For What It's Worth

Today I sat looking at my doctor as he showed me the images of my left ankle. "Your decades of dance have taken their toll on your body," he said showing me an x-ray. "I am surprised that only your left is giving you trouble."

I sat quietly taking it all in. I thought of the accolades over the years and wondered if it was worth it: 1973 World Champion Scottish Highland Dancer; corps, then soloist, and principal with Ballet West and Pacific Northwest Ballet; successful choreographer; movement instructor; modern dancer; movement artist. I had destroyed my joints over the decades, pushing my body to the limit and then beyond.

I am a man who never backs down from a challenge. Being a masochist I have a huge pain threshold. This year, I have endured months and months of pain, refusing to acknowledge that I needed medical attention.

I thought of the 1000's of people who have applauded me over the decades. And the reviews of critics who celebrated my work. I never faced a bad review, either for my interpretations as a performance artist or a choreographer. Was it worth it?

The doctor explained possible limitations in the future. He recommended that I avoid running and jumping, putting undue stress on the joints. "The time has come to face the music," he said.

I thought of the many people who paid to see me perform, fans that even now recognize me on the streets of Seattle. And then I thought of those people who stand beside me today, supportive and concerned: my partner, my boys, my slave, and a few friends.

Was it worth pushing my body beyond its physical capabilities? This question remains with me as I write this entry.

In Leather we often push ourselves beyond our limits. And all too often we do things for the accolades of others. We want to be accepted, to be acknowledged, to be celebrated as a traditional, "Old Guard" Leatherman, a serious member of the Community. When all is said and done, we must face the music. We must ask ourselves, "Was it worth it?"

I have no regrets. My performance career included Highland Dancing, ballet, modern dance, musical theatre, avante garde performance, and even Leather events. I followed my heart and never held anything back. In spite of the recent diagnosis, I love the experiences that make up my life.

And it has been worth it because I have followed my heart. I have not done things for the applause, for the accolades. The impetus has always come from the inside, from within.

To invoke the Bard once again, "To thine own self be true." This saying hangs upon one of the walls of my home. And it is tattooed around the neck of my partner. The key to a happy life.

Mad boy's Love Song

(I think I made You up inside my head.)

Suited in dark gray with silver hair and starched, white shirt, I face You over a glass of fine, Italian wine. Your handsome, carved face denies the dark-scented perversion of Your Leather. You look at me and I look away, embarrassed.

I blink once, twice, and then look up as you loosen your tie. Your silver hair brilliant against the backdrop of the night. The stars try to warn me, but my thoughts go black. Like the Stones song, I am blinded but to the darkness of Your immediate need.

Tipsy now, you lead me defenseless to your bed, iron-black and stern. And you lay me down and remove my pants, my cock leaping helpless against Your confident mouth. Your lips and tongue work the hard shaft of my boyhood and I become helpless. And simultaneously You unbutton Your shirt to reveal Your hirsute, silver against the darkness of the moon through Your open window. More Werewolf than Man, Daddy takes me and I succumb, my innocence blurred by Your desire.

“How could I have been so trusting,” I thought, Your cock now hard and pressing against my thigh. “I have been deceived,” my thoughts racing. Then I feel Your kiss, soft against my shaft, my abdomen, Your mouth working its way up until it finally reaches my chest. Caressing each nipple between your lips, You tease each tender mound with Your experienced tongue. I sigh and look down in time to see You unzip Your tailored trousers. Your perfect cock surrounded by a wreath of black hair flecked with gray.

“Daddy, please take Your boy,” I plead. I am now helpless against You. You force me down head first and shove Your cock into my waiting mouth, and I realize that my saliva is the only lube that You intend to use when You fuck me. I try to slobber out some spittle and my mouth goes dry. You pull Your cock out of my mouth and move it down to my tight hole. And I close my eyes and wait for the burn of that first thrust.

My thoughts turn to the forced morality of Sunday School lessons, of David and Jonathan and stories of Old Testament fraternities. I wonder why I have been drawn to You, a man twice My age. My first steps beyond the apron strings, and I find Another to parent me, a Leather Daddy in suit and tie, a Gentleman now exposed by the drive of His perversion.

“Your type disappeared long ago,” I mumble, my desire meeting Yours halfway. You ignore me and I kiss You in return. Then I lift my legs to guide You deep within me. I feel Your cock shaft moving definite in and out and I ignore the pain. Instead, I give myself to You. You have moved into the silhouette of my darkest fantasy and I surrender. I close my eyes again and feel You cum deep within me. Your cock throbs, You arch, and I lie back satisfied.

(I think I made You up inside my head.)

Occupy Wallstreet (or Take Back Your Leather)

In the last month, hordes of people young and old are congregating on Wall Street and in every city of the country. They are angry, frustrated at the fact that banks and financial institutions have been bailed out by the government while jobs continue to dwindle. They are angry that one percent of the population is getting richer while the other ninety-nine percent grows poorer.

The powerful hide behind their corporations, entities now equal in rights before the law. This shift began more an one hundred years ago, when the highest court in the land declared that corporations had equal protection under the Bill of Rights. Although other cases laid the foundation for this ruling, it was Noble versus Union River Logging Railroad Company in 1893 that marked the shift. And continuing this trend toward the rise of corporate power, Randall versus Sorrel in 2006 opened the floodgates relative to elections and corporate political influence.

Today citizens are rising up and declaring that the fabric of this country is not built on corporate greed. It is built on the working men and women of this land.

As a Leather/kink Community, we seem to be a microcosm of society at large. And mirroring this trend, individuals are growing tired of "Community" being equated with titles and organizations. As if individuals without titles or affiliations are ciphers. Do we forget that our organizations were founded to serve the players of our Community, and not the other way around?

Local title organizations flock like flies toward the newest face in the bar, anxious to enlist him or her as a contestant in the next contest. And clubs sign them up as quickly as frat houses sign up pledges during rush week. Rather than emphasizing mentorship between individuals, these groups favor workshops and how-to books, the quickest way to not only learn the "right" way to play, but also the easiest way to charm the money from the pockets of these newcomers. Leather and Kink organizations insist that this is the way to build Community.

But there is another voice rising, the voice of those kinky fuckers who play, who value Leather Family more important than Leather titles and workshops.

In stating this, I do not wish to negate the title that I held as International LeatherSIR in 2010. Nor do I want to dismiss the importance of Leather clubs and runs. They have their place as a means of bringing like-minded people together. The danger lies when we lose sight of their purpose and begin believing that organizations are more important than the individuals that they are supposed to serve. As ILSb's Mark Frazier reminded me many times during my title year, "Family comes first."

In short, it is about people and what they do to each other. It is about fucking, sucking cock, beating a back bloody. About serving a MASTER and, in turn, caring for HIS property. About mentoring boys, providing them the protection and safety that they cannot find in society at large.

Perhaps it is time for us to occupy our bars and our clubs and declare with a loud voice that we are the Community. Long after the titles and clubs have faded, men and women will be playing and exploring the delights of BDSM. And just as those protesting in cities across the United States proclaim "We are the government; you work for us," we need to raise a similar cry in the Leather/kink Community.

The Dysfunctional Leather Family

Drama is the black hole of Leather. It draws almost everyone into its dark vacuum, robbing them of energy and the ability to mentor and assist others. Years ago I found myself drawn into one of these black holes. I fought the gravitational pull of such drama for a few weeks, finally protesting that my Leather had nothing to do with the foment of politics. And the response, "We are Family, and that means that things can often be dysfunctional. That is part of being a Family."

This is utter bullshit!

As adults we often form families in order to heal the wounds left by our biological families. Our goal in forming chosen families is to end the patterns of dysfunction that left us scarred in adolescence. Even though we protest that we do not want to reproduce these patterns in our adult relationships, we know of no other way to interact with others. As a result, we pass our dysfunction to our boys, our sirs, and our friends. A plague that manifests itself not only as physical abuse and emotional manipulation, but also as politics, drama, and gossip.

In the eighties I led parallel lives. I usually had a Daddy, an older Man who nurtured and guided me, and a man who was my primary partner, and with whom I relived the abuse of my biological family. A carbon copy of my childhood, a period of suspension between the night and the day selves. In 1990, both collided in a volatile relationship that ended in physical violence. At this time I realized that I needed a counselor to address the role of victim that I was playing out over and over again. I was unable to have a healthy, fraternal relationship due to the sexual and emotional abuse of my past.

At that time, my therapist said to me, "Abuse is not defined solely by an act. It is also the repetition of that act through emotional manipulation." I recalled the sexual abuse that I had suffered as a child and my subsequent manipulation by older brothers. And I realized that emotionally I was finding satisfaction from my abusive relationships.

Because Leather and kink lies outside of the hegemonic definitions of sexual health, we live in an environment where emotional problems can lurk undetected. For this reason, we must be diligent in our honesty, recognizing patterns of abusive behavior and dysfunction in ourselves. Any external attempt to police such patterns becomes ineffective without the willingness of both the abused and the abuser to cease such behaviors. No rules that we establish as a Community can stop the rampant abuse between dominant and submissive men unless they recognize the roles they play in the cycle.

Exiling abusers is no longer a possible tactic in dealing with this problem. With social networking sites, chat, and texting as the primary means of communication within our Community, expulsion is futile. Virtual space rather than physical place has become the nexus of the Leather/kink Men's Community. And it is impossible to flag the curious regarding potentially harmful men due to the myriad of online meeting sites.

I suggest a new paradigm. In order to root out the cancer, both the dominant man and submissive man must receive support and therapeutic intervention. We cannot simply exile them or deny them admittance to our bars. Rather, we must offer safe havens to those who need them, and to know to whom we can turn in the therapeutic and medical fields to assist those who need help.

