II
And by the way, tomorrow, June 6, 2004, Singletails will be two years old!
Saturday, June 05, 2004
Friday, June 04, 2004
"Can I See?"
Yeah yeah yeah. I'll post some pics.
But not right now. Right now, my leg is wrapped up in saran wrap secured with scotch tape. And those arent' red highlights, that's my blood. It ain't pretty. But when things settle down, then absolutely I'll post some pics.
By the way, it's bacitracin that I need to run out and buy tomorrow, right?
Yeah yeah yeah. I'll post some pics.
But not right now. Right now, my leg is wrapped up in saran wrap secured with scotch tape. And those arent' red highlights, that's my blood. It ain't pretty. But when things settle down, then absolutely I'll post some pics.
By the way, it's bacitracin that I need to run out and buy tomorrow, right?
Bragging Rights
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
That was painful. That was really painful.
Joe Rose, Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire, apparently is a strong believer in the 'No guts, no glory' approach. Not only did we go across my shin, not only did we go across my shin and up the side of my knee, not only did we hit the kneecap, but we crossed that tendon and went behind the kneecap, too.
Quoth Joe: "Yeah. That's gotta hurt."
Tony Corso, Other Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire and Joe's partner commented that me getting inked was like being in a Civil War field hospital watching somebody get his leg amputated without anesthesia.
It really really really hurt. A lot.
So that was cool. I am one tough fucker. And, I've got a great tattoo. It looks really beautiful. After Joe did the thick, dark outlines (ankle, shin, calf, side of the knee, kneecap, behind the knee, we went the route a second time so Joe could do the dark shading. (This will allow him to gauge how that skin takes dark ink, so he'll be able to adjust the hues he's using accordingly.) When it's all done, hopefully before my 40th birthday, it will look really good.
I made a lot of noise. Nothing too loud though. And I was breathing deeply the whole time. They put some DVDs on for me to watch, so I saw 'Reign of Fire' and 'The Fog.' Liked both of them, although Adrienne Barbeau fending off ghostly pirates in a lighthouse will for ever more make me wince with the memory of The Kneecap. Joe told me that I could bring along some DVDs for future sessions.
What would be some good movies for an evening of agony?
Any suggestions, readers?
I'm definitely gonna bring 'Jackass: The Motion Picture.' I bought the DVD cheap at K-Mart, but haven't been able to watch it yet.
Oh, and even though I was a big baby, I went through with it. There was a kid in the chair next to me getting a cross done on his back, right between the shoulderblades. Y'know, where you aim your whip. He didn't get all of his cross. "Uh... let's hold off on doing the middle for now."
But I took it, Bay-beeee!
Called Sir from my car as soon as I got out of there. He said he was proud of his boy. That made it all very worthwhile.
And y'know, I like the fact that it hurt so much. It fits in so well with my overall theme.
Need a reminder of what that might be? Those chains are Chains of Love. Like the Anti-Jacob Marley, I hope to be loaded down with chains of love in this life, the love I give and the love I receive. Binding me, keeping me safe and secure, and hurting, too. Cuz love hurts. No matter what.
Especially when it hits that tendon behind the kneecap. Then it reeeally hurts.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
That was painful. That was really painful.
Joe Rose, Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire, apparently is a strong believer in the 'No guts, no glory' approach. Not only did we go across my shin, not only did we go across my shin and up the side of my knee, not only did we hit the kneecap, but we crossed that tendon and went behind the kneecap, too.
Quoth Joe: "Yeah. That's gotta hurt."
Tony Corso, Other Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire and Joe's partner commented that me getting inked was like being in a Civil War field hospital watching somebody get his leg amputated without anesthesia.
It really really really hurt. A lot.
So that was cool. I am one tough fucker. And, I've got a great tattoo. It looks really beautiful. After Joe did the thick, dark outlines (ankle, shin, calf, side of the knee, kneecap, behind the knee, we went the route a second time so Joe could do the dark shading. (This will allow him to gauge how that skin takes dark ink, so he'll be able to adjust the hues he's using accordingly.) When it's all done, hopefully before my 40th birthday, it will look really good.
I made a lot of noise. Nothing too loud though. And I was breathing deeply the whole time. They put some DVDs on for me to watch, so I saw 'Reign of Fire' and 'The Fog.' Liked both of them, although Adrienne Barbeau fending off ghostly pirates in a lighthouse will for ever more make me wince with the memory of The Kneecap. Joe told me that I could bring along some DVDs for future sessions.
What would be some good movies for an evening of agony?
Any suggestions, readers?
I'm definitely gonna bring 'Jackass: The Motion Picture.' I bought the DVD cheap at K-Mart, but haven't been able to watch it yet.
Oh, and even though I was a big baby, I went through with it. There was a kid in the chair next to me getting a cross done on his back, right between the shoulderblades. Y'know, where you aim your whip. He didn't get all of his cross. "Uh... let's hold off on doing the middle for now."
But I took it, Bay-beeee!
Called Sir from my car as soon as I got out of there. He said he was proud of his boy. That made it all very worthwhile.
And y'know, I like the fact that it hurt so much. It fits in so well with my overall theme.
Need a reminder of what that might be? Those chains are Chains of Love. Like the Anti-Jacob Marley, I hope to be loaded down with chains of love in this life, the love I give and the love I receive. Binding me, keeping me safe and secure, and hurting, too. Cuz love hurts. No matter what.
Especially when it hits that tendon behind the kneecap. Then it reeeally hurts.
Ink Day
So today is the day.
Have my appointment with Joe Rose at 5 pm. Today, the chains begin snaking their way up my right leg. They'll travel across my butt, around my back, over my heart, under my neck, and eventually find their way down my left arm. If only the tattooing took something along the lines of the amount of time it takes to type that... [g]. Ah well. It'll hurt.
