DJ Saved My Life Last Night

What a great night!

Yesterday, I headed down to Philadelphia. I met up with Baron von Philadelphia at a sehr gemuttlichkeit coffee place on 15th Street between Walnut and Locust. We talked endlessly, headed to a mexican place for some chow, visited Giovanni's Room, had desert at More Than Just Ice Cream, chatted with a couple of leather dykes from Long Island, then parted ways outside of the Bike Stop. (The Baron was wearing a fluffy down coat, and opted not to intrude.)

I had planned to make it to the Mr. and Ms. Philadelphia Leather contest, but decided not to. Word reaches me that there was only one contestant for Mr. Philadelphia Leather (and he won!). The step down speeches went on too long. Whatever.

One might be inclined to think that this spoke ill of the health of the leather community in Philadelphia, this lack of interest in the contest. Uh uh. I think just the opposite. We ain't about no contests. We're about cammeraderie.

For example, the Bike Stop was packed. I checked my coat with Piss Boss ("Y'know, boy, you can give me a call sometime just to talk." "Thanks for that, Sir, I sure will.") and headed downstairs. Evvvverybody was in leather. Men and women crowded into the basement bar. There was this general aire of good feelings all around. I chatted with a Hellfire Brother with whom I'd planted the seed about forming a Philadelphia S/M Discussion Group. It seems my diabolical plan is working perfectly (BeewaHaHaHaHaaaaa!): Next Saturday, at 5pm, I'm going to a planning meeting about forming a new group. It's pan, rather than gay male, but we'll see how it goes.

So then, I met up with this musclebound fisting Top skinhead who writes. I'm not kidding! I really did! At the Bike Stop in Philadelphia! He and I talked, having this conversation (!) about writing and leather contests and marriage--I plyed him with my argument that the emphasis on marriage devalues other kinds of relationships at which gay men excel. I mean, it was a conversation (!) more appropriate to relaxing over the second bottle of wine after dinner, Symposium-esque, but there we were, right there in the basement of the Bike Stop!

And in came the Dynamic Duo from Pottstown, other Hellfire brothers of mine. Natch, they knew the skinhead, and half of the Duo took several loads of piss off of Skin over the course of the evening. Right there in the basement of the Bike Stop! I provided cover and wore the officer's hat of the evenings pissboy. So I was sort of cover and covering the cover. We talked, we manhandled each other's meaty pecs, we drank beer, we had a fun little watersports scene. Right there in the basement of the Bike Stop!

Then I saw the hot Bear Dad from New Jersey who likes to work my nips, leaving them sore for days. So this morning, they're sore. He was there with his collared bear boy. While we were talking, I saw this unbelievably hot man: bald, bushy goatee, great tats, wearing a Harley Davidson tee shirt. He was looking at me, and I was looking at him. I sidled up and said hello. He asked me if I had been walking down 12th Street about two hours earlier. I said I had been. He had seen me out of the cab of his pickup truck. And I had seen him. Woof!

Dynamic Duo and Skin wanted a minute with me. They were going back to the Duo's well-appointed Philadelphia digs and wanted me to come along. Alas, I had commitments, namely dog and dad. I'd have to take a raincheck. In truth, I could've gone along, but I almost didn't want to. My needs were met, spending a night having good talk with hot men, meeting and flirting, right there in the basement of the Bike Stop!

Last call was announced. I headed upstairs. And there was Harley Dad. We talked some more. We talked about swimming in the Delaware River off the wing dam in Lumberville. Call me smitten. Harley Dad headed out into the night. I hope and pray I see him again sometime. He's a man I would definitely like to get to know. I retrieved my coat from Piss Boss and headed out the door, went to my car, and drove home.

So everything is good. Everything is very good.

What magic! Beer and cigars and men and talk and piss and eye hockey and leather and muscle and my sore nips. Truly, it doesn't get better than that.

Tonight, I'm heading down again for a second dose, as I have the day off of work tomorrow. Maybe Skin will be there. Maybe Harley Dad will be there. Maybe I'll meet some new boy or Sir. There's not a lot more I need than that.

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