As a Sir, I must acknowledge that the most I can do is to provide a safe haven for men who are trying to address this karma. I must recognize my limitations as a more experienced member of my Community. I can provide safety but I cannot offer therapeutic intervention. I can, however, help others find professionals who understand our issues as deviants and perverts. This is crucial in healing the wounds of abuse.

But first and foremost, before we can help others we must help ourselves. This is an indictment to all of us to boldly examine ourselves, to recognize the residual wounds from our past. And to obtain the counsel of professionals if we find ourselves thinking about these wounds on a recurring basis. This is the very first step in routing out the abuse in our midst.

Many shun therapy in the Leather Community, especially those men who claim dominance. They believe that they are somehow immune from the karmic effects of negative behaviors. Some believe that they can use SM in lieu of therapy. This is like saying that Leathermen do not need professional medical attention when they are ill. Many years ago Guy Baldwin spoke with me about this issue. He was quite direct. Play can have therapeutic effects but it is not a replacement for professional treatment.

There are a number of ways to find a therapist who is Leather/kink friendly. And while it is not the topic of this article, I would encourage anyone who is looking for therapy to put the question plainly to the mental health professional. Then ask for the opinions of others in the local Community. In choosing a therapist, one must be bold and discerning. This is very important.

About twenty years ago two women in the greater Leather Community offered me a place where I would be safe. Later, when my relationship dramatically ended, I was offered a place with my brother and friend, Al D Sowers. All three of these individuals did not save me. They did not coddle me. Rather, each expected me to put forth some effort to help myself. This is the key.

I remember the night that my life was threatened, talking to Al D at 3 am. As I spoke to him from a pay phone in Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood, he asked me if I could make it to his house a few miles away. "Do you have money for the bus?" he queried.

"Yes," I responded.

"Then come to my house. I will be waiting for you at the door."

About an hour later, I arrived at Al's house in Ballard. And sure enough he was there, standing at his door in his robe. He gave me a place to stay during those first months of therapy. And he continued to open his home to me whenever I needed a place to stay during my healing.

Brothers and sisters, we must help ourselves. Becoming the emotional police is not a permanent solution for ending abuse in our midst. We must first obtain help for ourselves in order to address our own unresolved issues. Only then can we help our brothers and sisters in the Community.

The Death of Tolerance?

During the recent panel discussion “Is Leather Dead?'” presented by the San Francisco Leathermen's Discussion Group in July, Guy Baldwin described the classic Leather bar as a a nexus of many groups: bikers, fisters, men who practiced S/M, men who wore Leather as fetish, and men who simply enjoyed the pervasive masculinity. Disparate groups interacted together in relative harmony. Men whose shared identity was negation, NOT part of the cultural hegemony in America and the rising Gay mainstream.

Today we gather on social networking sites. Many of us use these sites as a means of screening our future fucks and play partners before Leather runs. Others use social networking to arrange face-to-face gatherings including beer busts and dungeon parties. And still others have developed advanced techniques of cruising that rival the quiet art exercised in the Leather bar, leading to physical encounters and subsequent play.

There are still others who use the Internet as a mask to hide behind. These men shun social spaces and the mannered ritual of cruising. They prefer to use the Internet as a substitute for skill and social ability. These men usually use the anonymity of the web to make immediate connections with other men, claiming to be “Sirs” or “Masters” with a history of experience. Devoid of the checks and balances of actual place, these Web-doms often find it easy to write cruel remarks to submissives on line. Behind the mask of the website, inexperienced men feel emboldened. Sociopaths that take advantage of the curious and the uninitiated.

On the flip side, inexperienced subs often feed like predators on the earnest remarks of experienced Doms. Like the Hungry Ghosts of Buddhist lore, they strive to fill their stomachs in spite of the constriction of their throats, never content. They demand to meet the Dom immediately and usually release a litany of epithets when the experienced Man insists on meeting first to negotiate.

The efficiency of the language used in chatting, texting, and e-mailing adds to the volatility of the virtual place. Ignoring conventions of the spoken word that reinforce polite behavior, messages become direct, clipped, and often harsh. This compounds the need for personal interaction between potential players subsequent to on line cruising.

The cruising ritual of the Leather bar virtually eliminated such rude interactions, demanding politeness either out of fear of immediate retaliation from peers or out of respect for the feelings of others.

Many men of my generation have mourned the passing of San Francisco's Eagle. For me, this bar was more than a historical place of refuge. Its dark recesses facilitated the art of cruising, an art based on discretion and subtle interaction. I mourn the loss of this social art. Cruising is based on nuance and mannered restraint. And the subtlety of such interactions are often missed by the uninitiated, visible only to those who know how to read the signs. Because of this, the Leather bar operated on both esoteric and visible levels. Tolerance enforced by the phenomenon of cruising.

Since my late teens, whenever I am in Venice I have sought out the intimate space inside the Chiesa di San Sebastiano, a church in one of the furthest corners of Dorsoduro. Once inside the coolness of the church, I immediately go to the front of the sanctuary. Standing next to the altar I become part of the drama of Paolo Veronese's masterpiece depicting the martyrdom of the Saint. Glancing up to the farthest corner of the dark space, I become with Saint Sebastian the target of the archers. An essential part of the unfolding drama of his martyrdom.

Tourists inevitably stare as I stand in stillness before Veronese's massive canvas. In spite of the fact that they occupy the same space that I occupy, they are ignorant of the drama that is enfolding. The three painted archers take aim from the far corner of the darkness, pointing their arrows at both Saint Sebastian and myself.

My phenomenon remains hidden to those who are not privy to Veronese's visual interplay. Tourists come and go and I remain standing beside the altar and Saint Sebastian's painted body peppered with arrows.

This is the tolerance of place. The phenomenon of cruising. A tolerance that the Internet cannot replace. The actual space becomes a nexus of phenomena experienced on multiple planes.

The Leather bar as sanctuary.

The Death of Tolerance?

During the recent panel discussion “Is Leather Dead?'” presented by the San Francisco Leathermen's Discussion Group in July, Guy Baldwin described the classic Leather bar as a a nexus of many groups: bikers, fisters, men who practiced S/M, men who wore Leather as fetish, and men who simply enjoyed the pervasive masculinity. Disparate groups interacted together in relative harmony. Men whose shared identity was negation, NOT part of the cultural hegemony in America and in the rising Gay mainstream.

Today we gather on social networking sites. Many of us use these sites as a means of screening our future fucks and play partners before Leather runs. Others have learned how to use social networking to arrange face-to-face gatherings including beer busts and dungeon parties. And still others have developed advanced techniques of cruising that rival the quiet art exercised in the Leather bar, leading to physical encounters and subsequent play.

There are still others who use the Internet as a mask to hide behind. These men shun social spaces and the mannered ritual of cruising. They prefer to use the Internet as a substitute for skill and social ability. These men usually use the anonymity of the web to make immediate connections with other men, claiming to be “Sirs” or “Masters” with a history of experience. Devoid of the checks and balances of actual place, these Web-doms often find it easy to write cruel remarks to submissives online. The cruising ritual of the Leather bar virtually eliminated such rude interactions, demanding politeness either out of fear of immediate retaliation from peers or out of respect for the feelings of others. Behind the mask of the website, inexperienced men feel emboldened. Sociopaths that take advantage of the curious and the uninitiated.

On the flip side, inexperienced submissives often feed like predators on the earnest remarks of experienced Doms. Like the Hungry Ghosts of Buddhist lore, they strive to fill their stomachs in spite of the constriction of their throats, never content. They demand to meet the Dom immediately and usually release a litany of epithets when the experienced Man insists on meeting first to negotiate.

The efficiency of the language used in chatting, texting, and e-mailing adds to the volatility of the virtual place. Ignoring conventions of the spoken word that reinforce polite behavior, messages become direct, clipped, and often harsh. This compounds the need for personal interaction between potential players subsequent to online cruising.

Many men of my generation have mourned the passing of San Francisco's Eagle. For me, this bar was more than a historical place of refuge. Its dark recesses facilitated the art of cruising, an art based on discretion and subtle interaction. I mourn the loss of this social art. Cruising is based on nuance and mannered restraint. And the subtlety of such interactions are often missed by the uninitiated, visible only to those who know how to read the signs. Because of this, the Leather bar operated on both esoteric and visible levels. Tolerance enforced by the phenomenon of cruising.

Since my late teens, whenever I am in Venice I have sought out the intimate space inside the Chiesa di San Sebastiano, a church in one of the furthest corners of Dorsoduro. Once inside the coolness of the church, I immediately go to the front of the sanctuary. Standing next to the altar I become part of the drama of Paolo Veronese's masterpiece depicting the martyrdom of the Saint. Glancing up to the farthest corner of the dark space, I become with Saint Sebastian the target of the archers. An essential part of the unfolding drama of his martyrdom.

Tourists inevitably stare as I stand in stillness before Veronese's massive canvas. In spite of the fact that they occupy the same space that I occupy, they are ignorant of the drama that is enfolding. The three painted archers take aim from the far corner of the darkness, pointing their arrows at both Saint Sebastian and myself.

My phenomenon remains hidden to those who are not privy to Veronese's visual interplay. Tourists come and go and I remain standing beside the altar and Saint Sebastian's painted body peppered with arrows.

This is the tolerance of place. The phenomenon of cruising. A tolerance that the Internet cannot replace. The actual space becomes a nexus of phenomena experienced on multiple planes.

The Leather bar as sanctuary.

Reflections on the Hollow Men

"We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men."

When I fashion a Leather mask, I begin by casting the face. I carefully mold a negative form and from that, I create a positive. Then I stretch the Leather, hammer it, and rub it methodically for hours until a near perfect replica of the visage takes shape. A mask that begs to be worn. Without a person to wear it, the mask is dead, an object without life. Every actor knows this. An essential part of the professional actor's training is learning to interact within its hollow. Acting en masque.

