My alpha has the most stringent protocols because that is what we negotiated. The newest boy, the fewest protocols. Outside of a few basic protocols that rule my Family, additional protocols grow organically from the interaction I have with each boy.

I consider this application of protocols a post-modern approach to traditional Leather. My alpha has the strictest because W/we have negotiated a more historical approach to the Sir/boy bond. The same use of protocols with my second boy would be absurd, given his long-term partnership. I recognize another boy as a sir-in-training. And the newest, an experienced man who wants the comfort of a strong, Gay Sir. A few of these boys are polyamorous.

I understand roles and monogamy/polyamory to be integral to each boy's sexual identity. To insist that a polyamorous boy adapt to the same protocols as a traditionally-identified boy would be to deny this identity. Like asking a Gay man to live a heterosexual life to learn the mechanics of sex. I believe that my role is to facilitate an environment that will encourage boys to live out their potential, not to limit it. For this reason, protocols are constantly a work in progress.

Protocols are the outward manifestation of the relationship between the Sir and His boy.

The Art of the Mask

For years people in the Community have asked that I teach a workshop on masking. I have finally consented. The three hour workshop will feature a discussion about the history of masking. I will also present some theory prior to delving fully into the basic construction of Leather masks.

There is a $40 donation for the workshop, although I turn away no one at my events. Location upon request. All proceeds to go to the ILS Travel Fund.

The Right Stuff

"Yes I am afraid but I am ready," the handsome Leatherboy responded as he reached up to grab on to the upper bars. "I'm ready!"

the boy told me weeks before that he wanted to feel my single tail on his back. And, knowing that he had just emerged into the scene less than a year ago, I shared his trepidation. he was a bright boy, a man who processed everything in play. When I looked into his eyes I saw both a boy and a potential sir. I wanted to be sure that this foray into hard play reinforced his growing appetite for kink.

I took his head gently and turned it just enough to give him a deep kiss. "you don't have to do this," I whispered. "I am proud of you even if you don't," I added.

"No, Sir. I want to do this. Please, I'm ready!" he said emphatically.

I retreated slowly and looked at his back. I looked at his beautifully rounded ass filling out his Leather shorts. I visually traced my first throw and let the whip fly gently. My single tail made a graceful arc in the air and gently brushed the boy's flesh. he responded quietly. I continued, building the intensity with each throw.

"Are you ok, boy?" I asked him. "Talk to Me!" I said sternly.

"Yes, Sir," he obediently replied.

I approached him and rubbed his back gently with my right hand, then turned his head and kissed him again. I felt his tongue search hard in my opened mouth. I drew back. "Are you Daddy's handsome boy?" I prompted.

"Yes, Sir," he responded.

Backing up again, I resumed the scene with precise throws to each side of his upper back. I watched as each strike left a red trail, raising immediately into a distinct welt. "How are you doing, boy?" I continued to ask. "Talk to me! Are you fine?"

"Yes, Sir!" he responded again. And with each blow thereafter, an emphatic "Yes, Sir!" offered without cue. "Yes, Sir! Yes, Sir!"

I listened to his mantra transform from a plaintive sigh to an aggressive challenge. "Yes, SIR!" he repeated again and again. I witnessed as he prepared himself for the next strike. His body tense, like a young warrior in battle. His breathing steady and with purpose. To encourage his state of anticipation, I altered the rhythm of my throws.

After forty-five minutes of this parlay, I approached him and grabbed him in my arms. he dropped against my body and turned his head slightly. "I want to feel the palms of your hands on my back," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Like this," he demonstrated.

I took one step back and began slapping him with my hands cupped. The blows accentuated the damage left by the whip. "Can you give Me five more?" I asked. "Five more for your Sir?"

"Yes," he responded, breathing in hard.

Taking aim at his the right side of his back, I let the single tail fly again. The cracker bit into his flesh hard.

"ONE!"

I threw the next to his left, aiming for a spot that had not been marred.

"TWO!" Then, "THREE! FOUR! FIVE!" his voice registering each strike with precision.

Recoiling my whip, I hung it loosely around my neck and approached the boy again. Sensing my approach, he fell into my outstretched arms. "Are you Daddy's boy?" I asked quietly.

