Sunday, August 22, 2004


The Plan was that I would head down to Philadelphia, getting on the road around 3 p.m. This would get me into town around 4:30, so I'd be able to get to I. Goldberg's and spend a blissful hour trying on boots before they close at 5:45 p.m.

Of course, my father, my indecision about what to wear, and traffic interfered. I didn't end up leaving until 4 p.m., and didn't park my car until ten minutes after I. Goldberg's had bolted their doors for the night.


But, I needed some stuff from Kiehl's, so I headed over that way. Peppermint Body Wash in tow, I was hungry, so I grabbed a chicken caesar and a protein smoothie. Joe Rose must be cutting me a major break on his prices, as the night before I had spent about half of what I estimated for the ink work, and that money was burning a hole in my pocket. So I headed to Borders, where they were more than happy to relieve me of some of it. Purchases included the new KD Lang cd, the latest from Rufus Wainwright (with which I'm planning on gifting the Baron von Philadelphia), two books on architecture, and Have His Carcase by Dorothy L. Sayers and I'm reducing the Dashiell Hammett books I haven't yet read by one with the purchase of The Glass Key. I hate the fact that one day I will have read all there is to read by Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler. That will be a dark day indeed.

Stocked up on Input, I went to Milennium Coffee, got myself a latte, and enjoyed a cigar while I got caught up on my phone calls. And plunged into the Dorothy Sayers, opening with the gripping account of detective-story writer Harriett Vane, recently acquited of the charge of poisoning her lover with arsenic, discovering a man in a blue serge suit with his throat cut from ear to ear while walking along the seashore.

Then, I hit More Than Just Ice Cream for dinner (chicken quesadilla), and headed to the Bike Stop.

What to wear?

How I am plagued by this question. All my leathers sit in my closet, calling to me: Wear me! No, me!

It's sooooo much easier to lay them all out and present them to my Sir, saying, "What would you like to see your boy wearing today, Sir?"

And, it was made a wee bit trickier by the new ink. I soon discovered that wearing a heavy leather belt would get uncomfortable. So how about a flight suit? I put on my Propper Tactical One Piece, but decided that I wanted to have the chance to show off some of the ink, and so that wouldn't do.

I opted for LeatherLite. I wore my Wescos, a pair of EMS hiking shorts (lots of pockets, lightweitht Miracle Fabric Of The Future), and a white wife-beater a size or two too small for me so it rode up in the back. And topped it all off with my Schott NYC zip-up orange hooded sweatshirt. And put on my leather arm bands. I'd probably be turned away from the Mineshaft of yore, but I think it was fine for the basement of the Bike Stop. There were some heavily leathered men there last night (more, no doubt, than there were at the Eagle NYC), so I just had to deal with not being the Most Leathered Leatherman in the place.

I grabbed a beer and greeted acquaintances, and made my way to the little leathergoods store they have. Back in the day, when I was a Philadelphia dwellin' leather lad, me and my cool friends would mock the place a little bit, saying, "Welcome to the Bike Stop! Please visit our Gift Shoppe!" Ah well, those were my salad days indeed, green in experience and cold in heart, not knowing a good resource when I saw it.

And I bought a bag.

Go figure, right? Me and my bag fetish. And this is a good one. It's done in olive drab canvas, lots of compartments (paperback, cigars, cellphone, date book), and will be perfect for wearing with my one-piece motorcycle racing leathers, which sadly have no pockets. (That's why you've never seen me wearing it.)

While I was checking out the bag (eyes dilated, pulse racing, blood pressure dropping... "It's... it's... ...a bag!!"), I ran into this guy I see just about every time I go there. He's from South Jersey. Usually there with his bear boy, but tonight he was solo. I don't know why he does it for me, but he does it for me. He shaves his head, and his pate has a gleam I can only dream of. Good bushy goatee. Nice gut on him (which it turns out he's trying to lose. (Damn you, Health and Human Services Secretary Tommy Thompson and your miserable Anti-Obesity Let's All Eat Right Exercise And Lose Weight Campaign anyway!) The guy is just Viagra for me. I see him and I get a stiffy. And he is well aware of that fact.

He asked what I had been up to, and I mentioned my Tattoo Odyssey. He checked out the boots to shorts portion, and those links visible over the belt line of the shorts on my lower back.

At this point, everything going on in the Gift Shoppe came to a halt. All eyes were on my tattoo. Many murmurs of appreciation.

"So, can we see the rest of it?" asked Gift Shoppe boy.

Well that would mean I'd have to drop my shorts here in the middle of the Gift Shoppe, I thought, as I undid my shorts and dropped them around my ankles.

I guess it's the effect of Dore Alley. Screw you, Powers That Be! I'm gonna stand here in the middle of the Gift Shoppe of the Bike Stop with my shorts around my Wescos and show off my tattoo!

So I did.

Those murmurs of appreciation just about changed to wolf whistles and an uproar of applause. The tattoo work really does look great, and I'm sure my firm butt and semi-hard dick (under the sway of the powers of Viagra Guy) made for a good picture.

At least it sure worked on Viagra guy, who was stroking my dick through those lightweight EMS shorts for the balance of the time that I spent at the Bike Stop. His goal was to get me to cum, so I'd have cumstains on the front of my lightweight EMS shorts, but I'm a long way from eightteen years old, and a harder nut to crack than that at this point.

All good things must come to an end, and I was starting to feel tired, so I bid adieu to one and all ("'Night, Frank! 'Night, Bill! 'Night, JP!"), retrieved my car from the garage, and made the bleary eyed trip back up 611 to home.

I was in bed by 3 a.m., and slept until the ungodly hour of 1:30 today. It's a beautiful day. I spent some time working with the ten-foot bullwhip doing some pruning of trees and shrubs (I can do some jaw-dropping graceful cracks with it, but don't have the accuracy yet that I would need to whip a man with it), and now I'm off to take Faithful Companion for a nice long walk.

Perhaps, as we're walking down some country road, when I'm surrounded by only trees and fields and no houses nearby, I'll drop my shorts around my ankles, enjoying a moment of semi-nudididity. It sure brought good things my way last night.

Remember: Say Yes. Yes is the magic word. The abbracadabera that opens the gates and brings good things into your life.

Say Yes.

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