Decades ago, many of our Leather organizations were formed. They were fashioned by men who understood the need to raise funds and awareness for HIV, for service to members of the Community, to defeat right-wing political agendas that threatened to drown us in intolerance. Although the shape of these organizations has remained the same over the years, the skill of those who knew how to animate them seems to be gone. What remains are the shells of organizations, masks of clubs and contests that once served a vibrant purpose.

While a few of these organizations have found revitalization through the efforts of a few selfless individuals, most remain evident but ineffective. They seem to have little direct association with their original purpose. And their affiliation with Leathersex, with play, or with the individuals who make up our current Community seems strained. Many of these organizations have become but facades of broken stones from another time, objects that are the focus of "Old Guard" incantations and fantastical rituals.

Groups that used to facilitate brotherhood now foment politics and drama. And their leaders, once essentially hidden behind the masks of their organizations, now expose themselves. The desire to be seen, greater than the call to serve. For it was service that animated these organizations, not the egos of men whose appetite for accolades and awards compels them to move the mask from the borders of its surface rather than from the inside.

I recently attended a symposium in San Francisco called, "Is Leather Dead?" As a Sir to boys of varying ages I can attest that kink and perversion is alive and well in the lives of the rising generation of Gay men. What seems to be dead are many of our organizations that have no context in the lives of these men. They belong more within the context of a reliquary than a vibrant Community.

So all hail to the "Hollow Men" who claim to lead these organizations. To them, I say -

"A penny for the Old Guy."

Care and Feeding of Your International Titleholder

Hosting an International Titleholder is one of the most important tasks in producing a regional LeatherSIR/boy/Community Bootblack contest. A good host can either make or break the weekend from the Titleholder's standpoint. And a conscientious producer will understand this and assign the task to a person who is reliable.

Last year as one of your International Titleholders, I enjoyed the hospitality of some great hosts. Based on my experience, I would like to suggest four things to local producers that will help your Titleholder feel well-cared for and appreciated during a visit to your region:

1. Clear communication. Usually the International Titleholder will contact you at the beginning of the Title year regarding your regional event. Respond to the e-mail promptly. Let the Titleholder know that you are looking forward to the visit. That way, the Titleholder can take advantage of the best possible fares for a flight to your region. At least one month before the visit, write directly to the Titleholder. Ask if the Titleholder is coming with a partner or Leather Family member. Reconfirm the dates of your contest, and include host family information, local transportation arrangements, the schedule of your weekend, and all tasks expected of the Titleholder. Also include telephone number of the host and the address of the host's home, if the Titleholder is crossing the border. Very important, as customs requires an actual address when entering or leaving a country.


2. A good host home. The host should contact the Titleholder directly at least two weeks prior to the event. If the host has a dog or cat, the host should find out if any allergy exists. And the host should inquire regarding food preferences at that time.
   

   A good host home does not need to be large or luxurious. It should be tidy, clean, and peaceful. And it should have adequate space to allow the Titleholder to spread out luggage.

   The good host should provide breakfast, including coffee or tea. The host should know what meals will be supplied during the weekend in advance. Providing meals and snacks make the Titleholder feel like a valued guest.

   Finally, the host should never expect repayment for services in the form of sex. While hot play does occur on occasion, the host should never pressure the Titleholder to perform. If such an encounter occurs, allow the Titleholder to initiate it. Cruising face to face is still a valued art in our Community.



3. Reliable transportation in your region. A person should be assigned the task of providing transportation to and from the airport. The Titleholder must know who this person is in advance, and where they will meet upon arrival. The telephone number of the person greeting the Titleholder should be provided prior to departure. If the person meeting the Titleholder is late, or if there is a traffic problem en route to the airport, a text should be sent immediately. Making the Titleholder feel well-cared for begins upon arrival.
   

   The person providing general transportation must know the Titleholder's weekend schedule and to make sure that the Titleholder is on time to every planned event. The person should also be ready to transport the Titleholder back to the host home after each event unless the Titleholder has made other arrangements. The Titleholder does not expect the person to be responsible for transportation to and from a trick's home.
   

   In addition, if there is a long interval between events, the Titleholder does not feel stranded. Ask if the Titleholder would like to go somewhere. It is courtesy to offer transportation during these times, too.
   

   Finally, the person providing transportation should insure that the Titleholder arrives at the airport in plenty of time for the return flight. After dropping the Titleholder off, the person should remain on call until the flight actually leaves, checking the cell phone for text messages or incoming calls.



4. Avoid local politics! Never discuss the problems of your region with the Titleholder. The Titleholder is there to serve everyone, not just those people preferred by the producer. Discussions regarding contestants who are favored must also be avoided. Instruct the host, the person providing transportation, and all in your production staff to avoid discussions that could compromise the Titleholder's position as a neutral visitor. If there are any politics or problems that you feel the Titleholder must be aware of, communicate them to the International Board and allow them to communicate your concerns to the Titleholder.

   Politics and the related drama drain the energy of any Title contest or event.

With simple care and feeding while in your region, theTitleholder can provide you with years of lasting friendship and much gratitude.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

“i feel so comfortable, so relaxed, so at ease. Just to be able to be completely who and what i am, and not have to worry about being judged or criticized or misunderstood. It's like being on vacation.”

A member of my Leather Family wrote me these words following a weekend spent together. When I read his words, I realized that this was also how I felt as his Sir. After the three days playing together, I felt rejuvenated, relaxed, ready to face the world again.

Leathermen commonly use the word “honesty” in conjunction with other admirable traits during contest speeches and Internet forums. It is used so often that many of us have started to make jokes about what seems to be a generic application of the word. We draw parallels between the codified description of Leather and the oath pronounced by Boy Scouts at every troop meeting. The word seems to point to an abstract idea devoid of the actual operation of the word relative to our play.

Playing on the edge requires both Dominant and submissive to strip away their social masks. The Dominant pushes the submissive to the point where the combined physical and emotional distress overcomes his ability to continue to wear his daily mask. The submissive no longer finds the energy necessary to maintain his disguise. he is stripped bare. Inhibitions are dropped. Fantastic desires surface. A fist up the ass to the elbow. A staged rape scene by multiple tops. A body reduced to piss, cum, blood, and tears. A state of abandon and fulfillment that many describe as psychologically therapeutic.

The Dominant can also be affected by hard play in a corresponding manner. Teetering on what feels like the precipice of control, the Dominant must decide whether to stick to a preconceived script or surrender to the moment. To take full advantage of the scene, He must also His relinquish will, abandoning the illusion of His dominance over the situation. He recognizes that all He can do is guide both Himself and the bottom through the miasma brought about by their play. In this way the Dominant meets the submissive half-way, dropping His mask and leaving Himself raw to the emotional intensity of the scene.

More a mechanism of exposure than protection, this is the honesty of Leather. It has little to do with the abstracted notion used in club oaths and modern religious credos. Rather, it is the direct byproduct of play, a souvenir of the scene that players share outside of the dungeon.

With no where to hide, the final result of such honesty is an intimacy where both Dominant and submissive vanquish all inhibitions, where both enjoy a bond beyond the maintenance of masks. A “comfortableness” that affords both a chance to breathe air clear of bullshit. No judgment. No criticism. No effort. Total acceptance.

Quite simply, a “vacation” from the drone of daily life.

The Mask's Balance

I am often asked why Leather masks have become such a primary focus of my Leather. The answer, each mask is a microcosm of the human experience, a dialogue between form and emptiness, the seen and the unseen. The exterior, a protrusion into space, the form. And the internal , the void into which the wearer must enter, the emptiness. The presentational surface invites the viewer to enter into dialogue with the masked. And the masked vivifies the surface that is presented. Together, both give life to the mask object.

The mask both disguises and exposes the wearer. As a disguise, it hides the literal skin in order to construct an other. But the mask also forces its wearer into action, forcing him to expose his phenomenal aspect. The mask constricts the senses so that extraneous movement is minimalized. Action is reduced to the essential, the critical.

The tools of Leatherplay operate in much the same way as the mask. No longer able to operate outside of the context established by the Dominant, the submissive is forced to express himself relative to the play object. The limitation of physical and emotional response in the Dominant's hand provokes the submissive to focus all his reactive energy on a single point. The point where a single tail strikes the skin. The constricting point of a rope that defines the limitation of the bound submissive.

Returning to masking, the mask object has no true back. Rather, the mask posits itself as a hollow relative to the wearer. A vacuum. An invitation to intimacy. Complementary to the public side, the side facing the wearer becomes private, experienced by one person.

The astute Dominant understands the intimate position of the submissive. He understands that the mask or play object is a portal to the senses, that its operation forces the submissive into a solitary space. As a result, experienced Dominants encourage kinesthetic responses from the submissive, vocalizations or gestures with the hands or limbs. And the experienced submissive understands that succumbing to the trance of privacy is selfish and denies the power exchange that defines Leatherplay. Because of its negligence in facilitating an exchange of power, surrender to privacy behind the mask object is nothing less than dysfunctional in the context of Gay Leather. In fact, the surrender to self in Leatherplay characterizes the biggest trap of Leatherplay.

In his essay “What Happened?” the author John Preston made this observation in the early nineties relative to sub-centric play:

If you want an anti-sexual experience, take a man, tie him up, whip his ass, and then listen to him lecture to you afterwards that you paid more attention to his right buttock than his left. He wasn't after an anarchistic S/M experience, he didn't want someone to show him his own shadows, he wanted an act executed as he directed it. Forgetting the experience, the how-to S/Mer falls back on the rule book. “And where did you get your training? What workshops have you gone to?” he asks, with all the social-status consciousness of a Boston banker asking where you went to college.