"Yes, Sir" he answered calmly.

I stroked his head, my fingers running through his thick, dark hair. "Yes, you are Daddy's handsome boy and I am proud to be your Sir."

With a long sigh, he surrendered himself against my proffered chest.

Gay Pride in a Small Town

I spent this past weekend with my partner in Ashland, Oregon. Our bi-annual, theatre pilgrimage to experience the words of the Bard. Much to our surprise, we discovered that it was the first Southern Oregon Pride Parade and Festival weekend.

Although I had promised my partner that this would be a title-free weekend, I always travel with the Leatherman's essentials: boots, vest, and jeans. I also like to bring one of my whips just in case I find an open park where I can practice.

On Saturday morning, rather than see "Hamlet" for a second time, we took part in the festivities. A substantial parade considering that this was the first celebration of its kind. Like any other Pride parade, there were drag queens, supportive Christian churches, and politicians. What was missing was a Leather/Kink presence.

"Keep wearing what you are wearing," two men remarked. "We like what we see." A cruise in Ashland in broad daylight. Throughout the day, more approving looks and smiles in our direction.

It does not take a speech or a sash to be noticed when you are a titleholder. Nor does it take the approval of the Festival's director. Sometimes all it takes is a presence, an openness to those attending the celebration.

Happy Southern Oregon Pride!

In the Company of Women, San Francisco Ms. Leather: October 2nd

Leatherwomen have always played an integral role in my Leather. As a Leatherboy many years ago, the Women in Seattle played harder than the men. Playing beside them in mixed dungeons always challenged myself to plumb the depths of my dark side. Women were there for me when I found myself in an abusive Sir/boy relationship, providing a safe haven where I could rest. Indeed, the first couple of years of my involvement in the community seem to have been shaped more by women than by men.

Attending the San Francisco Ms. Leather Contest last Saturday was once again a lesson in Leather. As I listened to the contest, I realized the diversity of the women in our community. By this I am not referring solely to ethnicity. I am also referring to roles, femme/butch association, and relationship to social defintions of gender. Very different from the traditional men's Leather community where the perceived level of testosterone maintains its dominance as yardstick.

On Saturday night Miranda, our perky MC, held the sold out crowd in the palm of her hand, controlling the pace of the contest with ease and humor. As one versed in theatre, I applaud her improvisational skills. I especially loved the card game that she introduced, although I did feel slighted that I did not win the "squeal like a pig" segment. I was drowned out by an entire sty of pigs on the other side of the Hotel Whitcomb Ballroom.

Like the new Oregon State Ms. Leather, the winner, Leo Perralta, represents the new generation of Leatherwomen. With her friendly demeanor and open smile, I liked her immediately. I especially enjoyed her fantasy, combining elements of play within a humorous narrative that used choreographed dance segments. I don't think I have ever seen a fantasy that used dance as extensively.

Congratulations, Leo! And to all who took part in the San Francisco Ms. Leather contest on Saturday night.

Folsom Weekend: September 24 - 26

What a whirlwind of a weekend!

If one were to paint a portrait of a Sir and boy partnership, it would be of Rod and Roger, two members of the ILSb/ICBB board and my hosts. Handsome, gracious, and well spoken, these two men took care of me the entire weekend. Rod has a dry wit that kept me entertained during the flurry of activities. After seeing me negotiate with difficulty a particularly sticky chair during dinner on Friday, Rod decided he could help by offering me a small scarf used by his cat for car trips. Thanking him, he replied that I was welcome to use his "pussy pad" any time.

Later on Friday, I attended two parties on Folsom Street. The first, at Chaps II, and the second, the titleholders' party at the Powerhouse. It was my pleasure to meet current and past titleholders, some in fairly intimate ways. (I don't kiss and tell!).

Saturday, more parties, this time at Joe the Barber's and The San Francisco Eagle. The Eagle was a uniform party hosted by BLUF, of which I am a member. I feel I look my best in a pair of Leather breeches and uniform. And, of course, my Wesco Boss Boots! The Eagle's patio was packed with Leather-clad men, bringing back memories of Folsoms many years ago. Good memories!

