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.
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.
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