Heh heh.
This tattoo is ten years in the making. More than that, actually. Twelve. A dozen years.
It's all new now. Big, inked, cigar smoking, collared me takes his first babysteps.
So today is the day.
Have my appointment with Joe Rose at 5 pm. Today, the chains begin snaking their way up my right leg. They'll travel across my butt, around my back, over my heart, under my neck, and eventually find their way down my left arm. If only the tattooing took something along the lines of the amount of time it takes to type that... [g]. Ah well. It'll hurt.
Heh heh.
This tattoo is ten years in the making. More than that, actually. Twelve. A dozen years.
It's all new now. Big, inked, cigar smoking, collared me takes his first babysteps.
Thursday, June 03, 2004
Soothes the Savage Breast
Been listening to a lot of music lately. Feeds the soul, lets my mind chew on thoughts of Big like sourballs.
And, been having a lot of fun burning my own CDs. The week before I left for SF, I made a CD for Big. I think, editorially speaking, it's one of my better efforts.
Here's the playlist...
Been listening to a lot of music lately. Feeds the soul, lets my mind chew on thoughts of Big like sourballs.
And, been having a lot of fun burning my own CDs. The week before I left for SF, I made a CD for Big. I think, editorially speaking, it's one of my better efforts.
Here's the playlist...
- Whatcha Gonna Do With A Cowboy Chris LeDoux and Garth Brooks
- You're the Top Ella Fitzgerald
- Can You Hear Me Now Emmylou Harris
- Let The Mystery Be Iris Dement
- Hard Times Come Again No MoreYo-Yo Ma, Mark O'Connor, Edgar Meyer, with vocals by James Taylor
- Thank God I'm A Country Boy John Denver
- The Rainbow Connection Willie Nelson
- Hold My Hand Hootie and the Blowfish
- Return of the Greivous Angel Lucinda Williams and David Crosby
- Skylark KD Lang
- Long Road Eddie Vedder and Neal Young
- Babylon David Gray
- My Winding Wheel Ryan Adams
- Cold Tea Blues Cowboy Junkies
- A Song Toshi Reagon and Bernice Reagon
- I'll Take The Rain REM
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
Not In San Francisco
Work went well today. I'm training a new kid. (Really pleased to be asked to do the honors there.) He's likeable, bright, quick on the uptake, and seems conscientious. But, y'know, it was only his first day.
During Cabinetry building class tonight, the only guy at work that I can't stand did his presentation on table saw jigs. At one point, he passed around a jig he made. He was describing how he built it to be big and sturdy, a good thing as the table saw is probably the most dangerous tool in the shop. And he said, "So I built it with big, beefy handles." I had a field day with that one. "Yeah. Let me get my hands on those Big Beefy Handles." Calculusboy, who was sitting next to me, was in tears, and begged me to stop. I look forward to torturing jerkoffboy henceforth about the Big Beefy Handles on his jig.
Big part of the reason I can't stand him is that he's deep in the throws of what is known in psychology as Reaction Formation, projecting onto others (namely me) something he sees and despises in himself (namely, he's a homo). He has this snarky, mean, mocking way about him in his dealings with me. Which go down every day at lunchtime when he bums a cigaret off of me and then insists on standing there while he smokes it. No social skills whatsoever.
Good phone call with Big after work.
Y'know, I think I'm finally getting a handle on this submission thing. I'm finally seeing it from the inside. Remember the old Nestea Iced Tea commercial, featuring men fully dressed falling backwards into a swimming pool? That's kind of it. Taking the plunge. Scary and exhilarating at the same time. It's frightening to give up control, until you do, and then it's wonderful. There's no place that Big couldn't take me.
Anyway. It's late. I want to try to get my printer working. Not sure what the problem is there. Darn it.
Work went well today. I'm training a new kid. (Really pleased to be asked to do the honors there.) He's likeable, bright, quick on the uptake, and seems conscientious. But, y'know, it was only his first day.
During Cabinetry building class tonight, the only guy at work that I can't stand did his presentation on table saw jigs. At one point, he passed around a jig he made. He was describing how he built it to be big and sturdy, a good thing as the table saw is probably the most dangerous tool in the shop. And he said, "So I built it with big, beefy handles." I had a field day with that one. "Yeah. Let me get my hands on those Big Beefy Handles." Calculusboy, who was sitting next to me, was in tears, and begged me to stop. I look forward to torturing jerkoffboy henceforth about the Big Beefy Handles on his jig.
Big part of the reason I can't stand him is that he's deep in the throws of what is known in psychology as Reaction Formation, projecting onto others (namely me) something he sees and despises in himself (namely, he's a homo). He has this snarky, mean, mocking way about him in his dealings with me. Which go down every day at lunchtime when he bums a cigaret off of me and then insists on standing there while he smokes it. No social skills whatsoever.
Good phone call with Big after work.
Y'know, I think I'm finally getting a handle on this submission thing. I'm finally seeing it from the inside. Remember the old Nestea Iced Tea commercial, featuring men fully dressed falling backwards into a swimming pool? That's kind of it. Taking the plunge. Scary and exhilarating at the same time. It's frightening to give up control, until you do, and then it's wonderful. There's no place that Big couldn't take me.
Anyway. It's late. I want to try to get my printer working. Not sure what the problem is there. Darn it.
Monday, May 31, 2004
BIG TRIP
Oh man.
Where to begin? How to recount an entire weekend and not have a huge and daunting block of text for you, my readers? I'll do my best to operate by headlines and brief-ish blurbs.
The Voyage Out
Not a prob!
