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