Preston, John. (1991). What Happened? In Mark Thompson (Ed.), Leatherfolk: Radical Sex, People, Politics, and Practice. (pp. 210-220). Boston: Allyson.

As a Dominant, I do not want to make my submissive comfortable when I play. Nor do I solely want to facilitate a state of ecstasy in the submissive brought about by endorphin release. Rather, I want to illicit an exchange between my self and my submissive. This creates a unique bond between us. Some men call this bond “trust” for lack of a better term. Private states of ecstasy are best left to religious rites and extreme masturbation. This is not the Leather that I practice.

Play objects operate like masks in my hands. My single tail connects my public position with the intimacy of the man on the receiving end. The bite of the cracker draws his sharp cry of pain and a rush of blood to the immediate area. I encourage both by striking that same spot again and again until I am satisfied with the submissive's response. This is the exchange of power that characterizes my Leatherplay. And it is the operation that characterizes the mask, my ultimate fetish.

Thank you!

I wish to thank all those who have supported me throughout this Title year. Especially to a great Title Family, boy Ian and Redwarrior!

In a few hours, my last moment on stage as International LeatherSIR. I look forward to passing on this great Title.

SIR Hugh B Russell
International LeatherSIR 2010

Creating Community: A statement of faith

As I was preparing my speech for the International LeatherSIR contest last year, my alpha boy gabe asked me if I would avoid using the word “community.” “Please don't talk about the 'Community,'” he pleaded. “It would be nice to hear a speech for a change that didn't once mention 'community.'” I acknowledged the extensive use of the word and informed him that I had no intention of using the word. Indeed, a favorite game that we play in our Leather Family consists of counting words that occur frequently in the speeches of potential titleholders. Each of us chooses a word and keeps score. “Community” wins every time by a large margin.

As Leatherfolk we especially like to use the word “community” not only to include those present, but also to evoke those in the past. In doing so, we conjure up a vision of unity, of sainted Leathermen from a mythologized past. We quietly reference them with sacerdotal reverence while reinforcing our infallible heritage stretching back generations, a means of self-identification, an attempt to establish pedigree in order to qualify ourselves.

What follows is an exhortation to boldly examine the praxis of invoking the past. In doing so, I acknowledge the discourse as the means of establishing and maintaining power. Michel Foucault considered this concept seminal in his examination of sexuality. In short, Foucault suggested that we are motivated to invoke the past through language in order to either maintain or shift our position of power, a means of validating our present desire. For this reason, we must understand that the person invoking the past in either oral or written form must be considered if we are to truly understand ourselves.

Returning to “community,” I recommend that we consider the founding of the National Leather Association (NLA) in Seattle in 1986 as the impetus for Leatherfolk to begin discussions of an actual gathering of clubs and organizations, the beginning of a Leather “community.” I should also note that the first March on Washington could serve as the point at which one might employ the word, a period which also gave birth to Leather contests. A member of Hellfire or The Eulenspiegel Society could opine that the initial stirrings of their organizations represent an earlier point in time during which individuals came together to create community. And then there is the question, do those who do not affiliate with any organization belong to the Leather “community?” The only thing we can glean from the many applications of the word is the understanding that its use defines our position relative to others.

In writing the statement above, I am validating my position as an author. My use of the word “community” in reference to the year 1986 locates me in time and space relative to the founding of the NLA. At that time I was a resident in Seattle and I was dating an older man who helped me accept that darker side of my sexuality. This was an important moment in coming to terms with my Leather. In short, my admonishment to use 1986 as a logical date for the formation of a Leather “community” is self-serving, bolstering my authority as an author.

To summarize, the words we use in interpreting the past are chosen relative to one's current position. To deny this suggests that the past exists as an immutable truth. As Gay men and Lesbians, we know that this is not true.

The creation of Gay history should stand as a warning to Leatherfolk in interpreting our past. Reacting to the patriarchal version of Western History taught in schools for decades, a number of Gay authors in the 70s and 80s focused on the male-male relationships of historical figures such as Tchaikovsky, Michaelangelo, and Socrates in an attempt to label them “Gay.” Our histories reach back centuries in spite of the fact that the praxis of identifying an individual by one's sexuality is quite modern. As Leathermen and women, we often do the same, creating a community of individuals from the past who may or may not have identified as Leather, or who may have felt no affiliation with a collective of initiates.

We tend to find apostolic zeal in the actions of many who came before us and like to cite their words as catholic truths. This practice can give one a strategic advantage when it comes to marketing one's opinions. For this reason alone, we should be wary when we encounter an author that draws from the past to create a dogmatic work on Leather without placing himself within its context. We must recognize that the author is interpreting the past and offering words that assume a position of authority.

Authors and speakers often invoke the term “Old Guard” in this way. By using this generic term, they effectively negate any differences between club and regional traditions. With the power of a papal edict, they then claim the right to pronounce what is “correct” or “true” Leather, hearkening back to a mythologized Golden Age of Leather. Such papal edits ostracize those who protest that the praxis of sexuality can be dictated. It has been my observation that usually these protesters make up the ranks of the rising generation.

And so, we come back to community and the questions we older Leatherfolk must ask ourselves. “Are we using the discourse of our past to exclude? Are we aborting those new men and women through our words?” We must remember that when we invoke the past we can provoke a negative response by many novitiates who are openly exploring their sexuality outside the imposed catechism of protocols. Perhaps it is not the older traditions that many new Leather and kink folk currently reject. Perhaps they are actually rejecting us as the purveyors of a discourse that concedes to them solely acolyte status, forever assisting us in the celebration of an old religion that no longer applies to contemporary life.

These are not easy questions to pose because I am part of that older generation of Leathermen who are both visible and outspoken. In serving as International LeatherSIR, I have occupied a podium that has required me to speak. This position challenges me to define what “Leather” is and I remain unable to do so. In fact, during the year I have been unable to intone the term “Leather Community” with any sense of conviction. For this reason I have focused instead on the phenomenon of radical sexuality, basing my observations on visceral rather than historical signs.

Looking deeper, my choice to base communication solidly in the body reinforces the nature of my sexuality. Because I enjoy it with little thought to social definitions and dictated credos, my sexuality operates outside of any scripture, beyond the discourse of right versus wrong, correct versus incorrect, or authentic versus fake. By rejecting all canons in regard to my desire, I assert a trans-moral rather than an amoral position. That is, my sexuality operates beyond the tensions of predetermined standards. It does not negate a dictated morality. Rather it exists beyond it, in a realm that is instinctual rather intellectual.

Bottom line, I do not need a pedigree or a license to drive my cock deep within a boy's guts or to make him dance at the end of my whip. And all the ecumenical writings mean little during that moment of pain, when the boy looks at me in lust and terror. My community begins here, between that boy and myself. And from that point, it extends to the congregation of individuals with whom I have played or who have shared the dungeon with me.

Here I stand!

The Black Death

Almost 80 years ago, the French surrealist Antonin Artaud recognized a different kind of theatre. He called it, “The Theatre of Cruelty.” No mere entertainment or amusement, The Theatre of Cruelty is not based on text, concrete definitions, or the development of dialogue or character. Instead, it is visceral, based in the body. Cruel, not because of its foundation in sadism, but rather because of the brutality of its operation in exposing the honesty of the moment. As a collective phenomenon, The Theatre of Cruelty is a contagion that, once under the skin, consumes like the plague. Artaud compared its effects to the Black Death in medieval Europe.

The Theatre of Cruelty is an appropriate description of the effects of Leather during in my own life. My initial experimentation gave way to an honest exploration of my sexuality, finally, coloring my phenomenal world. Another victim of the Black Death.

In Venice, there were two types of individuals who ministered to those inflicted with the Plague. The first is a well-known trope, the Plague Doctor. With his oiled, black robe, his beaked mask filled with camphor and herbs, the Plague Doctor pointed out the buboes on the body of the plague victim with a long, wooden cane. By maintaining a distance from the plague victim, the Doctor could avoid being contaminated by the Black Death.

The second type was a group of men called “i pizzigamorti.” These men were outlaws, outcasts like the people to whom they ministered. They can be seen in Venetian paintings, their naked, sinewed bodies in direct contact with the bodies of the inflicted. In this way, they, too, became inflicted themselves with the plague.

This year as International LeatherSIR I have not tried to keep myself apart from my peers. I have shared myself openly through conversation, blogs, and social networking. I have fucked and played in public dungeons, backyards, and sex clubs. Thus, I have been infected again and again with the contagious perversity of Leather.

After twenty-five years, I find that I have come full circle in my Leather, back to the place where I began. I remain curious and excited to learn more about the depths of my dark sexuality through my play. And I continue to question how I relate to that group of individuals that consider themselves my “Community.”

The Plague inflicts totally, and without mercy.

I am a LeatherMan!

I played for the first time more than twenty-five years ago. I had just come out and was desperate to find a hot man. Opening the pages of the Seattle Gay News, I came across an ad, Daddy looking for younger. Without a second thought, I dialed the number printed at the bottom. Answering the phone, a quiet but masculine voice gave me an address in the Capitol Hill neighborhood and encouraged me to come over immediately. I obeyed.

Hours later I emerged from my first adult encounter with another man. It was a hot summer, and I was wearing a white, wife-beater and a pair of jeans shorts. Glancing down in response to the new sensation that follows virgin nipple-play, I noticed two faint spots of blood begin to appear. As I entered the bus moments later, I felt nonchalant in spite of the odd looks by fellow passengers, the two red marks on my chest now quite pronounced. My head swam from the onslaught of endorphins. And I reflected on the session I had just experienced. I had no idea until that afternoon that my nipples were as sensitive as my cock and I could hardly wait to get home and try them out for myself while I beat off another time. I could not help but wonder what other surprises man-to-man sex would uncover.