Well, not entirely true. The long term parking lot at Newark was filled, so they sent us to the short term parking lot with a green tag that would give us long term rates. But, I drove around the short term lot for forty five minutes before concluding that there were no spaces available here either, and no one coming out the door with luggage that I could track to his car and nab his spot. I had given myself a comfortable window of time, but that window was closing.
What to do?
How about, move some orange cones and park on white stripes and spend the weekend hoping my car hadn't been towed when I got back? Yuh. Okee. So I did that.
And then, I somehow got it into my head that I was flying Continental. They set me straight on that at the Continental check-in counter. In Terminal C. And United, which I was flying, was in Terminal A. So, it was another trip on the tram for me. But, I even had time to stop at Starbucks for a half-caf grande latte before boarding.
Oh. The security guy complemented me on my boots ("Damn! Those are some big beautiful boots!") and my Schott MC jacket ("Yo. Sweet.") and the young woman at Starbucks, who made my drink wrong, told me she wished every customer was as nice as me.
I eat that up like candy.
But, how unnerving was it not wearing Big's collar? Very unnerving. After the Incident of the Wallet Chain at the Detroit Airport, I decided not to chance it. Hated that.
But I got into SFO, and there was Big waiting for me by baggage claim. Looking... well... like one of the hottest men I've ever laid eyes on. We grabbed my bag, headed to the parking lot, threw my bag in his white Ford pickup (Ooooh.) and rectified the collar situation.
Friday Night
Big is a very good driver. Maybe SF does that to you. Several times I felt that my skills wouldn't be a match for the not-covered-in-my-high-school-drivers-ed-class challenges presented by the streets, but very quickly I had full and complete confidence in Big. Big is a good driver.
We drove slowly through the Castro so I could get a first look, and then headed up Market Street to Chez Big in Twin Peaks. (On Twin Peaks? Is that a shiboleth?) Once there, I dropped my bags, and big had a light dinner waiting. Minestrone soup and popovers. (Popovers are a Big specialty.) How perfect was that? Perfectly perfect.
And, Big had a gift for me. A complete bootblacking kit. I'll be in touch with Cubby J. Sherwood about figuring how to use it. It's pretty wonderful. I am one grateful boy.
Good Morning, Sunshine
Y'know what rocks about traveling to the West Coast? You can be a lazy slug and stay in bed till noon, and they think you're up and at'em at 9 am. Big fixed us a quick breakfast of last night's popovers and fruit salad, and then we headed for home. 'Home,' in this case, being Starbucks. And this particular Starbucks was the Starbucks in the Castro. One venti iced latte with two pumps of cinnamon and a tall blend of the day with no room later, Big and I were sitting on a bench watching the world go by.
Welcome To The Castro!
We headed to a leather shop that sells second hand stuff, as they were having a sale. I think the idea is brilliant, what a great way to recycle gear! Alas, there was nothing in my size, so no money was spent. Then, we had brunch on the back porch of a nice little eaterie, and stopped by a plant place a few doors down. The enormous rainbow flag was flying at the Harvey Milk memorial, and Big informed me that the leather pride flag had been flying below it over the past few days, as Alan Selby, who put the 'S' in Mr. S had passed away.
Wow. So municipal government not only mounts a huge flagpole to acknowledge the contributions of it LGBT citizenry, but makes room for the kinksters in the citizenry, too? Wow.
Colorful Natives In Their Picturesque Costumes Practicing Their Charming Folkways
Time for touristry! Into the white Ford pickup (Ooooh.) and off to the site of the exposition, then down to Folsom Street to visit Mr. S, the store. (Nothing purchased. I think I'm pretty much set gear-wise. Imagine that!) Lots of picture taking. Another trip to Starbucks in the Castro. Then, it was time to head back to Chez Big for a nap.
San Francisco Nights
While I napped, Big got dinner dinner ready. Big does a lot more work than any man with a boy should, I think. But who am I to complain?
Dinner was great. Really superb. But if my Sir had served me toast and Kool-Aide, it still would have been a feast. 'Cause my Sir made it for me.
After dinner, I asked Big what he wanted to see his boy wearing that night. Big opted for the chaps, black tshirt, leather armbands. I got myself ready according to Sir's wishes. Sir looked pretty great himself. Natch. And so, the two of us headed out to the Loading Dock.
Big finds the Loading Dock to be all but totally devoid of sexual energy. And maybe it was just because IML was going down a couple of thousand miles away, but I had to agree. It was like those guys were waiting for a bus.
We took it in, relaxed, had beers.
Then, I was inspired. I'd show those San Francisco boys how this East Coast boy honors his Sir, and save Big the trouble of having to explain why he passed over the local options. Down I went, giving my Sir the boot service he deserves, making him proud. Oh man. When did I get such a taste for boot leather? I swear, I was rock hard the entire time. Happy as a pig in a pile of acorns. When I came up for air, Big was glowing, and a semicircle of awed leatherbar patrons had formed around us.
There. Nuff said. Made my point.
Big and I finished our beers and headed home. 'Cuz a certain boy had earned a nice, long, hard, sweaty fuck from the Sir he serves.
Before the fucking ensued, we had a little portrait sitting. Big wanted some pics of us together, and so did I. And since we were both leathered up, it seemed like a good opportunity.
Glorious Sunday
What a great day. Things started out with breakfast in the Castro with a buddy of Big's.
Interesting thing I noticed about San Francisco: you see the same guys over and over again. There at the restaurant was a boy we had just seen the night before at the Loading Dock, one of the awed faces I saw when I looked up from my boot service. And he was one of scores of repeats throughout the weekend. Sure is different from Life in the Megalopolis.
