MAL Rocks

That was great. Jiminy Crickets that was great.

On Friday, the 3:30 bell rang at work and I was out the door. The Trusty Jeep Liberty was gassed up, and I was on the road, listening to Lucinda and Emmylou, eating sourdough prestzle bites, and drinking Rosenberger's Dairy Iced Tea (affectionately known as 'Rosie's' round these parts). The ride down took longer than I expected, 4 hours, but Boot Sir lived right on Mass Ave a block from the Washington Plaza. Here's the big new thing to love about DC: parking is plentiful! The meters go off at 5 pm on Fridays and stay off all weekend. Cool.

When I arrived, Boot Sir was at the Leather Navigator party. This gave me time to change out of my crappy work clothes and moisturize. Boot Sir and my fellow houseguest returned from the LN party (they saw no one they recognized), and we were on our way to a cocktail party in Arlington.

Lots of hot hot men at the party. The food was good. And the house was humongous. Oddly, I didn't see a dungeon. As the party wound down, we made our way back into the district and found our way to the Washington Plaza.

And there it was. MAL in all it's glory.

That felt soooo good.

Remember that Twilight Zone episode where the bandages were removed from the beautiful young girl, who was told that the operation failed, and the camera pulls back and all the doctors and nurses have pig faces? 'Eye of the Beholder' it was called? Well that's me. Lost and forlorn. Unsure of who I was.

But here I was back among my kind. Men (and women) like me. I remembered who I was. I remembered what I was all about. I was me again. Gone were al the pseudo-Sirs from AOL. Gone were all the uncertainties. I know who I am. That felt really good.

I hung in the lobby. Or, more specifically, in the cigar tent. Saw so many people I knew, got caught up. Got everybody (who doesn't read my blog) caught up.

At 2:30, I realized that in two-and-a-half hours I would be up for twenty-four hours straight. So I decided that it was time to head back to Boot Sir's and get some shut eye.

The next morning, I rose, spent time chatting with Boot Sir and my fellow house guest, showered, shaved and moisturized, and headed back to the Washington Plaza. Cuz I had a date.

I was meeting up with the Boss.

Here's where it gets good.

HOT SCENE ALERT!!! HOT SCENE ALERT!!! HOT SCENE ALERT!!!
IF YOU'RE SCROLLING DOWN LOOKING FOR THE GOOD PARTS, STOP HERE

The Boss.

We flagged each other down on World Leathermen. There was a lot of hot and heavy back and forth. But, he was in SF, and I'm in Carversville. Then came the big news. The Boss was coming east for MAL. We made a date. At 2pm on Saturday, I was to present myself at the Boss' door. We would spend some time getting to know each other.

The Boss was better in person than his pics.

Man oh man. Six-foot-three, two-hundred-and-thirty poulds of hairy man.

We played some. The Boss was a little bit confined because of my back, but he still managed to get my attention, beat me around a little, get some boot service out of him (a new thing! I did the bottoms! There was grime dug into the treads on the Boss' boots. I managed to get most of it out with my tongue action. My Sir's boots neaded cleaning. That's what I was there for.)

The Boss had a collar for me. Heavy gauge chain, secured with a padlock. The Boss explained that he had a heavier gauge chain planned for me, but Airport Security at SFO took it away in the interests of National Security. So the Boss had to scour DC hardware stores to find a substitute.

I was hungry, the Boss was hungry. We headed downstairs to avail ourselves of the buffet. I started out following at a respectful distance. The Boss corrected me. When I was with him, I was his bitch. He treated me right. He opened doors for me. Treated me right. And if I fucked up, I'd get it across the chin with the Boss' fist.

Cool.

Over lunch, we talked. Recounted our resumes. The Boss knows just about everybody I know. And vice versa. I ran a non-profit. He ran a non-profit. He knows Boss Sunshine. Agrees that Boss Sunshine merits an intervention of some sort.

Then we checked out the vendor mart. Briefly. Meeting up with buddies of his, buddies of mine. Two leathermen on the scene.

Okay. Back to the room. On the bed. Things got hot and heavy.

In a different kind of way. The Boss gave me some boddy blows. And because I took'em, I got some good time. There I was, curled up against my Sir, feeling the weight of his collar around my neck, the bulk of his body.

It felt so good. It felt so right. It was what I wanted.

And so, I started to cry. The Boss held me, and I just cried. But butch built bald me. Crying. Crying and crying and crying. The Boss took me through it. And took me deeper. I cried out all the loneliness. All the fear. All the worry. All the hate. All the insecurity. This was the place for me. This was where I needed to be. In my Sir's arms, wearing his collar, giving myself to him, giving my body to be beaten by him, because if it gave my Sir pleasure gives me pleasure.

Then we got into a new thing. The Boss is a foot man.

Now, longtime and astute readers of Singletails will know that I have a horror of foot fetishishts. I never got feet.

Or did I?

I give good massage. And it drives the boys wild when I include a foot rub. Did you know that the ideal way to be woken from a deep sleep was to have someone massage your feet? I give good foot massage. I let the Boss know that I was tentative about mouth-to-foot action. So he didn't push it. And therefore it was really cool to kiss, lick, and suck on the Boss' feet. To his obvious delight. Knowing, as he did, that I had 'issues' about that.

Now, the Boss has beautiful feet. They seem small and delicate for such a big man. My feet are pretty yucky. There's never not a fungus. But the Boss' feet were just beautiful. Like a little boy's feet.

