Mid-Atlantic Leather Report: I Am Paris Hilton.

After much doubt and difficulty involving a man who is enshrined in my memory and on my cell phone as 'small minded mean spirited prick,' I managed to find a room to share with Friend and (Former) Landlord, at the Residence Inn.

Of course, work had me go out on a service call, replacing all the screws in the in all the knobs in this nice lady's kitchen. Happily, she baked me chocolate chip cookies. Truth! But, that meant that I got a late start, so I was driving mostly in darkness and thhick fog. With the Starbucks stops and one wrong turn that had me heading north instead of south on I-95, I finally got there at 9:30 pm. Friend And Former Landlord and I had a quick dinner in the Plaza dining room, and then we headed into the Lobby.

And thus the tone was set for thhe weekend.

We were making our way towards the cigar tent. And, of course, I ran into lots of people I know. We hadn't made it into the tent before Friend and Former Landlord tapped me on the shoulder and said, "This is nuts! I can't hang out with you! You go five steps through the crowd and have to stop and say hello to somebody. It's like being out with Paris Hilton."

Yes, it is. At this stage of the game, I know everybody everywhere. And I love that. And I love them.

That's what I was after at MAL. Y'know, if I want to get laid, I can get laid. And, if I do the work, if I want to find some man to whip out in the garage, I can make that happen, too. But what is damn hard to come by is sitting down and talking with another leatherman. Comparing notes. Reflecting on the life. Scenes we have known. Best Inferno. Best leatherbar. Best boy. Worst scene. Whatever.

That's what I was after, and, of course, MAL delivered. Just like it always does. That's what I love about the event, and why, next to Inferno, it's my favorite.

So I saw so many of the men I love, the men that make my life worth living, and met several new ones, including Executive Slave, a really really sweet and wonderful man from NYC; a man who has actually read every word of SingleTails (and liked it!) and who made sure that I did not want for cranberry juice; a smokin' hot cigar smokin' cow farmer from Wisconsin; a man from Norfolk who throws a great f*ck; the one and only Jimbo, one of my favorite bloggers; a man who gets my precum dripping from the beleaguered city of New Orleans, who also turns out to be a fellow Happy Warrior in the field of harm reduction and substance use (how hot is that???); a bar manager from Provincetown who, although he stood me up for lunch, is so hot that I'm gonna see what I can do about meeting up with him again sometime; and a bar manager from... a more southerly beach community (!) who I also want to cross paths with again; and various other hot bears and leathermen who dazzled me too much to remember distinguishing details.

So what all went on?

Okay. The best of my recollection...

Despite so much else going on, I managed to get a good night's sleep on Friday. This left me fresh on Saturday morning to make the CLAW Eye Openers party. Nothing not to love about those CLAW guys! And there was Icarus his significant other, who seems to have snagged the titel of Mr. Intergalactic Leather Sir (and for him, it's well deserved). And our hosts, leathermuscleslave and his owner. I was there pretty much for the whole two hours.

At about 11:45, an odd thing happened. In came all of these title holders! Including, none other than my fellow Novices SIG participant, Keckler, the reigning Mr. Boston Leather (Go Beantown! Love those Red Sox, too!) And I'm just standing there drinking my coffee, and all these guys would come up to me verrrrry solicitously, and be all like, "Hi! Nice to meet you! Where're you here from? I'm Mr. Piscabip Leather 2005." So that was cool, right? (I for one felt kind of cheated to learn that the current Mr. International Leather is in a committed monogamous relationship. So, like, I don't have a chance with him. What's up with that? What is up with that?)

Anyway, the reason for this influx became clear when I learned that although CLAW had the room through noon, the room was then booked for what was described to me as a "press conference" to announce the judges of IML.

'Scuse me? A "press conference," huh? As in, "Yes, the gentleman from The Times has a follow-up question?" As in, "Wait! We can't start yet! CNN is still setting up their camera!" I've held press conferences, Sir, and this was... uh... an Announcement.

Whatever.

Anyway, leathermuscleslave and Mr. Intergalactic Leather Sir are judges! That's very cool!

Although the announcement meant that all the title holders in the room now knew that they didn't have to waste time talking to li'l ol' me as they had bigger fish to fry. And, of course, leathermuscleslave and Mr. Intergalactic Leather Sir won't have to worry about somebody to rotate their tires or clean up after dinner parties or separate their bulbs and such, as there's a world of title holders out there who would be only just too happy to help!

And then, I hit the vendor area, a.k.a., the MAL Mall. Sadly, nobody hd what I was looking for. I'd like a leather belt with a big chunky buckle. But not a dopey one. All the kids round my way are sporting these. My tattoo guy has one that says 'Bully' that I would love to wear. But no go. The best of the best was, of course, MP Uniform And Supplies of Allentown, Pennsylvania, providing whatever folks on the job in law enforcement, fire, and EMS in the tri-state area need. I got a great pair or tactical pants with built in knee pads, this shirt designed to accentuate your musculature (cops need this cuz why?), and a new sam brown belt. As always, they guys of MP are great to deal with. Tragically, they don't have a web presence, and they don't go to IML. So you'll just have to plan a trip to Allentown, won't you? Yeah you will.