On Sunday morning, I headed to Donna Sachet's for her 12th annual titleholder's brunch. Donna provides a generous buffet within her home at the top of the Castro. To paraphrase her, she hosts this event every year so titleholders can enjoy a homey atmosphere outside of the usual bars and clubs, I appreciated the opportunity to actually speak to fellow titleholders without the din of musical mixes and the tide of the crowd. Thank you, Donna Sachet!

Later, the titleholders' official appearance at Folsom on the 12th Street stage. Following a cacophany backstage, we were presented one at a time in front of a cheering crowd. This is perhaps my favorite event at Folsom because it facilitates for a few fleeting moments a feeling of solidarity between the various titles, from the International to the bar titles.

It is impossible to describe the feeling of euphoria that I experienced after doing a scene with David Shorey in the bootblack's area. David has the build of a rugby player and the looks of a British tough, countered by the clearest and bluest eyes I have ever seen. As I sat in his chair and growled out orders, I watched as his face took on a fierceness that reminded me of days in Glasgow during my adolescence. With determination, we pushed and shoved our way for about half an hour, sweating and swearing. Definitely one of the highlights of my Folsom this year.

Perhaps dysphoria is a more appropriate term to describe my state following a bootscene. As I was led to the corner of Folsom and Dore by Rod and Roger, they pointed out that my bootstraps were unfastened. David, also in a mood altered state following the scene, had forgotten to buckle my Wescos. Laughing, we announced to anyone who could hear that there would be a round two. I can hardly wait!

Returning to Folsom and Dore, I noticed Mama Sandy motioning me toward her. "You are 'Mama's Mask Daddy,'" she said, wrapping her arms around me.

I am proud to be part of Mama's Family, a nexus for the Leather community. To be welcomed into Mama's Family is not only an honor but also a charge to continue to be involved in building our community, a charge I do not take lightly. Thank you, Mama, for the opportunity to be your new "Baby." (Only Mama can call me that!)

I finished off my Folsom at the Stompers' party. Stompers is the boot fetishist's mecca. As if to emphasize the scene earlier in the day, I enjoyed some final words with my bootscene bottom. "I hope the bruises aren't too bad," I said to David, realizing that we both hoped the opposite. "How are you doing?"

Bruises are the proud badges of a scene worn with pride. And David smiled broadly as He informed me that he was quite sore but just fine. He will wear the bruises for the next few days, a reminder of our scene at the Folsom Street Fair. And I will savor the memory of him braving the double blows of my Wescos on his sturdy pecs.

I love Folsom!

Coming Out at Folsom

As a Leatherboy, I saw Folsom as a pig's paradise. A few of the bars that dotted the street were scenes of impromptu, after hours dungeon parties. Other darkened bars offered even darker areas where one could enjoy endless pleasures between beers. Going to Folsom was a return to my Tribe.

Folsom was also the weekend when I first came out as a Leatherman to my best friend, a straight man with a wife and two children. He was attending Berkeley working on his doctorate. "Meet me at Hamburger Mary's," I told him over the phone. "I'm dying to see you!"

"I don't go anywhere near that area, especially on weekends. Do you know what kind of men hang out on Folsom Street?" he asked. "Especially THIS weekend?"

"Yes I do," I answered. "I am one of those men. I am a Leatherman. Those men are my people." I remember how foreign the words seemed. The first time that I had actually said those words to someone outside of the Tribe. And how proud I felt at the same time.

Many years later, I would come out a second time at Folsom, admitting publicly a boot fetish that I had long harbored in private. Boots were so charged for me as fetish that I could not sit in a bootblack's chair without getting rock hard. To feel a bootblack's hands rub my feet through the leather of my boots was like feeling someone stroke the shaft of my cock. While some play partners knew about my fetish, I was reluctant to sit with my legs spread wide in public, demonstrating my lack of will power when someone worked on my boots. Like that deep urge to cum after edging for hours, I could not sit still in a bootblack's chair.