After breakfast, Big and I stocked up on sandwiches. We were going on a picnic.
We headed across the Golden Gate Bridge into the Marin headlands.
As we crossed the bridge, I asked Big if he was familiar with Armistead Maupin's riff from his Tales of the City books on Tonys and Jeannettes. Of course, he was. AM opines--through Michael, if memory serves--that there are two kinds of people who find their way to San Francisco. The first is in line with the sentiments expressed by Jeannette MacDonald in the ditty she made famous... "San Fran Cisco! Open your golden gates! Another stranger waits outside your door!" Wayfaring optimists, leaving behind their humdrum hootervilles to bask in the California Sunshine. The second variety are those who sway to Tony Bennett singing about his departure without his cardium, lyrical romantics, made melancholie by the spell of the City by the Bay. I had always thought of myself as a Jeannette, but I was beginning to think that Big was turning me into a Tony.
First stop was the Point Bonita lighthouse. Much photography ensued. I find something so magical about those golden hills of sand covered with sage and succulents. Then, back in the white Ford pickup (Ooooh.) and continuing on to Mount Tam. As in, Mount Tamalpais. (Question: 'Malpais' is a fairly common Spanish-language place name meaning 'badlands.' So where does the 'Ta' come in?) We drove and drove and drove, winding our wending way (or is it, 'wending our winding way') up and up and up. Near the top, we pulled off the road and climed the embankment opposite, and made a picnic lunch of our sandwiches. The whole of the Bay area, from Berkeley to Half Moon Bay was spread out before us. It was glorious.
Big pointed out the beach where once a month, the leather community gathers at night around a big bonfire.
*sigh*
I'm gonna say that again. The beach where once a month, the leather community gathers around a big bonfire. Men in leather, smoking cigars, their faces dancing in the firelight. Gathering to enjoy being men in leather, smoking cigars, and watching the faces of their brothers dancing in the firelight.
I guess there's a lot to like about San Francisco.
We drove the balance of the way up to the summit, then headed back across the bridge and into town. First stop was (you guessed it) Starbucks, although not the one in the Castro. Then, Sir told me to tuck my BDU pants into my Wesco's because we were headed for the Eagle.
Cool.
Well. Maybe not.
It was packed to capacity. Verrry Sunday Beerblast at the Dugout. Only, the vast majority of the crowd were neither bears nor leathermen. They were just... y'know... gay guys. Mebbe because it was IML weekend?
Interestingly enough, someone I had met a few years ago at the Harm Reduction Conference in Seattle where I delivered my presentation on barebacking was receiving an award for service from the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. Small world, huh?
Big and I got beers, and took in the scene. Then, Big decided that it was time for me to spend some time on the leash I had gotten him. He clipped it onto my collar.
Schwing!
Oh. Man. Did that feel great or what? Instant hardon.
The crowd got to be a little much, so we headed first for the Lone Star. There was a line, neither of us felt particularly compelled to stand in line, so we headed for home. Nap time again.
I told Big I wanted to take him out to dinner that night, to show my appreciation to my Sir. He was amenable to that.
So we headed home. We decided that a nap was in order, and headed to bed. Really great sex ensued. I mean really great. As in, that weren't no seismic activity, that were boy breeding! I drifted off to sleep in my Sir's arms.
A Man And His boy Dine Out
We awoke at 9 pm, showered and dressed hastily, and headed down to the Castro. The restaurant was ideal. Great food (Great Food!) at reasonable prices.
Big and I talked. And talked and talked and talked.
This man... his mind, his life, his manner, his ways, his predilections... This Man. What have I done that was so selfless, pure, and good to merit wearing his collar?
I'm falling hard for Big. Way hard.
Chance Meeting
After dinner, Big and I took a passegiata so I could mail postcards to my father and the Baron. I'm not a postcard kinda guy, but both of theminsisted requested, so I was happy to oblige. They're winging their way eastward courtesy of the U.S. Postal Service as I speak.
As we walked, in stride, hand in hand, to the mailbox Big knew of, who should come walking the other way but Special Guy.
I'd been keeping half an eye out for him the whole weekend. And there he was. We greeted each other warmly. He looked great. He introduced me to the guy who was with, I introduced him to Big, although, of course, they had met a few days ago outside Starbucks in the Castro.
How uncanny, that I have known the love of two wonderful men. Big and Special Guy. Special Guy and Big. The leathergods are sure looking out for me. And there they both were, in my field of vision at the same time.
This might have been an awkward situation. "Uh... Hello there, guy I used to date. This is the guy I'm dating now." But at the risk of generalizing, I think that the hearts of leathermen are bigger than that. We are men who devote our lives to love. To deep, deep love. We know that our hearts are much larger than we think they are, that our hearts can expand seemingly infinitely, to be filled with so much love. And to give so much love, and still find that we have so much more to give.
Home. Bed.
That was tough. I didn't want the weekend to end. But end it would. In a few short hours, I'd be taken to SFO, and board United Flight 70 bound for EWR.
Tough to leave Big behind. Tough to have to wait three weeks until I see him again. See him. Feel the warmth and strength of his arms around me. Smell him. Taste him. Three weeks. That's tough. Tough to live and work and play thinking all the time that you'd rather be at the other side of North America. Tough.
But I'm tough, too.
Okay. Here's the pics.
Here's a shot by of Exposition Park...
I took it because of the sign that appears to blight the view...
...y'see, that thing about having to pick up after your dog? Well, after Harvey Milk, one of my heroes, was elected to the Board of Supervisors, one of his first actions was to introduce and fight for passage of a bill, then controversial, to make dog owners clean up after their dogs. At the time, this was completely novel, although such laws are now commonplace. In doing so, Milk signaled that he was not simply a gay politician, but had the interests of all San Franciscans at heart. In a way, this sign and others like it are memorials to Harvey.