Then I was due for some TFD (Time For Drew), so I headed to Starbucks to sit and relax far from the hoi polloi, give a call to my father, and recharge.

But don't dally too long! Cuz I was heading to the cigar party at the Green Lantern sponsored by Hot Ash DC! What a great time that was. Lots more of the Paris Hilton deal, including LeatherPapi, husbear of GIJoeSkin, with whom I bonded at Datt and Male's party over our involvement with political work on behalf of American foreign policy concerning Central America during the 1980s. And we all had the room pretty dense in a hurry. And there, through the billows, emerged this man I'd chatted with on musclebears.com. Jiminy Crickets! Outta my dreams and into the Green Lantern. And I'm damn glad he made the trip. We talked, and he's one of those sexy brainy passionate men. We kissed, and he's a great kisser.

Despite the fact that I was weak in the knees, I managed to find my way back to the Residence Inn so I could meet up for dinner again with Friend And Former Landlord. We went to Afterwards Café at KramerBooks (no relation) along with one of FAFL's many many many boys. (FAFL sees way more action than anyone else on the planet. Must be all that clean living! And being a vicious sadist.)

After dinner, we had to rush back, because I was going to my second Hot Ash DC event of the weekend, a play party.

Cool!

My strategy was to go and check it out. If it looked like a dud, I'd head for the door.

So it started out with all of us standing around in a hotel room smoking cigars. And it was like, "Not him... not him... no, not him either... no, no, no, no, no... Yeah, probably... Oh yeah! Definitely him! No, No..." that kind of thing. Then, we moved into the dark room, still smoking our cigars. And initially, it was like, "No! Not you! I want that other guy! You're a 'No,' and he's a 'Yes!'" But then the magic happened. And it was everybody on everybody else, and it was great.

I finished (that's a cigar afficionado term, y'know) with this guy from Charlotte. He was f*cking me in the bathroom. I was bracing myself against the vanity, in front of a big mirror. So looking in the mirror, we could do the eye-to-eye thing, even though he was doing a rear entry. And... And... All of both of us were smoking cigars.

Sweeeet.

I hit the lobby of the Plaza afterwards, just to put in an appearance, but I was pretty much sated for the night.

Next morning. Sunday. More TFD, but this time at Caribou Coffee, where I went through the New York Times and enjoyed one of their lattes. Back at the hotel, who should I run into but Mr. Big Shot Hollywood Producer, who rocked my world on the Sunday night of MAL last year. And in the subsequent months. We greeted each other warmly, and agreed to meet up for dinner later that night. I wandered. I mixed and mingled. I hung with my peeps.

Oh. Here's a great moment.

There I was, talking to these three hot musclebears. I mean, incredibly hot. The stuff of fantasies. All combined, these guys probably lift the equivalent of an 18 wheeler semi in their weekly workouts.

So, what were we talking about? Was it our sexual exploits? Was it comparing our favorite beers? Was it swapping tales of hot cubs we've ploughed into next week?

Nope.

It was all about gay cruises. Specifically, Princess Cruises.

It was excruciating.

I tried to pass the time by imagining them all naked, and me doing my best to service their bullet nipples, or who could stand up to the most severe whipping. But it didn't help. Gay cruises kept intruding. I couldn't focus.

Finally, the time came for me to head to dinner with Mr. big Shot Hollywood Producer. We went to Thai Tanic (No! Really!) where the food was good, and at the table next to us was none other than Porn Sensation Duke Rivers! Duke and I once did next door scenes at a GMSMA dungeon demo, me getting all pugilistic on a hot boy, and Duke tying his down to the pool table and making with the hot wax. And, he's a very sweet man. A genuine and gentle soul.

The dinner went well. I exorcised some ghosts and gained some perspective. And that was good.

Mr. BSHP and I repaired to the cigar tent, and there we met a Tom of Finland sketch come to life. Who was into fisting.

Now, for Mr. BSHP, fisting is It. Absolutely the be all and end all. The ultimate. And the same was true for Sketch Guy. I first fisted a man when I was seventeen years old. (Prior to doing it, I never knew that it was possible, little less desirable.) I've been told on a few occasions that I have quite a talent for it. However, with that tight hole of mine, I've tried a few times but with no success to take a fist. So I've sort of feel myself to be on the outside looking in. But y'know, hearing BSHP and Sketch talk about it, and reflecting on the good experiences I've had... (there was that boy in NYC, Does Windows, who took me almost to my elbow, and it was only his third or fourth time taking a fist) ...and I think I'm gonna explore that some more in 2006.

And there was so much more. But I've gotta get to bed. Back to work tomorrow, and that means I get up at 5:45 a.m.

'Night.

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