I finally conceded to sit for David Shorey, bootblack extraordinaire. David has that wonderful combination of sexual energy, physical presence, intelligence, and good manners that I find attractive in a Leatherman. As I sat for him in my tailored leather slacks and Corcorans, I felt him caress my arches with his hands, working in the polish. I watched as he knelt and spit shined the toes of my boots and then continued licking them with his eager tongue. I felt light-headed, as if I was reacting to a constriction of oxygen. I sat there and thought about how many layers of cum had just been covered by polish and spit. I was fucking turned on and knew that I was lost, with cameras clicking around me and tourists gaping. I didn't give a shit who gawked and stared. I was a Bootman and my boots connected me to another man. Fetish, the bond between us.

Tomorrow I leave for Folsom once again. So much has changed over the years. While the romanticized Folsom remains forever in my heart, I still feel excited each time I return to San Francisco the last weekend in September. I especially feel excited because I sit in David's chair once again. I hope he's ready!

Happy Folsom!

In Praise of Older Boys and Men

When I came out in the mid 80's I quickly discovered the beauty of experienced Men. The first man that I had sex with was twenty years my senior. I recall how He initiated me into kinky sex, introducing me to the art of nipple play and tit torture. Instructing me to take deep breaths he worked my tits first with His hands, then His mouth, finishing off the hour long session with hard biting and intense pulling.

Months later I dated another older Man. He took me under his wing, wetting my appetite for Leathersex. And He introduced me to Billy Jefferson, the first Seattle Mr. Leather. These Men became a composite HOT MAN that would remain part of my fantasy life until I came out as a Leatherman. More important, these Men instructed me in the ways of safer sexual practices at a time when people in the mainstream Gay community refused to acnowledge HIV, much like the nation's president at that time.

One of the strengths of the Leather Tribe at that time was the celebration of all men regardless of age, body shape, or ethnicity. I was drawn to this community because I loved men, ALL types of men. I also noticed that submissive men were respected and valued for their experience. I considered this one of the distinguishing features of the Tribe.

Today I am no longer a boy. I am a LeatherSir. And I still value the experience of older men. I love older boys. I love the emotional depth they demonstrate during play. I love the fact they celebrate each moment of submission. I love the fact that they understand it is their nature to be boys.

Some are submissive. Others want the protection of a LeatherDad. And others, of a Master. They are men who understand who they are and make no excuses for it. Their confidence is different from the exuberance of younger boys. A seasoned response to Leather.

There is no greater expression of manhood than being a boy over forty.

The Art of the Mask

Almost ten years ago I had the luxury of returning to school. "Study what you love," my partner advised me. So I did-

I spent the following three and a half years understanding the mask through which I view the world. I examined the operations of the mask itself, studied the history of masking and Italian street theatre, and, finally, began studying the very particular art of leather mask construction. A very old art that still cannot be duplicated by mechanical methods.


The construction of a leather mask forces the artist to become intimate with the subject. It can be an arduous process, one that cannot truly be valued without learning the actual process itself. It is so personal, in fact, that I have been reticent to share the techniques and the theory. Until this year.

In presenting this workshop, I will be sharing not only design and construction techniques, I will also demonstrate how an understanding can be adapted to impromptu masks, a method that can incorporate long-term bondage. As a very personal fetish (as most true fetishes are), I look forward to sharing masking with my friends and family in Seattle.

Cost for the workshop is $40. Space is limited. All proceeds to benefit the ILSb Travel Fund.

For more information, contact me at ils2010@leathersir.com.

Predator Sirs

boys! Caution!

Never submit to a man who offers you Meth or X upon meeting up as the first point of negotiation. To play while blunting the brain with these drugs negates the potential power exchange between Sir and boy and castrates what W/we do in the dungeon. More important, it puts the boy in potential physical and emotional peril.

Men who use these chemicals as candy to lure boys are predators in O/our Community and should be avoided.

Outside of the Lines: Seattle, WA

When I was a child, I loved art but despised coloring. I did not enjoy having my colors both dictated and contained by the context of the printed page. More than neatly covering the page with fields of red, yellow, and blue, I liked the simple act of coloring, the tactile sensation of the crayon against the slightly rough surface of the paper itself.

As Leatherfolk, we exalt the tactile at the expense of conformity to the neat lines of society's definitions. We enjoy coloring outside of these lines in our play. And many of us extend this to our relationships, forming tribes of seemingly disparate individuals.