For the next few years, I explored my body with abandon. I dated vanilla men while playing on the side with older, more experienced Daddies. Slowly, my adventures began bleeding over into my more mainstream relationships. “Having sex with you is like wrestling an animal,” one date chided. “You need therapy,” opined another.

I was not ashamed of my perverse behavior. I became aware of others who celebrated their sex with similar, deviant abandon. I spent afternoons and evenings pouring over Drummer Magazines and Dungeon Master, and I recognized the lure of SM in my own life. Still, I felt I was not worthy to be called “Leatherman.” almost as if I was not ready to accept my full masculinity. A LeatherDyke acquaintance observed, “When you see who you really are, you will be dangerous.”

I recall one evening sitting in a car outside the J and L (subsequently called, The Seattle Eagle). “Why don't you come in with me?” asked my Leather-clad companion.

“No,” I quickly responded. “I am not like you. I simply like 'hard' sex.” The term I used to describe my play. “I don't belong in a Leather bar because I am not a Leatherman!” The very term was fetish to me, a moniker that I would not presume to use to label myself.

“But you ARE like me,” my companion insisted. “And you belong in there just as much as I do.” He then began to summarize our encounters over the preceding months in narrative form. And, though I grew hard listening to my exploits in the third person, we parted ways that night and did not play together again.

A couple of years later my friend Wes Randall decided to address my reluctance to self-identify as a member of the Tribe. In his typical fashion, he used a public venue to do this. During an awards ceremony Wes singled me out. “To the best Leatherman I know,” he began. And then he called my name. Embarrassed, I was forced to acknowledge openly my proclivity for perverted sex.

I knew exactly what Wes meant when Ihe used that word, “Leatherman.” Wes was not recognizing me because of my Gear. At that time, I had little. Instead, he was showing me respect as a masochist, a player. He knew that I played on an emotional edge, something that he himself did in the dungeon. And he was not honoring a Community title. Wes wanted me to publicly acknowledge the true nature of my sexuality, to feel free to explore my body outside of social definitions alongside a group of men who did likewise.

(Wes did not like to be defined when it came to sex. He reveled in the label “Outsider,” even within the Leather Community.)

I have never understood the more contemporary practice of separating apparel from extreme sexuality. Historically, Leather was inclusive of fetish, SM, and the masculine eroticism that stemmed from hypermasculinity. By its very nature, it was taboo, outlaw. Criminalized in virtually every state in the United States and most countries.

In spite of the loosening of legal restrictions in many locales and the inclusion of SM in the mainstream, men continue to explore the edges of sexuality, blurring the boundaries of what is safe, sane, and consensual. Even the coined terms used to guide man to man play have been expanded to acknowledge those practices that have no textual definition. This is where my Leather resides.

I am proud to be a Leatherman.

Avon calling: Thoughts following Seattle Pride 2011

This year as I marched down Seattle's Fourth Avenue with whip in hand I could not help but ask myself why I was marching. Second in size only to the Torchlight Parade, Seattle's Pride parade plodded its way through downtown, stretching for more than a mile behind me. Corporate logos flanked both sides of the street as vendors hawked popcorn, Mardi Gras beads, and stuffed animals. Large groups of “out and proud” employees from banks and credit unions marched in close proximity, handing out advertisements as they passed the cheering crowd. What did my Leather have to do with such blatant capitalism? After pondering this question for a few moments, I realized soberly that in buying a spot as a “Corporate Sponsor” the Leather contingent had bought its place at the table. It had aligned itself with gay groups from Microsoft, Boeing, AT and T, and numerous clubs and retail outlets. I also realized sadly that that this classification was appropriate, given the entrepreneurship prevalent in contemporary Leather in the United States, men and women anxious to profit from an endless appetite for new and improved fetish products.

Many Leatherfolk today find themselves burdened by the constraints imposed by the recent financial climate. Some are out of work. Others struggle to overcome the downturn in retirement investments. Not to mention the costs of medications that many shoulder who live with HIV, some without the security of medical insurance. In spite of this, Leather runs continue to focus on profits as a measure of success. And workshops and publications abound like pests on a healthy plant. Turning inward, I must face the question, “What role have I played in this infestation?”

As a child I watched my father sever limbs from apple and pear trees infested with tent caterpillars. He gathered the limbs together in the middle of an open space and burned them. I was always horrified to see the vestigial appendages that remained of the once verdant foliage. “It's the only way that I can be assured that I these pests are gone,” my father explained.

Is such eradication necessary in U.S. American Leather? The art of personal gain has so infested the Community that the idea seems almost absurd. Indeed, many Leather “leaders” have become expert at charming money from our pockets. We, in turn, accept such behavior as inherent to our fetish. In short, we have become a microcosm of society at large.

As I ponder this concept, I am forced to ask another question relative to our History: Did the push to organize as a Leather Community in the mid-eighties facilitate such rampant capitalism in Leather? By asking this question, I do not mean to suggest that producers and organizers should not ask a fair price for services rendered. Or that all workshops, and books on SM should be avoided. Rather, this question points to a delicate balance that exists between financial profit and the nature of service.

No where is this balance more exposed than in Leather awards. It seems that service awards are often aligned more with the recognition of monetary gains than altruistic endeavors. Efforts by individuals that do not show immediate profit usually go unheralded or ignored. And even though few would argue that monetary gain does not necessarily equal service, Leather organizations in the U.S. continue to award prestige solely to those who possess a penchant for fund-raising, individuals whose zeal for making profits is equaled only by Mary Kay ladies and Amway salesmen.

Gay Leather in the United States hearkens back to renegade clubs, hidden brotherhoods, and unspoken sexual acts. Until the mid-eighties it has always been relegated to outlaw or Outsider status both by its adherents and by mainstream society. Wearing our sexuality on our sleeve, we both attract and repulse many within the mainstream Gay Community. Rather than mimic the corporate tactics of this mainstream, we must develop strategies that benefit the group rather than on tactics that aggrandize the individual.

Frankly, I am growing tired of answering the call to support my “Community” only to hear waiting once again at my threshold, "Avon calling."

Sexual Snake Charming: Northwest Pride, Portland, OR

This weekend as I meandered through Portland as part of Blackout Leather's contingency in the Northwest Pride Parade, I was amused at the number of people who turned their asses toward me as I passed. “Whip me,” they invited. “C'mon, Daddy, please hit my ass.” With my longest snake whip in hand, I walked down the street doing simple tricks. Upon invitation, I invariably cracked my whip in their direction and waved. Others in the crowd ran into the street and asked to pose with me as their friends snapped photos. Still others called out loudly, wanting to be acknowledged by International LeatherSIR.

Over the decades, Pride festivities have changed from political protests to Mardi Gras parades. Often Gay men and Lesbians grumble about this change. As a Leatherman, I celebrate this shift because I have found that I can charm fantasies and hidden desires out of the general public.

Some use Pride Parades as an excuse to expose themselves or to demonstrate their play skills on a shocked audience. This seems to meet their desire for exhibitionism. During my first few parades as a member of the Community, I did the same. Today my motivation has changed. I wear my Leather proudly because I feel that I look my best in full Gear: breeches, boots, uniform shirt, and tie. I like to wear it during Pride as a catalyst for the sexual expression of those participating as spectators.

I feel that Gay and Lesbian Leatherfolk hold the key to sexuality outside of the socially accepted definitions of sexuality. Many people who consider themselves mainstream are anxious to cast aside these definitions in favor of free expression, if only for an hour or a day. Facilitating this expression becomes, in turn, as much a political act as the Stonewall riots.

During the parade yesterday I listened as a number of people ran up to me and whispered their dalliances into SM. As I stood and listened during lulls in the parade, I realized that my light-hearted presence facilitated these confessions. “My partner and I performed the Masochism Tango a few years ago,” confessed an older woman as her partner sat quietly in the sidelines and waved. Her confession brought a broad smile to her face.

Half way through the parade I began popping the cluster of balloons worn as a tail by a member of the Portland Community. As we walked down the street, we beckoned the audience to applaud. Then I would take aim. A veritable circus act in Leather that encouraged a release of laughter from the crowd.

I do not ask for acceptance as a Leatherman. I do want approval. Instead, I demand tolerance to express my sexuality in private. I have seen that those in the mainstream are more prone to exercise tolerance when they recognize the complexity of their own sexuality. The Northwest Pride Parade allowed many to expose their carnality for a brief period, feeling a commonality with those of us marching in Leather.

Happy Pride!

One More Step

I remember the very first time that I solved a Zen koan. “The Zen Master sees that I am not so easily fooled by these Zen riddles,” I thought. “These koans are not so tough after all.”

The Zen Master smiled a broad smile and did not say anything for a few moments. Then he looked directly at me and said, “One more step is still necessary.”

I heard this remark over and over again during the next few years. “One more step.” What did this mean? Wasn't knowledge enough?

My formal Zen training paralleled my Leather training for many years. As a Leatherboy, I read all the requisite writings on Gay SM: The Leathermen's Handbook, Urban Aboriginals, and the monthly installments of Drummer magazine. I listened when my Elders took time to counsel me. And I wrote extensively about my experiences on the receiving side of the lash. In spite of my emerging dominance and my unwavering identification as a Leatherman, I felt unable to impart my knowledge to others.

I recall the first time I saw what I considered a “community” of Leatherfolk. On a midsummer's evening in 1986, a group of Gay Men and Lesbians met in the meeting rooms of the Seattle Center. I recall sitting in Big Eddie's Vine Street Station in Seattle's Belltown area and watching these Leatherclad men and women enter the bar in deep conversation. An electricity filled the room that compelled me to stare unabashedly all evening. I learned later that these folk had just come from the first annual “Living in Leather” conference, and that they were part of the newly formed National Leather Association. In subsequent years, I would participate in these conferences myself.