And here's me at Fort Mason. My father, seeing this picture, was flooded with memories. When he got off the boat, a WAC band was playing to welcome the new soldiers, under a sign saying, 'Welcome Home.'
And here's an obligatory pic of the Golden Gate Bridge.
Here's a few pics from our travels in the Marin Headlands...
And here are the portraits that Big and I took on Saturday night, fresh from the Loading Dock...
Oh man.
Where to begin? How to recount an entire weekend and not have a huge and daunting block of text for you, my readers? I'll do my best to operate by headlines and brief-ish blurbs.
The Voyage Out
Not a prob!
Well, not entirely true. The long term parking lot at Newark was filled, so they sent us to the short term parking lot with a green tag that would give us long term rates. But, I drove around the short term lot for forty five minutes before concluding that there were no spaces available here either, and no one coming out the door with luggage that I could track to his car and nab his spot. I had given myself a comfortable window of time, but that window was closing.
What to do?
How about, move some orange cones and park on white stripes and spend the weekend hoping my car hadn't been towed when I got back? Yuh. Okee. So I did that.
And then, I somehow got it into my head that I was flying Continental. They set me straight on that at the Continental check-in counter. In Terminal C. And United, which I was flying, was in Terminal A. So, it was another trip on the tram for me. But, I even had time to stop at Starbucks for a half-caf grande latte before boarding.
Oh. The security guy complemented me on my boots ("Damn! Those are some big beautiful boots!") and my Schott MC jacket ("Yo. Sweet.") and the young woman at Starbucks, who made my drink wrong, told me she wished every customer was as nice as me.
I eat that up like candy.
But, how unnerving was it not wearing Big's collar? Very unnerving. After the Incident of the Wallet Chain at the Detroit Airport, I decided not to chance it. Hated that.
But I got into SFO, and there was Big waiting for me by baggage claim. Looking... well... like one of the hottest men I've ever laid eyes on. We grabbed my bag, headed to the parking lot, threw my bag in his white Ford pickup (Ooooh.) and rectified the collar situation.
Friday Night
Big is a very good driver. Maybe SF does that to you. Several times I felt that my skills wouldn't be a match for the not-covered-in-my-high-school-drivers-ed-class challenges presented by the streets, but very quickly I had full and complete confidence in Big. Big is a good driver.
We drove slowly through the Castro so I could get a first look, and then headed up Market Street to Chez Big in Twin Peaks. (On Twin Peaks? Is that a shiboleth?) Once there, I dropped my bags, and big had a light dinner waiting. Minestrone soup and popovers. (Popovers are a Big specialty.) How perfect was that? Perfectly perfect.
And, Big had a gift for me. A complete bootblacking kit. I'll be in touch with Cubby J. Sherwood about figuring how to use it. It's pretty wonderful. I am one grateful boy.
Good Morning, Sunshine
Y'know what rocks about traveling to the West Coast? You can be a lazy slug and stay in bed till noon, and they think you're up and at'em at 9 am. Big fixed us a quick breakfast of last night's popovers and fruit salad, and then we headed for home. 'Home,' in this case, being Starbucks. And this particular Starbucks was the Starbucks in the Castro. One venti iced latte with two pumps of cinnamon and a tall blend of the day with no room later, Big and I were sitting on a bench watching the world go by.
Welcome To The Castro!
We headed to a leather shop that sells second hand stuff, as they were having a sale. I think the idea is brilliant, what a great way to recycle gear! Alas, there was nothing in my size, so no money was spent. Then, we had brunch on the back porch of a nice little eaterie, and stopped by a plant place a few doors down. The enormous rainbow flag was flying at the Harvey Milk memorial, and Big informed me that the leather pride flag had been flying below it over the past few days, as Alan Selby, who put the 'S' in Mr. S had passed away.
Wow. So municipal government not only mounts a huge flagpole to acknowledge the contributions of it LGBT citizenry, but makes room for the kinksters in the citizenry, too? Wow.
Colorful Natives In Their Picturesque Costumes Practicing Their Charming Folkways
Time for touristry! Into the white Ford pickup (Ooooh.) and off to the site of the exposition, then down to Folsom Street to visit Mr. S, the store. (Nothing purchased. I think I'm pretty much set gear-wise. Imagine that!) Lots of picture taking. Another trip to Starbucks in the Castro. Then, it was time to head back to Chez Big for a nap.
San Francisco Nights
While I napped, Big got dinner dinner ready. Big does a lot more work than any man with a boy should, I think. But who am I to complain?
Dinner was great. Really superb. But if my Sir had served me toast and Kool-Aide, it still would have been a feast. 'Cause my Sir made it for me.
After dinner, I asked Big what he wanted to see his boy wearing that night. Big opted for the chaps, black tshirt, leather armbands. I got myself ready according to Sir's wishes. Sir looked pretty great himself. Natch. And so, the two of us headed out to the Loading Dock.
Big finds the Loading Dock to be all but totally devoid of sexual energy. And maybe it was just because IML was going down a couple of thousand miles away, but I had to agree. It was like those guys were waiting for a bus.
We took it in, relaxed, had beers.
Then, I was inspired. I'd show those San Francisco boys how this East Coast boy honors his Sir, and save Big the trouble of having to explain why he passed over the local options. Down I went, giving my Sir the boot service he deserves, making him proud. Oh man. When did I get such a taste for boot leather? I swear, I was rock hard the entire time. Happy as a pig in a pile of acorns. When I came up for air, Big was glowing, and a semicircle of awed leatherbar patrons had formed around us.