And then, there was the grand finale. While my mouth worked every part of the Boss' big, hairy body available to me. Then, the Boss shot his load all over my face. I mean just coated me. I was slick with it.

I've taken a couple of showers, but I haven't washed my face since.

The Boss and I took a nap. I slept like a baby. With his arms wrapped around me.

We woke up and we woke up hungry. The Boss took me to dinner at Annie's, his favorite restaurant in DC. I loved that. Being out with the Boss, wearing that big heavy chain collar around my neck. My Sir's collar.

When we got back to the hotel, the Boss asked me what I wanted to do: part ways, or spend the night. I confessed to being conflicted. Y'see, the Boss has a flaw. He's sort of an non-smoking fetishist. He doesn't want to see it; he doesn't want to be around it; he doesn't want to smell it or taste it on me. So when I got time to 'do what I had to do,' there was usually a shower and mouthwash upon my return. I told the Boss about my conflict. I wanted some time in the cigar tent. Hanging out and smoking cigars with other men smoking cigars is a spiritual thing to me. But, I wanted to spend the night.

The Boss was totally amenable to making both happen. I got an hour. I was to report back to the Boss' hotel room at 12:45 pm. I had fifteen minutes to gargle and shower. The Boss would be back at 1 am.

The cigar tent was great. Lolita and boymeat were working over their boy-du-MAL, who was really really hot. A lot more my type than last years boy-du-MAL. This year's model was a shaggy, bearded blond man, with some hot ink. Who smoked his cigar while Lo' and boymeat got him bound.

Sweet.

And I got in a little Top action. I ran into that Big Muscular Bondage Bottom I did the great chain bondage scene with at MAL. Well... I spotted him, but he didn't spot me. Perfect. I surreptitiously snuck up behind him. I pulled his tshirt out of his pants and put it up around his shoulders. Then I went to work on his back. Alas, the red was just starting to come up when Big Muscular Bondage Bottom turned around and we kissed passionately.

Very sweet. I can live with that.

Anyway, as I was enjoying one of the cigars that Santa brought me, along came the best bearded bootlickin' boy in the world. The boy brought news. He had been talking to the verrrrry woofy current Mr. Philadelphia Leather. A way hot man who I met a few monts ago. It seems that Mr. Philadelphia had told b.b.b.b. that he was interested in learning to wield a flogger. And b.b.b.b said that I was the best he had ever known.

Would I, asked b.b.b.b., be interested in teaching the verrrrrry woofy Mr. Philadelphia the ways of the flogger? As the boy in the old joke said to the girl with the hairlip, Wood Eye! b.b.b.b. made the introduction. I was chagrinned earlier to see Mr. Philadelphia arm in arm with a hot boy who works the leather store at the Bike Stop (who once suggested that I try out a bullwhip I was thinking of on his back... way to make a sale!). But, I sure wouldn't mind meetin' up with him and bringing my floggers. Neither of us had our trick cards, or pens and paper, but it's pretty inevitable that we run into him at the Bike Stop.

Hmmm. Maybe I could recruit Mr. Philadelphia to lend his prestige to the Philadelphia Gay Men's S/M discussion group? And during his reign, he's proved himself to be able and enthusiastic, hosting a very successful fund-raising Trivia Night at the Bike Stop. Might be something in that.

But Egad! Look at the time! I had to get back to the Boss' room and hop in the shower. I said my goodnights, pushed my way through the crowd to the elevators, and headed back.

And there was the Boss, naked, lying in bed, typing away on his laptop. (Cool. Now I have a great visual when we talk online.) The crowd was too much for him, so he headed back to the room early. I showered. I gargled. I climbed into bed beside the Boss.

Another good night's sleep.

"I'm falling hard," I said the next morning. The Boss warned me. "Don't be thinking relationship. I don't do that."

I clarified. Neither do I. Here's what I mean. This is what I want. This feels right. This feels good to me. I didn't say it, but the Boss is just the man I've been looking for. Kinky as hell. Able to take me there. Responsible in his play. A leatherman's leatherman in every respect, whose collar I'd be honored and privileged to wear. It just feels so right.

All good things must come to a close. And so with my time with the Boss.

I dressed, we went downstairs together. The Boss was headed out to buy the Sunday New York Times. I headed back to Boot Sir's. It was time for Brunch.

In another respect I'm the Gayest Gay of All Gays. (I realized that big, butch, blue collar, welding, jeep-driving me had it in me to be the Gayest Gay of All Gays when I was decorating for Christmas, taking such pains to arrange the white pine boughs and branches on the mantle that the entire task took hours.) Y'see, I love brunch. I love everything about brunch. It's just how I want to spend a late morning or early afternoon. Brunch food is the best food I know. And brunch is all about sitting down and talking. Food and conversation.

Boot Sir was holding a brunch. I did my best, given my infirmity, to help out with the preparations. And then in they came. Boot Sir has some very hot brunch buddies. It was great.

This is what I don't have. This is what I've been missing. The absence of this has truly been driving me crazy. Fellowship with like-minded men. Community. Not with men who Get It.

Brunch was great. Brunch was really great.

And then, in walked Almost Bruiser! Cool! I was thrilled to see him. He was thrilled to see me.

But it was time to go. I had to pick up Faithful Companion at the kennel before they closed at 6pm. Almost Bruiser was recruited ("boy, I need some service outta you" said the guy wearing the enormous chain padlocked around his neck (g)") to hep me take my luggage down and load it into the Jeep.

I bid a fond farewell to DC and to MAL and hit the road.

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