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
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
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!
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!
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
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.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
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."
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."
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