The Northwest LeatherSIR/Leatherboy/Community Bootblack Contest on September 3 - 5 had a field of six contestants, each unique not only in terms of experience, but also in terms of social identification. As I judged the contest, I watched as these men melded together into a cohesive unit. Rather than competing against each other, I saw each man join with the other to form a temporary community.

I, too, joined in the spirit doing an encore presentation of the fantasy that I did in San Francisco in July. Instead of a man in the submissive role, I decided to use a woman, Ms. Oregon State Leather Michelle Bishop. Seen through the sensibilities of the feminist lens, the fantasy was all wrong, red riding hood feeling the bite of the Wolf's single tail and then, force-fucked up the ass by His huge phallus. But experienced in the context of community, it was very right.

As a judge, I especially enjoyed the fantasies of the contestants. Each SIR and boy had H/his own take on the Blue Collar theme. Darian included his penchant for motorcycles. Stan's fantasy set a burly foreman against himself and his handsome, real life boy, ending in a passionate kiss. And Enrique staged an all out brawl between a gang of workers.

Like the Sirs, the boys' fantasies couldn't have been more different. element became a Mary Tyler Moore obsessed shop clerk intent on bringing his Daddy home a handsome gift. And the ever dapper kent in suit and tie manipulated his blue collar workers into satisfying his endless appetite for men.

While all the fantasies were quite different, they all incorporated an element of play. Play brought the contestants together after the contest, too. A dungeon party that continued until 3 am!

Leather contests and play spaces share the ability to bring Leatherfolk together. By coming together, we negate the lines that have been drawn by society to divide us. While some contestants think that the point of a contest is to beat out their opponents, these men left the beating until after the contest. And that's the way it should be!

Congratulations Sir Darian, boy element, and Bootblack Dylan.

Some of the people that feed My soul: The Dragon Clan

A portrait of some of the Dragon Clan and Our whelps. My little family is on the left, pj and boygabe. Photo by Malixe.

What is a Fantasy? Advice for Future LeatherSIR/boy Contestants

The fantasy is a genre unique to our Leather tradition. The performance of fantasies onstage goes back to the early 1980s. In a general sense, fantasies are an opportunity for Leatherfolk to have fun on stage and to show off their SM prowess. In the past, it was not unusual for full evenings of fantasies to be produced as fundraising events, each titleholder vying to be the most inventive. In the context of LeatherSIR/Leatherboy, the fantasy gives each contestant the opportunity to demonstrate creativity and stage presence. It also allows him to show off his play skills while providing a necessary respite for the audience from the more formal elements of the contest.

The fantasy portion carries a great deal of weight in the judging of a LeatherSIR/Leatherboy contest. 60 points total, as much as the Interview portion. It should be planned out far in advance, with music, costumes, staging, and props carefully chosen.

Here are the things I look for when I judge a fantasy:

• The fantasy must have a plot, that is, a beginning, a middle, and an end to the narrative.


• A fantasy must be entertaining. Humor and surprise are often useful in telling a story and in engaging the audience.


• The fantasy should use tropes common to Leather or contemporary society. For example, if the given theme is MOVIES, using "Rocco and His Brothers" is not a good choice. While a brilliant, Italian film (and one of my personal favorites), it is a poor choice because most people have not seen it. For the Northwest regional contest I chose "The Wizard of Oz" because everyone knows it and recognizes the characters.


• Action should be broad. A good rule of thumb, eliminate unnecessary movement. Think in terms of big gestures. The performance often takes place in a bar setting with less than adequate stage lighting and lots of noise. Trying to communicate onstage creates a challenge. Using movement well can overcome these obstacles.


• Good fantasies often include the audience as an unseen "player." This can be done by using the old theatre trick. Address the audience directly at times, turning to look out as if to share a secret. Playing with the audience as a performer can often bolster weaker sections of the narrative.


• The music must be supportive of the action. It helps if it has a driving beat. Avoid using recorded narrative as much as possible. In fact, mix your own music. It's easy and fun. And with today's powerful computers and media applications there is no excuse for relying on found material. For my ILSb fantasy, BAD WOLF, I spent at least 20 hours to find the right music and sound samples. I used three Nine Inch Nails mixes of "Closer," two songs by Sam the Sham and the Pharohs from the 1960s, and at least ten, live wolf calls.