During the last twenty years, I have observed two very different interpretations of “Living in Leather.” Many have understood the term quite literally. They have taken to wearing their Leather all the time and in all places, exposing their gear and their asses in public. Others have felt that “Living in Leather” was a call to a new religion, exorcising the sleaze out of Leatherplay. Based on their understanding of the change in consciousness experienced during play, these folks followed a therapeutic path, using Leather to gain a greater sense of self.

Both of these views cause me to hearken back to a lengthy conversation I had with Guy Baldwin at one of Seattle Men in Leather's early runs. I was a new member of the club and anxious to learn all that I could from this experienced Leatherman. “Leather is not to be worn to scare children or little old ladies,” he instructed me. Later in the conversation, he added that in spite of its life-changing effects, “Leather is not therapy.”
On occasion, I must admit that I have scared children in my Leather. Hard not to do when marching in Pride Parades and shuttling back and forth to Leather events. And I have profited from the therapeutic effects of Leatherplay. Still, like the ever present bulges in every Tom of Finland work, the erect cock defines my Leather. My protocols, gear, and play all distill to this direct, physical response.

By pointing to the erect cock I am not alluding to the phallus. In Gay Leatherplay, a man's member is far more than a penetrative device. It stands erect as a result of stimulus outside of its geographic location on the body. Leather recognizes this by the varieties of play that we enjoy. In spite of slang terms, the honest cock has no head to either limit its response or to pay heed to political correctness. As Leathermen, we celebrate the cock because it is instinctual, our connection to the animal.

Society finds the need to deconstruct, define, and characterize everything, especially our bodies. In turn, Leather and kink folk have followed suit by defining and redefining our Leather through the word. But when all is written, we must admit that rational thought has little to do with our sexuality. Recitation of facts is not noesis. And understanding based on reasoning is not praxis. Leather is about living

What a boy wants: IML 2011, Chicago, IL

I attended this year's International Mr. Leather Weekend in Chicago with two of my boys. Both very different men yet both united in the bond of Leather Family. During the weekend the boys seldom left my side. After greeting me, a friend exclaimed, “Sir, you are dripping boys!” Even while congratulating the new IML Eric Eric Guttierez, the boys were close at hand.

This year's IML was more than simply a celebration of Leathersex with like-minded men. With my two boys, I rushed from one event to another, building to a climactic play session each day back in the hotel room. On Monday, I played with one boy for almost 12 hours in an almost uninterrupted scene, punctuated by short breaks for meals. At midnight we finally both collapsed on the bed.

“Play makes me feel more alive,” the boy observed after the heavy session, his back welted and bleeding from another single tail session. A paradoxical statement, considering the exhaustion that was quickly setting in.

As a Sir, my role is to create an environment in which my boys can explore themselves and the bond we share together. Heavy play facilitates the creation of that environment. With the body bruised and the mind flooded with the body's chemicals, a boy drops the defenses his public mask affords. No longer able to think clearly, he relies totally on the Dominant to guide him out of pain's immediate darkness. And finally, after enduring an odyssey of heroic proportions, the boy finds his way home with his Sir by his side. The result, a greater understanding of one's strength beyond the social definitions of masculinity.

In spite of the paternal role that I often play in the lives of my boys, the environment of our play is far from nurturing. It is filled with spit, piss, blood, and cum. The emotions cycle from laughter to tears, from love to repulsion, from unity to loneliness, and from boldness to sheer terror. Uniting these emotions together is our shared sexual hunger, an integral component of every scene.

The trust necessary to play on this edge begins long before the scene. The Sir must demonstrate His dedication to the boy from day to day. Essentially, the Sir must condition the boy to trust him through a pattern of service. This tempers the bond between Sir and boy sufficiently to totally submit. The essential exchange that becomes the foundation of a boy's sexual identity.

In an interview with Joseph Bean, John Siracusa, International Drummerboy 1990-1991, states:

Being a Boy is an expression of my sexuality. It allows me to go within myself and nurture the child inside of me. I feel that due to the pressure from society to conform, that we lose track of our innocence and childlike behavior, the things that allow us to be free spirits. Being a Boy is growing up all over again. (Drummer Issue 150; Desmodus, Inc; San Francisco, CA; September 1991)

John does not say that he expects his Sir to nurture him. Instead, he recognizes the responsibility to nurture himself, acknowledging that a boy is still a man.

Indeed, I expect my boys to be men. In play each redefines himself and his body. Whether by a lash on the back, a boot in the groin, or my cock shoved deep inside his guts, the boy knows that I expect him to drop the social mask in order to expose his true self. This is the beginning of the honesty upon which our bond is built.

I am proud to be International LeatherSIR this year, representing the Sirs and boys in the players' Community. I am especially proud to spend the last two months of my Title year standing in service next to Eric Guttierez. Wishing him a great year as International Mr. Leather 2011.

The boys of Boise

On Saturday I sat and judged four boys all vying for the title of Idaho Leatherboy. Quite a showing for a small city in the conservative Rocky Mountain area of the United States. With broad smiles, the boys were introduced one by one. Any region in North America would have been proud to have such contestants.

Hours before, I spent time watching the bootblack contestant. With the fastidiousness of a more experienced black, he serviced the boots of anyone who sat in his chair: cowboy boots, short ankles zips, high heels, and the occasional military boots. And Scout, last year's Northwest Community Bootblack, critiqued his work after each client, pointing out details in a way that was not only instructive but nurturing.

The highlight of my weekend, the boot stomping demo with Scout. Rather than line up the attendees in rows, we shaped the space in a semi-circle. An active and very light-spirited scene!

Last year began the tradition of Ruff n ' Tumble, an annual run in May that promises to become one of the most exciting events in the Northwest. Bravo to Kevin, Laura, and the owners of The Lucky Dog Tavern for hosting it. And for those of you who like hot boys, Boise is your kind of town. They just don't come any hotter than this.

The Leather Proletariat

During the last few decades a dual class system has arisen in that loose network of men that the Leather intelligentsia calls “Community.” Like the greater society in which the Leather Community exists, these two classes have their leaders. One class self-identifies as the ruling class, the institutional leaders who often occupy their positions through financial advantage. The Leather bourgeoisie. The men in the other class seldom identify at all. The leaders of this horny mass of men arise organically. These leaders often go unnoticed, their influence felt by the ruling class only when a shift has occurred within the Community.

Since the early nineties, the institutional class has grown stronger in tandem with the financial strength of Leather organizations. This class claims a pedigree that hearkens back to the motorcycle clubs of the forties and fifties in spite of the fact that most are self-proclaimed experts and have little heritage. Many have arisen within the ranks of this class, their status directly tied to their ability to purchase and attend events organized by themselves. Those with a more jaundiced eye to the sexual praxis of the other class reinforce their position of privilege by creating books and workshops that elaborate their decisions.

What this institutional class seems to ignore is the fact that Gay Leathersex is directly aligned with a man's cock. And amplified by the greater social acceptance of man-to-man sex, the cock continues to be the ruling power in Leather. All the workshops and non-profits cannot negate the ruling force of a hard cock, the power of the masses.

Men who are leaders in the other class, the Leather proletariat, are men who love to play and are not afraid to align their play with their crotch. And they are men who profit from innovation and the violation of wooden traditions.

As International LeatherSIR this year, I recognize that the title I wear has little worth without the acceptance of the this class. It does not make me a leader. Nor does it automatically win me the respect of my peers. The sash simply gives me greater visibility in a crowd. In short, unless I am recognized as a leader by the proletarians within the Community, my title is meaningless.

In the mid-eighties I was attracted to rough, man-to-man sex because it turned me on. Leathermen both attracted and frightened me. In spite of my trepidation, my tumescent cock dictated my position within the greater Gay Community: Leatherman.

Years later I am repulsed by the overruling desire of a number in the ruling class to pimp out the Leather traditions that I have practiced for decades. The ruling class believes that documentation bestows authority for the establishment of fundamentalism in Leather. I see these claims of authority based on the institutional interpretation of history nothing more than Pharisaic. They have little relationship to the authenticity of Leathersex and the political incorrectness of a man's hard cock.

As a Sir, I grow concerned about the insulation enjoyed by the institutional class relative to the growth of Gay Leather and kink. Composed history and tradition have become an intractable chastity device that has been applied without an understanding of the fetishes and perversions of the rising generation.

Earlier this year a contestant for the Northwest Leatherboy title appeared for his interview in a perfectly tailored, three-piece suit and tie. He explained that this was his fetish . While he explained his penchant for argyle socks and his fetish for men's feet, I wondered if most Leathermen in full gear could have been as articulate. This boy's intelligence and subtle wit would have been lost if he had appeared in the classic garb of a boy. Instead, he remained true to himself.

After the boy departed, remarks were made about his lack of Leather. “If he at least had a Leather jock under his pants,” said one of the judges. This kind of myopia stems from artificially imposed standards within the Leather title system, another incarnation of institutional Leather.

Later, during the public portion of the Northwest contest, this same boy contestant appeared in his three-piece suit for the fantasy portion. I watched as a gang of “blue collar” workers literally tore the slacks from the boy, exposing his beautifully rounded ass cheeks and muscled legs through the shredded cloth. Then they proceeded to pummel him and feign fuck him on his desk. As head judge, I could not help but cheer while nursing a hard cock in my Leather breeches.

Those of us raised in an Older Tradition must keep an open mind relative to the rising generation of fetishists. We must avoid the cry “No new steps!” If we do not, the outcome of Baz Luhrman's film "Strictly Ballroom" may be mirrored in our own Community. We must not cling so much to the fundamentalism of documented history that we do not recognize the innovative perversions of the newest generation.