There. Nuff said. Made my point.
Big and I finished our beers and headed home. 'Cuz a certain boy had earned a nice, long, hard, sweaty fuck from the Sir he serves.
Before the fucking ensued, we had a little portrait sitting. Big wanted some pics of us together, and so did I. And since we were both leathered up, it seemed like a good opportunity.
Glorious Sunday
What a great day. Things started out with breakfast in the Castro with a buddy of Big's.
Interesting thing I noticed about San Francisco: you see the same guys over and over again. There at the restaurant was a boy we had just seen the night before at the Loading Dock, one of the awed faces I saw when I looked up from my boot service. And he was one of scores of repeats throughout the weekend. Sure is different from Life in the Megalopolis.
After breakfast, Big and I stocked up on sandwiches. We were going on a picnic.
We headed across the Golden Gate Bridge into the Marin headlands.
As we crossed the bridge, I asked Big if he was familiar with Armistead Maupin's riff from his Tales of the City books on Tonys and Jeannettes. Of course, he was. AM opines--through Michael, if memory serves--that there are two kinds of people who find their way to San Francisco. The first is in line with the sentiments expressed by Jeannette MacDonald in the ditty she made famous... "San Fran Cisco! Open your golden gates! Another stranger waits outside your door!" Wayfaring optimists, leaving behind their humdrum hootervilles to bask in the California Sunshine. The second variety are those who sway to Tony Bennett singing about his departure without his cardium, lyrical romantics, made melancholie by the spell of the City by the Bay. I had always thought of myself as a Jeannette, but I was beginning to think that Big was turning me into a Tony.
First stop was the Point Bonita lighthouse. Much photography ensued. I find something so magical about those golden hills of sand covered with sage and succulents. Then, back in the white Ford pickup (Ooooh.) and continuing on to Mount Tam. As in, Mount Tamalpais. (Question: 'Malpais' is a fairly common Spanish-language place name meaning 'badlands.' So where does the 'Ta' come in?) We drove and drove and drove, winding our wending way (or is it, 'wending our winding way') up and up and up. Near the top, we pulled off the road and climed the embankment opposite, and made a picnic lunch of our sandwiches. The whole of the Bay area, from Berkeley to Half Moon Bay was spread out before us. It was glorious.
Big pointed out the beach where once a month, the leather community gathers at night around a big bonfire.
*sigh*
I'm gonna say that again. The beach where once a month, the leather community gathers around a big bonfire. Men in leather, smoking cigars, their faces dancing in the firelight. Gathering to enjoy being men in leather, smoking cigars, and watching the faces of their brothers dancing in the firelight.
I guess there's a lot to like about San Francisco.
We drove the balance of the way up to the summit, then headed back across the bridge and into town. First stop was (you guessed it) Starbucks, although not the one in the Castro. Then, Sir told me to tuck my BDU pants into my Wesco's because we were headed for the Eagle.
Cool.
Well. Maybe not.
It was packed to capacity. Verrry Sunday Beerblast at the Dugout. Only, the vast majority of the crowd were neither bears nor leathermen. They were just... y'know... gay guys. Mebbe because it was IML weekend?
Interestingly enough, someone I had met a few years ago at the Harm Reduction Conference in Seattle where I delivered my presentation on barebacking was receiving an award for service from the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. Small world, huh?
Big and I got beers, and took in the scene. Then, Big decided that it was time for me to spend some time on the leash I had gotten him. He clipped it onto my collar.
Schwing!
Oh. Man. Did that feel great or what? Instant hardon.
The crowd got to be a little much, so we headed first for the Lone Star. There was a line, neither of us felt particularly compelled to stand in line, so we headed for home. Nap time again.
I told Big I wanted to take him out to dinner that night, to show my appreciation to my Sir. He was amenable to that.
So we headed home. We decided that a nap was in order, and headed to bed. Really great sex ensued. I mean really great. As in, that weren't no seismic activity, that were boy breeding! I drifted off to sleep in my Sir's arms.
A Man And His boy Dine Out
We awoke at 9 pm, showered and dressed hastily, and headed down to the Castro. The restaurant was ideal. Great food (Great Food!) at reasonable prices.
Big and I talked. And talked and talked and talked.
This man... his mind, his life, his manner, his ways, his predilections... This Man. What have I done that was so selfless, pure, and good to merit wearing his collar?
I'm falling hard for Big. Way hard.
Chance Meeting
After dinner, Big and I took a passegiata so I could mail postcards to my father and the Baron. I'm not a postcard kinda guy, but both of them
As we walked, in stride, hand in hand, to the mailbox Big knew of, who should come walking the other way but Special Guy.
I'd been keeping half an eye out for him the whole weekend. And there he was. We greeted each other warmly. He looked great. He introduced me to the guy who was with, I introduced him to Big, although, of course, they had met a few days ago outside Starbucks in the Castro.
How uncanny, that I have known the love of two wonderful men. Big and Special Guy. Special Guy and Big. The leathergods are sure looking out for me. And there they both were, in my field of vision at the same time.
This might have been an awkward situation. "Uh... Hello there, guy I used to date. This is the guy I'm dating now." But at the risk of generalizing, I think that the hearts of leathermen are bigger than that. We are men who devote our lives to love. To deep, deep love. We know that our hearts are much larger than we think they are, that our hearts can expand seemingly infinitely, to be filled with so much love. And to give so much love, and still find that we have so much more to give.
Home. Bed.
That was tough. I didn't want the weekend to end. But end it would. In a few short hours, I'd be taken to SFO, and board United Flight 70 bound for EWR.