• Finally, a fantasy MUST have play. Actual play, not just feigned play. While a fantasy is NOT a scene, it must demonstrate your ability as a player. Once again, in BAD WOLF, I single tailed Little Red Riding Hood, boy dan. With no warm up, he took the whip and stayed in character, not an easy feat. And his reaction to the severity of the whip was part of the narrative.

I love the fantasy tradition in Leather. As a Leatherboy, I looked forward to the fantasy portion of the old Drummer contests, the highlight of the evening. I am especially proud that the LeatherSir/Leatherboy contests continue to build on that tradition.

To sum it all up, play and have fun!

What I learned at Leather Camp: Wichita, Kansas

Leather runs and contests come in all shapes and sizes. IML, the grandaddy of them all, offers something for almost every taste, with thousands of Leather clad men, giant dance parties and an enormous vendor mart. Often small runs are neglected in favor of attending larger events. This weekend I was the guest of Wichita's local Leather club, WOOLF, at their annual run, Leather Camp VI. This run includes their regional contest, Central Plains LeatherSIR/Leatherboy/Community Bootblack, a feeder to the International contest in July.

Although there was only one bootblack competing this year, future years should see a more robust field of contestants. Young, Mid-West Leatherboys were in abundance. And there were the volunteers that worked seamlessly together to create a great contest and run.

This club knows how to treat an International Titleholder! From the moment I arrived in Wichita until my departure, someone was always close by to tend to my needs. What stood out was the fact that the event's success did not seem to rely on one or two people. The club had spread around tasks. And if a conflict arose in the course of the weekend, I was unaware of it. No politics or drama. A well-run event suggests a good club where all members take part.

WOOLF set a high standard of hospitality for the rest of the year. I expect to see some great regional titleholders coming out of Central Plains in the years ahead.

Thank you, Wichita!

From the Judge's Chair: Portland, Oregon

I was honored to be one judges last night that chose shell Bishop and Peter Pinn Palermo as Ms. and Mr. Oregon State Leather. Two people in the Portland Leather Community with very different backgrounds in Leather and kink.

shell is owned by a Mamma and a Sir. she is Northwest Community Bootblack 2008. Although young, she has an impressive background in service and play. A femme girl who not only charms through her pixie, good looks, but also through her intelligence and wit. Sexy without being vulgar. she represents the next generation of female titleholders.

Peter has been in the Leather community for just a few years, although he admits that he has been lured by Leather for far longer. Born and raised in Boston, he came to Oregon via Seattle where he did volunteer work for Chicken Soup Brigade and the Tacky Tourists. He identifies as a Radical Faerie. Upon meeting him, I was immediately struck by his dark Italian good looks. Most striking, his eyes that betray the confidence and spontaneity that defined his answers both in the interview and onstage. I was also impressed with his genuine humility and openess to those with more experience.

I always find it difficult to be a judge. Only one person can win. Unfortunately, too many contestants believe that the reason to run for a title is to become number one, to beat out their fellow contestants. But I did not run for either the Northwest or the International titles to win! In fact, I refused to think about winning during the contest. Instead, I focused on doing my best.

Running for a contest is a wild ride. And it is an exercise in building community. At a contest, all the competitors share the same challenges. Backstage at the ILSb/ICBB competition, when someone needed help with a quick change, or when a boot was scuffed
or Leathers needed attention, a fellow competitor was always there to assist. This created a feeling of family that now extends beyond the confines of the contest. As a judge, I expect each contestant to demonstrate this spirit.

The ILSb weekend changed my life. I believe this is because I focused on living each moment to the fullest, to enjoying the communal experience of the contest. To those I judge this year, I encourage you to do the same. Let yourself go and enjoy the ride together with your fellow contestants. Create community. That is what these contests are truly all about.

In bocca al lupo!

A Tribute: Baltimore, August 7th

It was an honor to attend a tribute hosted by Mid-Atlantic LeatherSIR John and the Mid-Atlantic title family. In Leather and Love, a tribute to boy xody.