Bootweekend in Portland!

When I travel, I like to bring one of My four boys along. This weekend was Sir's time with pj, My boot sub. A good time!

A weekend with the boys: The Aquila Clan

I am proud of the men that I mentor and protect. they form the core of my Leather. they are men who share a common direction with me in life. Together with my partner, they are my chosen family.

Each boy has his own totem, an animal that emerges during play. For a couple of the boys, this animal also defines how he interfaces with others in a social context. A guide in life. As their SIR, I acknowledge the totem of each. monkey, piggy, wolverine, and wolf.

My alpha boy gabe has been with me for almost three years. A boy of remarkable intelligence and wit, I value his opinion when making decisions in the Community. In seeming contradiction to his sly smile and constant laugh, he is one of the hardest playing boys that I have ever encountered, that rare breed that is not afraid of facing his darkest fears in the dungeon. he is the measure of a hard-playing boy. The robin to my Batman.

I met pj ten years ago through the Internet. I am proud to have played a small part in his initial steps into Leather. A submissive with a penchant for being literally underfoot, he harbors a serious boot fetish that meshes well with my own. he is not only a good boy but also a close friend. his steadfastness gives strength to the Clan. pj can often be found in a bar working my boots with his tongue. Or with his head firmly clamped between my legs. I am honored to be his Sir.

kent is a young dominant who wandered into a Seattle Men in Leather gathering eighteen months ago. “you remind Me of Myself many years ago,” I remarked to him. “If you ever need an older friend, I am here,” I added. Almost one year would pass until we decided to explore the Sir/boy option. Months after, I collared him. I am proud of kent's strength in approaching adversity, and I look forward to seeing him fulfill his potential as a sir in the future.

doug is the newest member of the Clan. We met online almost four years ago and have spent many evenings in conversation about Leather and play. More than one year ago he came to Seattle and spent the weekend collared to me. That weekend was the spark that ignited the passion that I have for him. More canine than boy, his wild nature in play suggested his totem, “wolf.” A fiercely loyal submissive.

I love my boys. they are the foundation of my Leather.

An Open Letter to IMsL 2010: San Francisco, CA

To Mollena -

Thank you for your frank words during your step down speech. I respect your strength in using this potentially crippling scene as a catalyst for helping others. And I appreciate your generosity of spirit in thanking those who helped you overcome this obstacle in your Leather journey.

During the intermission before you delivered your speech, I spoke with one of the ImsL judges about a similar occurrence in my own life that happened more than twenty years ago. “You were an innocent boy and didn't know what to do. We knew we had to help,” explained Sharrin Spector. Sharrin, together with my friend Karen Taylor, knew about my abusive home situation. The week before they stepped in a number of my belongings had been destroyed. On one occasion, the man that I trusted had hurled a pair of hair clippers at me, missing my head by inches and making a large gash in the right speaker of my expensive stereo.

Most men in the Seattle Community turned a blind eye to the situation, choosing not become involved. “Just deal with it,” advised a prominent titleholder. “If we all broke up when stuff like this happened, there wouldn't be many male relationships.” he added.

I recall that feeling of loneliness and isolation. Why had I decided to join such a fucked up Community? Perhaps I should have continued playing out my perverted fantasies in the closet as I had for the previous five years.

Sharrin and Karen met with me on a Saturday evening and suggested that I spend the night in a safe place. “You can stay with me,” invited Karen. “You will be safe. No one but us will know you are here.”

I accepted her invitation to spend the night and left a message at the machine at home that I was safe and would return the following day. I knew that the message would not be retrieved until the wee hours of the morning when he returned, horny and half drunk. What I did not anticipate was the fury that would follow.

The next Monday, Al “D” Sowers approached me. Al had always been a more experienced friend. He was also outspoken in the men's Community and refused to conform to the crowd. “If you ever need a safe place again, call me,” Al admonished as he handed me his phone number on a card. Little did he know that I would be chased down the street the following day at 3 AM and would be calling him.

“you faggot! I am going to fucking kill you!” I will never forget those words as I ran down street after street in the November cold. I had escaped the house with only the clothes on my back and a few dollars in my wallet.

Days later, Sharrin met me at my house to help me move. “I remember seeing you on the porch with twelve small boxes containing everything you owned in the world,”she said.

I had forgotten that day, that emptiness. I had given total control to another, and he had broken that trust. I felt violated.

In the subsequent months, this man would continue to threaten and harass me. “you are MINE,” he screamed into the phone one day. “And if I can't have you, No One will!” Finally, in desperation, I obtained a restraining order in the courts. Not what I anticipated as a Leatherboy.

Yes, Mollena, I also know what it feels like to be abused by someone you once trusted in our community. And I know how important it is to heal and to begin to trust again in others. Most important, it is vital that we eradicate such behavior from our Community while offering support to others.

Thank you, Mollena for your honesty and your leadership during the past year.

In Leather Brotherhood,

Sir Hugh B Russell
International LeatherSIR 2010

Two boys gone WILD! Providence, RI

What happens when two Leatherboys connive to produce the first annual Northeast Leather Weekend? A great fucking contest and a helluva good time!

Jim and Arne aimed high, promising more than a Leather contest. Instead, they planned the first annual Northeast Leather Weekend. “A historic event,” said Jim in his strong, optimistic tone upon my arrival. “You are going to have a great time.” And he was right.

These boys thought of everything down to the smallest detail. I would like to offer a list of those things that made this weekend a success, from my vantage point:

Although the Northeast LeatherSIR/Leatherboy/Community Bootblack contest was the locus of all activities, the overall spirit of the weekend was on building a strong Northeast Leather Community. And the events encouraged not only social interaction but play. In short, the weekend reflected the mission of the International LeatherSIR/Leatherboy/Community Bootblack organization.

1. The weekend had a primary location, the Providence's historic Biltimore Hotel. The hotel was easy walking distance to all venues. The hotel staff was respectful and friendly. When I arrived at the hotel, one of the producers went out of his way to introduce me to a supervisory member of the staff. “We are honored to serve you,” he said.


2. Great food! The formal dinner on Saturday night was truly a formal Leather event in the hotel's ballroom with a well-prepared and plentiful dinner served buffet style. And the victory brunch took place on the hotel's eighteenth floor. Both the dinner and the brunch venues were the perfect size for both events.


3. Good communication. As an International titleholder my schedule has constantly morphed this winter and spring. I appreciated the e-mails from the producers containing updates and details as the event drew closer. I cannot emphasize how important this was to me.


4. Great accommodations that included travel to and from the airport. Once again, communication was key. The producers told me months in advance about my lodging. After almost nine months, with most of those weekends on the road, knowing this in advance gives the Titleholder a sense of security.


5. A complete registration packet that included a T-shirt with a hot logo and a detailed map showing the location of all venues.


6. Although I was a guest, I could not help but appreciate the affordable price of the weekend package. A great value that included the formal dinner and the brunch.


7. An appropriate location for the contest with good sound facilities, an appropriate stage, good sight lines, and a hot bar staff. Fantasies could be seen by all in attendance without difficulty. And the speeches were all audible, with the sound system appropriately designed to overcome the din of the audience.


8. A good MC who kept the contest moving. This was a tough to do, especially because the contest was the first event held in the club. William, the MC, did not shy away from the task. Banter was humorous without being too personal or bitchy.


9. Sir Marco Rosato. What more can be said of this professional who shares his talent with the Leather Community? His participation always raises the bar of any event. Thank you, Marco. Your voice always communicates to my soul.


10. Contest judges who not only were players, but also understood the overall tradition of LeatherSIR/Leatherboy/Community Bootblack. It was a joy to sit with my peers and interview the contestants. Questions would build on those previously asked. In addition, the interviews were timed well.


11. The producers worked behind the scenes, allowing the focus to be on the outgoing and incoming Titleholders.


12. Finally, the total lack of local politics. I despise going to a region where local politics are rampant. I appreciate when producers keep them far away from their out-of-town guests. Not an easy task, at times. I acknowledge not only the Northeast producers but many others who have enabled me to side-step local intrigues. I hate politics in our Community, including the politics in my own region. No part of my Leather!

In the producers' meeting in July I listened with disbelief as Jim and Arne boldly announced that they would be doing a full weekend. As a Boston native, I knew that the Northeast has always posed challenges to contests, especially those that are player and fantasy-based. When I congratulated the producers on a great weekend at the Sunday brunch, they graciously shared the accolades with Hooker and with other ILSb/ICBB producers. Jim explained how Hooker had given them tips over the previous months. They also had gone the extra mile to attend other successful contests including the Southwest Region's event, a favorite with many of the International Titleholders over the years. (Bravo again to Phoenix!)

This year I have attended many great contests. What made this weekend stand out was the professional way that two Leatherboys made this event happen. They dreamed high and worked hard. Thank you, Jim and Arne!

Cumshining My Boots

Nothing pleases me more than to feel a boy grinding his hard cock against the instep of one of my Wescos. I love the sight of his muscled ass pushing against the oil tanned leather, his buttocks tightening with each thrust. My boot rapture culminates with my command to shoot his load. And he invariably complies, humping the shank of my boot while he holds on with both hands.

My Wesco Boss boots are a register of more than a decade of such encounters. Layers of cum worked into their buff surface by eager boys. I am a Bootman. Boots are the foundation of my Leather and my play as a Sir. They are my Fetish.

I was given my first pair of boots decades ago, a pair of Vietnam combat boots with canvas sides and high shine toes and heels. I wore them daily, even at work. Almost one year after receiving them, I was asked to choreograph a new ballet as the recipient of an artistic fellowship. The heft of the boots gave the steps a heaviness that was appropriate to the folk-inspired music by Bela Bartok. I felt compelled to wear them while working out the rhythms with my feet, my creative vision translated into a weighted, stomping dance.

