Frolic of Leathermen

Y’know that Collective Noun thing? All those nutty names for groups of animals? A husk of jackrabbits, a kindle of kittens, a gaze of racoons, a leap of leopards, a fling of sandpipers, a parliament of owls?

Now, perusing websites like this one leads me to believe that someone, or some group of someones, sat down one sunday morning and drank way too much tea and pissed their pants giggling coming up with them.

But we love Collective Nouns, right?

And so, we here at SingleTails are proposing the following serve as Collective Nouns for certain segments of the BDSM world... Lemme know what you think, and feel free to add your own.



A brace of skinheads
A quelling of dungeon masters
A honey of cubs
A bristle of bootblacks
A cracking of whipsmen
A penetration of fisters
A service of boys
A shackling of slaves
A dominion of Masters
An endurance of masochists
An infliction of sadists
A transgression of barebackers
A patrol of uniform fetishists
A pitch of rubbermen
A hank of bondage Tops
A glug of pisspigs
... or maybe a quench of pisspigs?
A cantanker of Old Guard Leathermen
A fulmination of New Jack Leathermen
A welter of painpigs
... or maybe a blister of painpigs?
A coddle of infantilists
A darkling of Edge players
A grope of bears
A taut of bondage bottoms
A lapping of leatherpups

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Madonna Rules Everything Around Me

Last night, after First Friday in Doylestown, I headed to the Raven down in New Hope. Pretty typical night at the Raven, as in, blisteringly disappointing. So I watched television. There was a reasonably hot boy standing next to me. At one point, Madonna’s new video, Hung Up came on.

I am, of course, perfectly placed in the demographic to be a slavish admirer of her. Gay, spent my dancing days in the Eighties and early Nineties.

And I am.

But I’ve gotta tell you, this video...

Lemme put it this way. I remember years ago watching a Marilyn Monroe movie. Forget what the title was, but they were on a boat. I’ve also seen Seven Year Itch, Some Like It Hot, and, of course, The Misfits, which also has the added bonus of Monty Cliff.

But anyway, watching a Marilyn movie with a buddy of mine, we both simultaneously had the same realization: we would totally go straight for Marilyn Monroe. I mean, she is just so sexy! I pant after her.

Well, as with Marilyn, so with Madonna.

I swear! She looks amazing in that video. And she’s a mother of two!

So hot boy and I just went off on this Madonna-focused love fest. “It’s cause she does yoga and pilades!” “Look at her move! So hot!” “And she has this mixed message thing going on, unapproachable but she wants you.” “Look at her legs!” “She just takes sex and turns it into art!”

And then, I bid hot boy goodnight, and headed home to listen to thhe song I’d just seen the video for. And it’s really good.

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Thank You, God!

The Almighty did it again!

Right there in Doylestown. At Starbucks. (Of course.)

Yesterday after work, I’m tooling over there, and standing out front was this... this... this boy. Unbelievable.

I swear, he was an unbelievablly close approximation of Vin (chained at my feet, soaked in my piss) Diesel. So close, I debated with myself if in fact it was Vin (chained at my feet, soaked in my piss) Diesel. But quickly realized that Doylestown, Pennsylvania, is just not on Vin (chained at my feet, soaked in my piss) Diesel’s map.

But there he was, in all his august glory, smoking a Marlboro, talking on a cell phone, while this posse of girls, their eyes shining, sat literally at his feet, just so totally smitten.

(I, on the other hand, leaned up against the railing watching him, my eyes shining, totally smitten.)

I decided to run inside, grab a latte, and that it wasn’t, in fact, too cold to enjoy a cigar out there on the porch. I imagined the boy--you should have seen the guns on him!--asking me about cigars, and me turning him on to them, taking him around the corner and buying him his first one, and then sitting there enjoying my cigar while he gave a try to his first cigar, and of course he’d like it, and we’d sit for hours on the porch of Starbucks, talking, smoking cigars, and it gets dark early this time of year, and when I decide it’s dark enough and nobody’s around, I’d handcuff him, throw him in my jeep, take him home, lead him into the garage, chain him up, plow him till his eyes cross, chain him up out there, and keep him as my personal cigar boy cumdump.

But when I emerged from Starbucks with my triple shot latte and my cigar in hand, he was gone.

Which is probably just as well, right?

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