I did not know boy xody personally. I attended to support my title brother. I have great respect for Sir John because of a shared dedication to training boys in the traditions of Leather. Last night to pay homage to xody, he had arranged artwork and quotes of boy xody on tables in the back of the room. As I read this boy's words, I was moved. A great loss to this community.

I listened as Sir Kai bid good-bye to boy xody via telephone. And I listened as his sister thanked the Mid-Atlantic community for befriending her brother.

I reflected on the words of Master Mike Zuhl the day after the contest. "A boy is a rare gift," he said.

Far more than a scene partner, a Leatherboy accepts his SIR as Guide in a journey that will take years. This gradual journey contradicts the culture of immediacy prevalent in the North America, Europe, and many parts of Asia. A journey of self-discovery that defines the life we lead in Leather.

The SIR/boy bond is the paradigm of mentorship in our Tribe. It is the foundation of our play and our relationships. It is one of the primary features of the Gay Leather lifestyle.

In Leather and Love.

The Fetish Portal

Fetish 1 a : an object (as a small stone carving of an animal) believed to have magical power to protect or aid its owner; broadly : a material object regarded with superstitious or extravagant trust or reverence b : an object of irrational reverence or obsessive devotion : PREPOSSESSION c : an object or bodily part whose real or fantasied presence is psychologically necessary for sexual gratification and that is an object of fixation to the extent that it may interfere with complete sexual expression (Merriam-Webster)

In our Tribe we use the word “fetish” a great deal. Many of us consider Leather a fetish. Some, boots and tight gloves. Fetish seems to be the foundation of our gear and much of our play. But seldom do we reflect on the actual role that fetish plays relative to our sexuality.

According to the dictionary, fetish has three essential meanings: an object with presupposed, magical powers; an object of devotion beyond reasoning; and an object that stands in the way of full, sexual gratification. I am especially interested in the third definition that states that a fetish acts as an obstacle to “complete sexual expression.” While this may be true relative to the hegemonic confines of sexuality, I view fetish as a portal, that is, as an object that operates beyond logic in order to bestow the gift of unhampered, physical expression. Subsequently, one feels free to explore the body through experience that is not hampered by contemporary, heterosexual morality.

This morning as I pull a half mask off the positive mold, I stroke the smooth, exterior surface of the leather. I examine the miracle of forming vegetable tanned leather. I look at the small, respiratory opening and the overall shape of the mask and my cock becomes tumescent. I do not understand why the object has this power over me. And if I try to formulate a reason, the object loses its grasp on me. The fetish operates solely because I allow the visceral part of myself to come to the fore, quashing the more rational part. This action sublimates a sexual response that falls outside of social definitions. A more primitive expression that leads to orgasm with no simulation to intercourse.

I cum in every mask I make, usually adding my own blood. Occasionally, I piss on it. When I am done, I massage the sticky ooze into the rough side of the mask. Finally, I seal it so that the liquid becomes a permanent part of the leather. Sexual expression utilizing a variety of bodily fluids.

I can remember the first time that I did this. Late one evening, I pulled a mask from the form and left it on the counter. While pulling it, I cut my hand with the blade, bleeding profusely on the interior surface. The next morning immediately after waking, I stood over the mask, my erection pushing against my loose robe. I looked at the dark blood stain inside. Without thinking, I began stroking myself and shot into the mask, a vessel for my cum. And, in a fashion similar to that used to initially form the mask over the positive side, I massaged the negative side with my hands, slowly working in the liquid.

I never know at what point I will baptize a mask. Usually it is in the early morning. Always at an early stage so as to weld my bodily fluids to the object.

When worn, the mask transforms both through its limiting character and through its ability to alter the body’s shape. Apertures limit sensory functions. Actual contact with the skin becomes restrictive, often claustrophobic. In contrast, the new, assumed shape of the masked part causes a feeling of extension into new space. A new skin. As a result, movements are altered both by the struggle within the mask and the liberation without. Surrender to the masking experience has been the basis of contemporary acting exercises, historic theatre, and, more importantly, the foundation of primitive, ecstatic experience.