These boots lasted me for almost a decade. They became a register of my first years in the Leather Community. They became the archetype of fetish, objects of rapture and devotion.

Boots are the nexus of masculinity. Their heavy sound against the floor, their accentuated size often large enough to add inches to the height of the wearer, their identification with blue collar and working class professions, their association with the rebel and the outlaw, their vital role in the uniform of authority figures, the sheer heft of them experienced by the wearer, their essential construction of Leather. They are the ultimate phallus.

Late on a Saturday afternon a number of years later, I picked up my first Wescos in San Francisco. After a late night at the Loading Dock, I returned to my hotel room, a hot man close by my side. “Strip naked,” I growled quietly. Then, standing back, I watched as he removed his tight t-shirt, chaps, and jeans. A man whose firmly muscled physique honored the Leather he wore.

Without a word he squatted at my feet and placed the toe of my right Boss firmly against his asshole. Then he stroked until he shot on the arch of my boot.

“Shine 'em up,” I commanded instinctively. And I watched as he spread his cum with his tongue over the buff, Leather surface, spreading the translucent ooze until it disappeared.

I am a Bootman. My Boots are the foundation of my Leather.

I am proud to present Bootweekend from May 6 – 8, in Portland, Oregon, together with Northwest Community Bootblack 2011, Dylan. A weekend for Boot fetishists. For more information regarding this celebration of Boots, Bootsex, and Bootplay, see the event website..

boys, service, and LeatherSIRs: Mid-Atlantic LeatherSIR/Leatherboy/Community Bootblack, Baltimore, MD

Assuming the title of Mid-Atlantic LeatherSIR for the second time, Sir John is a conscientious Leatherman who wants to bring out the best in his boys. I see in him qualities that I try to groom in myself: patience, understanding, and a paternal sense of care for those men who wear his collar. A Leatherman who I am honored to call “brother.”

The mark of a LeatherSIR is not measured by contests or judge's remarks. Sir John demonstrated this well in how he treated his boys throughout the weekend. On Sunday, I entered a shared dungeon to hear Sir John comforting his newest boy. I listened as he explained about consensual Leathersex and the realization of each man's fantasies. With a clear and tender tone, he repeated his message until he felt the assurance that his boy understood.

I was also honored over the weekend to have my newest boy by my side. A paradigm of the traditional Leatherboy. Having been a Leatherboy decades ago, I understand what it feels like to wear a Sir's collar, to serve Him, to please Him, to succumb to His power during a scene.

My idea of the model Leatherboy is based on my own experience. Other sirs have their own ideas based on their training, background, and their different localities. Given this, I present a list of a few of the things that I was taught as a Leatherboy and that I value now as a LeatherSIR.

• a boy shows his respect for his Sir through good manners and protocols. he walks slightly behind his Sir out of respect. he opens doors for his Sir. he waits until his Sir is seated before dining together. he carries his Sir's bags. he kneels at his Sir's feet to put on His boots, the ultimate acknowledgment of his Sir's power. And he kneels to take them off. Protocols are only the beginning of a boy's devotion to his Sir.


• a boy is well-mannered with everyone he meets. he is never rude.


• a boy keeps himself well-groomed. This includes trimming away all hair on the torso and pubic area. I remember the first time that I shaved off my pubic hair. My cock looked larger than usual against my navel. A symbolic acknowledgment that I recognized my role as a boy, a man with less experience.


• a boy knows his Sir's body and is attentive to him during sex. he does not need to be told what to do to turn his Sir on. he knows what to do. he learns what his Sir likes and does not like. As a bottom, he craves his Sir deep inside him. Beyond submission, he hungers for sex with his Sir.


• a boy receives his Sir's piss out of service. he becomes proficient in taking his Sir's piss so that not a drop is wasted.


• a boy allows his playful nature to naturally emerge. he understands that this playfulness must never compromise the respect and the service that he gives to the Sir.


• a boy wears his Leather and fetish wear under the direction of the Sir. he never wears more Leather than his Sir. he does not wear Leather that is not given or that is not approved for his use by his Sir. Before every Leather event, he asks, “What would you like me to wear, Sir?”


• a boy treats Leather with respect. he cares for the Leather of his Sir when required. he pays special attention to boots and learns bootcare. Boots are the foundation of Leather.


• In terms of dress, Leather is never worn haphazardly. a boy never wears athletic shoes with his Leather coat. he does not wear underwear unless it is a jock strap. And he tucks in his T-shirt, worn with a black Leather belt. Jeans must fit properly and not be dirty.


• a boy understands that his collar belongs to his Sir. It is not his. The collar is off limits to others. No one must touch his collar. If someone tries to touch a boy's collar, he is to state in a firm but mannerly fashion, “Please do not touch my collar. It belongs to my Sir.”


• In a public dungeon space, a boy carries the toy bag. he is either naked or wears a jock strap and boots. he stands by the space to be used in play with his hands behind his back and bows his head until his Sir is ready. he does not speak to others without permission. And when the scene is over, he remains by his Sir's side.


• When at a Leather event, a boy does not wander off or carry on conversations with others unless he obtains his Sir's permission.


• a boy does not play outside of established protocols. All play with other sirs is done with the express permission of his Sir. his Sir negotiates this play directly with other sirs. he should not actively cruise or seek play other than with his Sir. If he wants to play with others, he asks his Sir's permission privately.


• a boy never speaks negatively about his Sir. All negotiations and issues are done directly with his Sir in private. Violation of this tenet puts the Sir/boy bond at risk and could be grounds for removing the collar. Of course, a boy should always assume responsibility for his own safety and seek help outside of the Sir/boy relationship if there is abuse. If this happens, the bond has already been compromised.


• a boy is always honest with his Sir. Dishonesty and deceit destroy trust and warrant removal of the collar.

As a Sir I have learned the reciprocal responsibilities that I have relative to each of these items.

Ultimately, a Sir is defined by how he treats his boy and a boy is defined by how he treats his Sir. My alpha and I joke that I am Batman to his Robin. Inseparable.

Good luck to Sir John as he serves as Mid-Atlantic LeatherSIR for the second year. And to his new Title Family. Wishing them a great year of service to the Community.

Sex and Self Care

Twenty-five years ago I had sex the first time with a Leatherman. Prior to our first session, he told me about HIV, STDs and Hepatitis. He delivered his message without moralizing or passing judgment. After three hours, I left his house not only with bleeding nipples and bruised pecs, but also with an understanding of all the risks involved in man to man sex.

Because of the lack of publicly funded programs to properly address Gay men's sexual health, we had to take care of ourselves in the eighties. Like the love that dare not speak its name, many government officials remained silent when it came to health risks and HIV. Indeed, the tactics of public officials were dysfunctional at best. Law enforcement raids and closures of bathhouses did little more than to ostracize most Gay men and, in particular, Leathermen.

Although the tactics of most government funded agencies have changed, our responsibility to disseminate information regarding health and STDs has not. We must take the lead in educating our own, recognizing that Leathermen are sexual by nature. We must be direct without demonizing those men who decide to engage in behavior that differs from our own. Indeed, moralizing sexual behavior always backfires in the Leather Community, as we delight in violating platitudes. Guilt has little use in our world other than as a tool in play.

Because Leathermen are extremely sexual by nature, we must recognize the risks involved in our behavior and assume responsibility for taking care of ourselves. When a man sucks my cock, I know that I am at risk for gonorrhea, herpes, and syphilis. And when two men feast on my member, I double that risk. To stop getting blows jobs, to stop having group sex, or to expect myself to be monogamous is tantamount to castration. For this reason, I understand that I must -

1. Know my body. I examine my cock, balls, mouth, and asshole every morning, noting any unusual discharges, lesions, or sensations out of the ordinary, especially when I piss or cum.


2. Contact my doctor immediately regarding anything out of the ordinary.


3. Get vaccinated against Hep A and B. Vaccinations are available at the doctor's office and at most public health clinics. They are often offered free to those who cannot pay.


4. Get HIV testing every 4 – 6 months.


5. Request STD testing from my doctor every 4 – 6 months. It is especially important to be tested for syphilis on a regular basis as it can go undetected. The effects of syphilis are serious, ranging from neurological problems to blindness, especially dangerous in men with HIV. The doctor should also test for gonorrhea in all potential areas of infection. I do not give many blow jobs or get fucked. Even so, I want throat and anal swabs done just in case.


6. Speak honestly with my doctor about my sexual practices. If a Leatherman cannot be honest with his doctor, then I suggest he find the balls to come out as a pervert or to change health care providers. Some doctors are not Gay friendly, never mind Leather friendly. Find someone who you are comfortable with.


7. Make friends with your local STD clinic. Where is it located in case of an emergency? I need to know not only where but what services the clinic offers to my Community. On a recent visit, I was surprised to find that the survey in King County, Washington was virtually useless for transpeople and the people who have sex with them. I must speak up if services do not cater to my Community.


8. Communicate with my your sexual partners. Both insertive and receptive men are responsible for open discussion regarding sex, play, and risks. I grow tired of sensational articles from the media that demonize tops when speaking about HIV transmission. A bottom is not a fucking victim! He is as much responsible for the action as the top. In fact, if a bottom can't claim his asshole, I don't want to fuck him no matter how hot he appears to be.


9. Avoid sex parties and bathhouses IF I have gonorrhea or syphilis. Wait until I am fully treated. Given that I care about the men in my Community, I do not want to spread these STDs to others.

These are the things that I have decided to do to keep myself and my Community healthy. I encourage each man to make his own list as part of his health regimen.

Respect for others begins with respect for self.