Night Of Chains

The mike was out. So there would be no announcement.

I was kind of happy about that. Rick had asked me, "So how do you want to be introduced?" and I was stumped for an answer.

And so Rick cleared the dancefloor, and when there was sufficient space, I went to work. I'd reach into my big ol' plastic bucket, and haul out a length of heavy guage chain. I had brought my weight bench, a cheapo affair, but serviceable. Male, of Datt and Male fame, was my bottom, and right on cue he appeared, wearing only a leather jock and boots. I put wrist restraints on him and positioned him on the weight bench, then I got to work.

The night before, I saw the position I wanted Male to assume in a dream. (Good dreams lately!). I wanted him on his back on the weight bench, with his butt hanging over the end, his legs in the air with chain wrapping his wrists and ankles together.

Verrrrry vulnerable.

And so I went to work, laying on the chain. All of it. Secured by padlocks.

I was totally in the zone, heedless of the crowd and music. But I did take note of the fact that Male looked really really really hot. He was just swaddled in gleaming steel. Male, who is very good at this, seemed to be deep in bottom space, just drinking in the experience, letting it was over him, a beatific smile on his handsome face.

When all the chains were in place, with something of a flourish, I drew my Bowie knife from my tool belt, hoping that the steel blade would catch the light. I played the knife over Male's helpless body, letting him feel the cool steel blade, laying the flat of the knife against his ass, his pecs, and his throat. And pressing the point into the meaty parts of Male. And there are plenty of meaty parts of Male.

Finally, I unlocked and collected all the padlocks, leaving the chain in place. Then I signaled that the time had come for my favorite part: Male struggling mightily against the chains. And struggle he did. When he finally freed himself, there was a round of applause as I held him and kissed him.

And it was done!

When we came off the dancefloor, Rick the impressario greeted us, full of praise. Coming out of the dreamlike state of Topspace, I got some objectivity on what I had just brought to be. And damn, it must have been pretty hot.

When I got home from work, I decided some serious napping was in order. I had gotten up at 4:30 a.m. that morning, and having just turned 43, I thought that my days of being up for twenty-four hours straight were behind me. I awoke refreshed a few hours later and made a nice beef stew for my father and I to have for dinner. While the stew was simmering, I managed to get the jeep loaded with the chain and the weight bench and take a nice long hot shower.

Then I leathered up.

When was the last time I had an excuse to do that?

It felt novel.

The drive down to Pistoldelphia went pretty easily with not much traffic. I unloaded my gear at the club then headed off to find a parking space. And I ended up finding a space on South Street, a block away from my apartment there many many years ago, about the time of the Great Vowel Shift. Things were getting going later than usual at Club XO, due in part to the Great Autumnal Setting Back Of The Clocks, which meant that the bars would be open for one hour longer tonight. So the crowd at the club was light early on. Datt and Male were waiting for me, so we relaxed for a bit.

And then we started dancing. When we hit the floor, it was this rappy new stuff I've never heard. But then--what the hell!--I knew this song! It was from the Eighties!

In fact, I had probably danced to this song back in the Eighties when I lived in Pistoldelphia. Y'know, I probably didn't get much involved in leather when I lived in Pistoldelphia way back then because I loved to dance. Loved loved loved to dance. And back then, you either went to the Bike Stop (leatherbar, no dancing), or to Kurt's (dancing, no leather). I went to both, but if'n I had to make a choice, I'd be dancing. So it was damn hot to be out there dancing in my leathers in Pistoldelphia.

And the DJ kept the oldies coming. And I started to suspect what was going down. Y'see, Datt and Male and I were about a generation older than everybody else in the place. So they were kinda doing it for us. That was a sweet gesture! But then I remembered how when I was the age of the kids at Club XO, I'd occasionally see one or two of these queens from the Seventies out there with a tambourine going crazy when they played Diana Ross and how I'd just wince and think "oh my god, I hope that when I get to be... And then they played Madonna's Get Into The Grove and I just went apeshit! I love Madonna! And there I was, transported. Not back in time, but out of time. Only me and the music and the lights and dancing.

After I did the chain bondage demo, I allowed myself a celebratory beer and then Rick the impressario helped me get my gear back to my jeep, then I headed over to the Bike Stop. And let's just say I was in and out of there in about fifteen minutes.

I walked back to my car through the still city. I remember that about Pistoldelphia. So often, I would just have the feeling of having the entire place to myself. You can walk a good distance, late at night anyway, without running into anyone. You can't get that in NYC. Once you find some quiet out-of-the-way place in Prospect Park or Central Park, you've got about ten minutes tops to yourself.

And then I walked right by the iron burglar bars of my old apartment at 1533 South Street, pausing to look up at the second floor windows. Who lives there now? Is the teetering deck still off the back, outside of the sliding glass doors? Can you still see the towers of Liberty Place, or has new construction changed the skyline? Are the same shit brown wall-to-wall carpets covering the place? And I passed Ron's apartment, across the street.

Ron was a bartender at the Westbury. I thought Ron was unbelievably hot. And such a nice guy, with his furry chest and the blue-black hair in his beard and his ready smile. I totally had the hots for Ron, but thought that no way would a hot man like that go for a skinny kid like me. He would decline my proferring of money for my beer, he drove me home a couple of times and we'd sit in his car parked on South Street talking. And he moved into an apartment across the street from me.

Years later, after I had moved to NYC, I learned that Ron thought I was such a great guy, and he would bore his friends with his pining after me. But he assumed that a strapping young buck like me would hardly be interested in a fat old guy like him.

What fools these mortals be, huh?

So much went down in those two years I lived in that city, all those years ago, from July 1st of 1988 to June 30, 1990. And leaving, I sort of hoped that one day I'd come back and be a star.

And last night, when everything just came together so well, when I left the crowd at Club XO awed and amazed, and I have to admit I was pretty awed and amazed myself (I honestly didn't know I had that in me), in a way I did.