Everything That Rises Must Converge

Whoa! What a great night!

Because Mr. Pittsburgh Leather, whom I met at Inferno, and I have been chatting on worldleathermen, and he invited me to come out to Asbury Park last night for the Mr. and Ms. New Jersey Leather contest. Now, contests don't... uh... move me, really. And Asbury Park isn't exactly down the road a piece. And I was thinking that it would be a good night to head down to Philadelphia and hit the Bike Stop.

But...

Because there's this hot bear guy I've been chatting with on AOL who lives in Asbury Park, I thought I could kill two birds with one stone.

And...

Because it was a full, or a nearly full moon last night.

...I found myself driving east on Interstate 195, headed to Asbury Park.

Specifically, to a nightclub called Cruisin', where the event was held. I managed to find the place without too much problem, even though some streets were closed due to the recent flooding.

It wasn't jam packed, but the crowd was pretty kickin'. Saw just about everybody I knew from the NJ leather community. (And I guess that as a former resident of Beautiful Downtown Jersey City, I can count myself as part of the NJ leather community. At least, I always loved wearing my "New Jersey!" tshirt that I bought at a rest stop on the turnpike to MAL and Inferno and such. There is something fun and pugnacious about being from New Jersey. The implied, "You wanna make something of it?" when you tell folks where you hail from.)

And with the formation of several groups (Andromeda, the Argonauts, Garden State Bears), there really does seem to be something of a sense of community in bloom in the Garden State of late.

Ran into Mr. Pittsburgh Leather when I was just inside the door. The contest was in full swing, with the fantasy segment tearing up the stage. (Literally. A table upon which a certain baker of amazing cakes had been thrown collapsed.) Trayla Trash--none other!--was excellent as the MC. Note to producers of such: it is terrifically unlikely that you will ever be able to do better. Get Trayla or call it off. And there were plenty of hot men in the house to keep me interested. Not too long after the Q&A segment (oh, and the questions were pretty lamentable, not to heap scorn or anything, but they were), my bear guy showed up.

He pretty much takes the cake for AOL meet-ups. Totally great guy! Pretty much a big, happy man. With a great touch. Verrrrry tactile. Woof!

During the seemingly interminable tallying of the votes, Trayla--oh, assisted ably by a Ms. New Jersey Leather from years past, Storm--kept things interesting, conducting a chinese auction to raffle off a St. Andrew's Cross, and the opportunity to beat the ass of a Mr. NYC Eagle who dropped trou' and braced himself against the thing in anticipation. Mucho bucks were made for people living with HIV/AIDS affected by hurricane Katrina, and none other than one Miss Cox of NYC won the auction. Miss Cox's preference, however, was not to beat but to bite the ass in question, which she did, leaving a nice mark on each cheek, and garnering a whelp of pain from Mr. NYC Eagle.

Oh! And note to Lolita: when it was announced from the stage that you would be teaching something or other at some event in Baltimore (I wasn't paying attention because it was a women's event), a roar of recognition went up from the audience. New Jersey loves Lolita! And well they should!

Finally finally finally the winnners were announced. Congrats to Tom Savage and Peanut. Yay! Woo-HOOO!

Then, they started clearing the dancefloor of the chairs and judges tables. And I thought to myself, omigosh, I'm gonna get the chance to step out.

Happily, Happy Bear loves to dance, too. And is a frequent visitor to Cruisin'.

And so, friends, I was happy to show the leather community of New Jersey how it's done on the dancefloor.

Oh Man!

I haven't danced like that in years! I think the last time I got to dance was when I was with Donee and Diabolique at the Montreal Eagle during the softball tournement there the first year I attended Inferno. Oh. Wait. No. There was a Black Party in there, too.

But it just took me back, way back. To Kurt's, which we used to call Skirts, in Philadelphia, and Chip Duckett's Mars, Save The Robots, Fuck with the delectable Aldo Hernandez spinning, and the Clit Club (yes, the Clit Club!) during my early years in NYC.

Children, I can cut a rug. I can punish the parquet.

From what I saw in the thoughtfully provided mirrors, and the longing glances I spied from many admirers, I looked great out there on the dancefloor, too. Shirtless, wearing the chaps my Sir got me over a pair of leather shorts. And Happy Bear was great to dance with, only taking one brief break.

So take heed, Asbury Parkians (that can't be what they call themselves, but whatever): the dance floor at Cruisin' has not seen the last of me.

Anyway, today is a beautiful day. I'm off to try and track down a copy of the NY Times, get some brunch, then come back here to the Ol' Homestead and chop some firewood.

Oh! And here's a great thing! I don't feel stiff and sore at all after last night's exertions.

How cool is that?

---

Dang! That was fun!