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.

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.

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.

Play, Surrender, and Discourse

More than six months ago I enjoyed a very intense whip scene with one of my boys during a Seattle Men in Leather social at The Cuff. After half an hour, I stood with signal whip in hand, pushing my bulging crotch against the back of the boy's thigh and examined my work.

“Want more?” I taunted, watching the welts blossom into bleeding wounds. To my surprise I saw a smile appear on the boy's lips. I turned his head slightly and kissed him. “the boy likes the game, eh?” I asked.

“YES, SIR!” he adamantly replied.

Ten months before this boy had presented me with a lengthy list of SM activities that he liked and didn't like. Single tails was one of those activities that did not rate high on his list. I whispered “I guess the boy is playing off his list. My how this boy has changed!”

We both laughed.

I reflect back on a scene more than fifteen years ago when I lay under the knife in a public dungeon while a trusted mentor cut an extensive cutting into my back. And I thought of another moment years before that, sitting next to my friend, Wes Randall, as he drove me back from a Leather event.

Wes would later do a spread Drummer Magazine in 1991 with knife in hand. He was also the only Gay man I knew at that time that openly played with the women in our Community, play that included bloodsports. The knife was his ritual object of choice, always at his side. Wes even wore the studded outline of his knife on his belt, harness, and arm bands thanks to Lee Willis of Studwerks.

“you'd love to be cut,” Wes said to me. “It's incredible!”

“That's on my list of definite NO's,” I responded quickly. “That is something that I never want to do.”

Months later I would receive my first cutting, surprising both myself and those who knew me. The list that I had written the year before had metaphorically been lost. No longer about specific activities, my Leather focused on developing trust with specific people. No longer about a scheduled release of endorphins circumscribed by my personal fears.

The surrender of the individual is an essential characteristic of all fraternal rituals, a movement by degrees from fear to a higher understanding of self. Perusing contemporary Gay Leather history in North America exposes this same theme, especially if we focus on the apocrypha immediately following World War II. This segment of our history revolves around the rise of motorcycle clubs and fraternal groups.

Of course the anxious and the curious are often not comfortable with the idea of surrender, with the disposal of the list of fears that almost always exists at the onset of one's journey into Leather. Surrender and the development of trust takes time, especially if we focus on its public demonstration. A notion that seems to fly in the face of the argument of inclusivity and the immediacy of contemporary life.

(Patience is a virtue that we seldom discuss in our present Community.)

Returning to my role as a SIR, I have literally received hundreds of offers from men who want to be my boy throughout the years. What attracts me to a boy is his desire to question his own prescription through play as he builds trust in his SIR. After months, often years, the boy says, “I'm yours. Do with me what you will.”

At this juncture, I then test the boy to determine the veracity of his statement using my preferred implements of play: whips, boots, fists, piss. The trial of the ritual begins in earnest, the boy offering his body to be marked, changed, by the SIR. No simple act of submission, the boy often fights back, struggling not against me but against the notion of himself. As he wanders outside of his prescribed list of dos and don't s, his body no longer belongs solely to himself.

The logical next phase of this ritual is its public display. Play in a public dungeon space becomes essential in the acknowledgment of the SIR/boy dynamic. I am reminded of Michel Foucault's observation in his seminal work, “Discipline and Punish.” The public performance of torture doled out by the hands of justice in an earlier age is directly related to the discourse of the power of the sovereign. The body of the accused, a canvas of this discourse, the lexus of power.

To fully appreciate this paradigm one must understand Foucault's philosophy of how power works. It does not flow from the top down. Rather, the discourse is formed by the exchange between the parties. Applying this to the idea of Sir and boy, this means that one is defined as Sir relative to the boy and relative to the Community. A public discourse. More specifically, the power of the Sir does not come flow from some inner conviction, from an intangible soul, but rather from the phenomenal exchange of energy realized in play and protocols. Ritual, the signifier of this discourse.

I ask every Sir contestant that I judge, “What makes you a 'Sir?'” After six months I still wait for the obvious answer.

I usually hear the Sir candidate respond that he just “feels” the power inside; a self-identified role. Historically and philosophically speaking, such a response has little significance.

The large, International LeatherSIR sash does not make me a Sir. Nor does the fervor that I feel when I pick up the implements of my play. I am a Sir because my boys recognize me as such. I am a Sir in the Community because my peers acknowledge this role relative to my boys. Very simple.

Conversely, if I were to abuse my boys physically or emotionally, they would soon stop calling me “Sir.” The Community would regard me as a man who did not understand the responsibility of being a Sir. In short, the title “Sir” would no longer be applied to me. To repeat, “Sir” is directly tied to the phenomenon of play and protocols. It is not a personal expression of belief uttered as a proclamation of faith.

The power of play comes from the exchange between a Sir and His boy, and the subsequent exchange with the Community. The recognition of this exchange is basic to the formation of the discourse of Gay Men's Leather culture over the last sixty years. It is the foundation of my Leather.

Epilogue to Asolando: Madison, Wisconsin

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

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

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

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

I decided to continue on to Madison, Wisconsin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Right Stuff

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Sir," he obediently replied.

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

"Yes, Sir," he responded.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," he responded, breathing in hard.

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

"ONE!"

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

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

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

"Yes, Sir" he answered calmly.

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

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

Predator Sirs

boys! Caution!

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

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

Contest Speech

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

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

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

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

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

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

SM gives me back myself by removing the clutter.

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