Tough to leave Big behind. Tough to have to wait three weeks until I see him again. See him. Feel the warmth and strength of his arms around me. Smell him. Taste him. Three weeks. That's tough. Tough to live and work and play thinking all the time that you'd rather be at the other side of North America. Tough.
But I'm tough, too.
Okay. Here's the pics.
Here's a shot by of Exposition Park...
I took it because of the sign that appears to blight the view...
...y'see, that thing about having to pick up after your dog? Well, after Harvey Milk, one of my heroes, was elected to the Board of Supervisors, one of his first actions was to introduce and fight for passage of a bill, then controversial, to make dog owners clean up after their dogs. At the time, this was completely novel, although such laws are now commonplace. In doing so, Milk signaled that he was not simply a gay politician, but had the interests of all San Franciscans at heart. In a way, this sign and others like it are memorials to Harvey.
And here's me at Fort Mason. My father, seeing this picture, was flooded with memories. When he got off the boat, a WAC band was playing to welcome the new soldiers, under a sign saying, 'Welcome Home.'
And here's an obligatory pic of the Golden Gate Bridge.
Here's a few pics from our travels in the Marin Headlands...
And here are the portraits that Big and I took on Saturday night, fresh from the Loading Dock...
Big Trip
Oh man.
Where to begin? How to recount an entire weekend and not have a huge and daunting block of text for you, my readers? I'll do my best to operate by headlines and brief-ish blurbs.
The Voyage Out
Not a prob!
Well, not entirely true. The long term parking lot at Newark was filled, so they sent us to the short term parking lot with a green tag that would give us long term rates. But, I drove around the short term lot for forty five minutes before concluding that there were no spaces available here either, and no one coming out the door with luggage that I could track to his car and nab his spot. I had given myself a comfortable window of time, but that window was closing.
What to do?
How about, move some orange cones and park on white stripes and spend the weekend hoping my car hadn't been towed when I got back? Yuh. Okee. So I did that.
And then, I somehow got it into my head that I was flying Continental. They set me straight on that at the Continental check-in counter. In Terminal C. And United, which I was flying, was in Terminal A. So, it was another trip on the tram for me. But, I even had time to stop at Starbucks for a half-caf grande latte before boarding.
Oh. The security guy complemented me on my boots ("Damn! Those are some big beautiful boots!") and my Schott MC jacket ("Yo. Sweet.") and the young woman at Starbucks, who made my drink wrong, told me she wished every customer was as nice as me.
I eat that up like candy.
But, how unnerving was it not wearing Big's collar? Very unnerving. After the Incident of the Wallet Chain at the Detroit Airport, I decided not to chance it. Hated that.
But I got into SFO, and there was Big waiting for me by baggage claim. Looking... well... like one of the hottest men I've ever laid eyes on. We grabbed my bag, headed to the parking lot, threw my bag in his white Ford pickup (Ooooh.) and rectified the collar situation.
Friday Night
Big is a very good driver. Maybe SF does that to you. Several times I felt that my skills wouldn't be a match for the not-covered-in-my-high-school-drivers-ed-class challenges presented by the streets, but very quickly I had full and complete confidence in Big. Big is a good driver.
We drove slowly through the Castro so I could get a first look, and then headed up Market Street to Chez Big in Twin Peaks. (On Twin Peaks? Is that a shiboleth?) Once there, I dropped my bags, and big had a light dinner waiting. Minestrone soup and popovers. (Popovers are a Big specialty.) How perfect was that? Perfectly perfect.
And, Big had a gift for me. A complete bootblacking kit. I'll be in touch with Cubby J. Sherwood about figuring how to use it. It's pretty wonderful. I am one grateful boy.
Good Morning, Sunshine
Y'know what rocks about traveling to the West Coast? You can be a lazy slug and stay in bed till noon, and they think you're up and at'em at 9 am. Big fixed us a quick breakfast of last night's popovers and fruit salad, and then we headed for home. 'Home,' in this case, being Starbucks. And this particular Starbucks was the Starbucks in the Castro. One venti iced latte with two pumps of cinnamon and a tall blend of the day with no room later, Big and I were sitting on a bench watching the world go by.
Welcome To The Castro!
We headed to a leather shop that sells second hand stuff, as they were having a sale. I think the idea is brilliant, what a great way to recycle gear! Alas, there was nothing in my size, so no money was spent. Then, we had brunch on the back porch of a nice little eaterie, and stopped by a plant place a few doors down. The enormous rainbow flag was flying at the Harvey Milk memorial, and Big informed me that the leather pride flag had been flying below it over the past few days, as Alan Selby, who put the 'S' in Mr. S had passed away.
Wow. So municipal government not only mounts a huge flagpole to acknowledge the contributions of it LGBT citizenry, but makes room for the kinksters in the citizenry, too? Wow.
Colorful Natives In Their Picturesque Costumes Practicing Their Charming Folkways
Time for touristry! Into the white Ford pickup (Ooooh.) and off to the site of the exposition, then down to Folsom Street to visit Mr. S, the store. (Nothing purchased. I think I'm pretty much set gear-wise. Imagine that!) Lots of picture taking. Another trip to Starbucks in the Castro. Then, it was time to head back to Chez Big for a nap.
San Francisco Nights
While I napped, Big got dinner dinner ready. Big does a lot more work than any man with a boy should, I think. But who am I to complain?
Dinner was great. Really superb. But if my Sir had served me toast and Kool-Aide, it still would have been a feast. 'Cause my Sir made it for me.
After dinner, I asked Big what he wanted to see his boy wearing that night. Big opted for the chaps, black tshirt, leather armbands. I got myself ready according to Sir's wishes. Sir looked pretty great himself. Natch. And so, the two of us headed out to the Loading Dock.
