An exciting day.

From noon to 3 pm I fulfilled my volunteer duties at the Tom of Finland Foundation's erotic art show. Today, my responsibilities essentially entailed hanging out, although I did relieve a few volunteers with real jobs, and a couple of artists while they took breaks. But mostly I mingled and flirted. And I bought three prints. One is by Axel, who wins the contest hands down for being the most delectable and adorable artist taking part, and two by Mark Debauch, who's got it goin' on, too. Axel's is a self portrait of sorts featuring dog training, and Mr. Debauch's include a pencil sketch of a man doing bootblack duty and one of a bound man with a mohawk. All of them make me happy, and I think they'll look nice gracing the walls of the dungeon in Bucks County.

I decided not to have any pictures showing Tops. I mean, it wouldn't do to have the men I take to my dungeon see images of men hotter than me, right? Clearly not.

I also spent some time with that rollicking band of madcap men from the Tom of Finland Foundation. We talked and established mutual interest at the art show. Afterwards, I went to the gym (back--I love working my back), then grabbed something to eat, and ran into UnFortunate. Together, we went to the post show benefit party at the Spiegel. Despite the almost total absence of leather (shocking for the Spiegel, I know), there was a pretty good energy there. I ran into the rollicking band of madcap men (who seem to go most everywhere in a pack), and we frightened the horses by working each other's backs for a while. That felt really good to be doing some S/M at the Spiegel. Figures it would take an influx of Los Angelinos to make it happen.

And then, I called it a night on the early side, and came back home to continue the GMSMA reconciliation, which proceeds apace.

Another interesting development. Further correspondence with a goodlooking, intelligent, leather wearing man who is interested in being collared. Huh. Who knows where this might go, given the major transitions I'm going through right now. But he certainly has captured my imagination.

While replying to an email he sent, I had a recollection. When I was twelve, I was reading a lot of Agatha Christie mysteries. I remember telling my father that when I grew up, I wanted to have a valet. A gentleman's gentleman. Like Hercule Poirot's Georges. Always there to whip up an omlette aux fines herbes and a tisane. And keep M. Poirot's shoes polished and his wardrobe in order. Christie's novels were filled with devoted valets and batmen (the British military equivalent). As portrayed, these were often lifelong relationships. How intimate. How symbiotic. How right. I think if I had been reading Drummer instead of Agatha Christie, I would have decided that what I really wanted was a slave, not a valet. There are, after all, probably limits to the extent to which you can enjoy letting your sadistic impulses run wild with a valet. I don't remember reading about any flogging of valets.

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