When not in use, I cover the mask by placing it in a bag. An object of transformative power, I protect it from the mundane objects used in daily life. Virtually everyone who does mask work does this. In fact, this was one of the first instructions I received when I began learning about leather mask making. Unless in use, cover the mask.

At home, I am surrounded by masks in my office. It is my sanctuary where I both work and meditate. They represent the different facets of my nature, a shape-shifter. Above the Buddha on my altar hangs a carved, Kenyan mask once worn during circumcision rites. Its small, relaxed mouth and downcast eyes reflect a guise similar to the one that I assume on the zafu, the cushion.

In like fashion, I have a fetish for boots. When I connect with a boot bottom, I enter what feels like a light trance or drugged-like state, a state where my senses feel heightened. In addition, the boots as fetish objects facilitate the emergence of my sadistic nature. I become hard and immediately feel a rush of power like a strong current in a river. And I give myself to it. Beyond logic or reason, I surrender myself to the fetish and the my position of dominance.

I would suggest that rather than being an obstacle to complete sexual experience, the fetish object liberates the expression of sexuality beyond the confines of social definitions. It counters the contemporary world by allowing entrance into a world more in touch with the phenomenal self. An experience more at home in the “primitive” world than the cerebral experience of Western culture.

I'm Not a Title Holder Type!

After the excitement of Dore Alley and a few nights of good, sound sleep, I have started to digest the results of last weekend’s contest. International LeatherSIR 2010.

For twenty years I have avoided titles. I felt that I could contribute to my community better if I stayed behind the scenes. I reasoned that I was already a leader in my local community, and I was respected as a Sir. I was a player who mentored others in the Tribe. Why did I need a title?

After undergoing the refiner’s fire of this weekend’s contest, I understand. The process of running for a title pushes one beyond comfortable limits. In particular, the International LeatherSIR/boy/Community Bootblack contest is a crucible in which contestants are put to the test over a period of three days. It is a scene that begins on Thursday and ends on Saturday night.

The first day begins slowly, with closed meetings for contestants, producers, and judges. This year the day ended with a Meet and Greet at Mr. S. Leathers and a subsequent welcome at Chaps II. The second day focused more on the head space of the contestants. Interviews, speeches, and a jock strap portion that should be thought of as an exercise in improvisation more than a pose down. The third and final day turned to actual play, with demonstrations and fantasies.

As I stood beside my brothers on the stage Saturday night, I felt proud to be counted as one of them. Also leaders in their respective regions, I felt kinship for having undergone the weekend journey together. I listened as my name was called out and stood in disbelief for a second. I looked down the row on stage, brothers together. All outstanding men. And I stood still for a moment in disbelief.

“How could I have won?” I thought. “I’m not a titleholder type.”

I reflect over the last two decades and realize that there are many types of men that have held titles. I think of Brian Dawson, the International Mr. Drummer the year I inched my way into the community. I reflect on Woody Bebout, a judge this past weekend. I think of the most recent LeatherSIRs. All very different men who have one thing in common. They served their community well during their title years.

I feel honored to add my name to the list of International Drummers and International LeatherSIRs, a line that goes back to 1979. And I look forward to representing the P/players’ community through service.

Contest Speech

What an amazing journey it has been since coming out into Leather more than twenty years ago! So many people have influenced me over the years but no one more than my friend, my brother, my mentor, Al "D" Sowers.

I recall a day in the mid-nineties. Al and I had wired his boy up to one of his cruel, homemade, electrical devices. And we were cranking away, making his boy dance like an organ grinder's monkey and laughing. Suddenly Al grew quiet and asked me if I ever thought of training a boy.

"Al, I may be a dominant but I am no sir," I replied quickly.

How I wish that Al D was here tonight, sitting in the back, smiling and shaking his head with approval!

Al taught me many things. He taught me that play is more than just a mechanism to a thrill. SM can be a means of transformation, a lens through which I can see myself more clearly.

Every morning in Zen meditation I ask myself, "What am I?" And although there is no defined answer, I offer these words by my friend, author David May:

SM gives me back myself by removing the clutter.

I am a proud member of this Tribe. I am a Leatherman. I am a Sir.