Big finds the Loading Dock to be all but totally devoid of sexual energy. And maybe it was just because IML was going down a couple of thousand miles away, but I had to agree. It was like those guys were waiting for a bus.
We took it in, relaxed, had beers.
Then, I was inspired. I'd show those San Francisco boys how this East Coast boy honors his Sir, and save Big the trouble of having to explain why he passed over the local options. Down I went, giving my Sir the boot service he deserves, making him proud. Oh man. When did I get such a taste for boot leather? I swear, I was rock hard the entire time. Happy as a pig in a pile of acorns. When I came up for air, Big was glowing, and a semicircle of awed leatherbar patrons had formed around us.
There. Nuff said. Made my point.
Big and I finished our beers and headed home. 'Cuz a certain boy had earned a nice, long, hard, sweaty fuck from the Sir he serves.
Before the fucking ensued, we had a little portrait sitting. Big wanted some pics of us together, and so did I. And since we were both leathered up, it seemed like a good opportunity.
Glorious Sunday
What a great day. Things started out with breakfast in the Castro with a buddy of Big's.
Interesting thing I noticed about San Francisco: you see the same guys over and over again. There at the restaurant was a boy we had just seen the night before at the Loading Dock, one of the awed faces I saw when I looked up from my boot service. And he was one of scores of repeats throughout the weekend. Sure is different from Life in the Megalopolis.
After breakfast, Big and I stocked up on sandwiches. We were going on a picnic.
We headed across the Golden Gate Bridge into the Marin headlands.
As we crossed the bridge, I asked Big if he was familiar with Armistead Maupin's riff from his Tales of the City books on Tonys and Jeannettes. Of course, he was. AM opines--through Michael, if memory serves--that there are two kinds of people who find their way to San Francisco. The first is in line with the sentiments expressed by Jeannette MacDonald in the ditty she made famous... "San Fran Cisco! Open your golden gates! Another stranger waits outside your door!" Wayfaring optimists, leaving behind their humdrum hootervilles to bask in the California Sunshine. The second variety are those who sway to Tony Bennett singing about his departure without his cardium, lyrical romantics, made melancholie by the spell of the City by the Bay. I had always thought of myself as a Jeannette, but I was beginning to think that Big was turning me into a Tony.
First stop was the Point Bonita lighthouse. Much photography ensued. I find something so magical about those golden hills of sand covered with sage and succulents. Then, back in the white Ford pickup (Ooooh.) and continuing on to Mount Tam. As in, Mount Tamalpais. (Question: 'Malpais' is a fairly common Spanish-language place name meaning 'badlands.' So where does the 'Ta' come in?) We drove and drove and drove, winding our wending way (or is it, 'wending our winding way') up and up and up. Near the top, we pulled off the road and climed the embankment opposite, and made a picnic lunch of our sandwiches. The whole of the Bay area, from Berkeley to Half Moon Bay was spread out before us. It was glorious.
Big pointed out the beach where once a month, the leather community gathers at night around a big bonfire.
*sigh*
I'm gonna say that again. The beach where once a month, the leather community gathers around a big bonfire. Men in leather, smoking cigars, their faces dancing in the firelight. Gathering to enjoy being men in leather, smoking cigars, and watching the faces of their brothers dancing in the firelight.
I guess there's a lot to like about San Francisco.
We drove the balance of the way up to the summit, then headed back across the bridge and into town. First stop was (you guessed it) Starbucks, although not the one in the Castro. Then, Sir told me to tuck my BDU pants into my Wesco's because we were headed for the Eagle.
Cool.
Well. Maybe not.
It was packed to capacity. Verrry Sunday Beerblast at the Dugout. Only, the vast majority of the crowd were neither bears nor leathermen. They were just... y'know... gay guys. Mebbe because it was IML weekend?
Interestingly enough, someone I had met a few years ago at the Harm Reduction Conference in Seattle where I delivered my presentation on barebacking was receiving an award for service from the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. Small world, huh?
Big and I got beers, and took in the scene. Then, Big decided that it was time for me to spend some time on the leash I had gotten him. He clipped it onto my collar.
Schwing!
Oh. Man. Did that feel great or what? Instant hardon.
The crowd got to be a little much, so we headed first for the Lone Star. There was a line, neither of us felt particularly compelled to stand in line, so we headed for home. Nap time again.
I told Big I wanted to take him out to dinner that night, to show my appreciation to my Sir. He was amenable to that.
So we headed home. We decided that a nap was in order, and headed to bed. Really great sex ensued. I mean really great. As in, that weren't no seismic activity, that were boy breeding! I drifted off to sleep in my Sir's arms.
A Man And His boy Dine Out
We awoke at 9 pm, showered and dressed hastily, and headed down to the Castro. The restaurant was ideal. Great food (Great Food!) at reasonable prices.
Big and I talked. And talked and talked and talked.
This man... his mind, his life, his manner, his ways, his predilections... This Man. What have I done that was so selfless, pure, and good to merit wearing his collar?
I'm falling hard for Big. Way hard.
Chance Meeting
After dinner, Big and I took a passegiata so I could mail postcards to my father and the Baron. I'm not a postcard kinda guy, but both of theminsisted requested, so I was happy to oblige. They're winging their way eastward courtesy of the U.S. Postal Service as I speak.
As we walked, in stride, hand in hand, to the mailbox Big knew of, who should come walking the other way but Special Guy.
I'd been keeping half an eye out for him the whole weekend. And there he was. We greeted each other warmly. He looked great. He introduced me to the guy who was with, I introduced him to Big, although, of course, they had met a few days ago outside Starbucks in the Castro.
How uncanny, that I have known the love of two wonderful men. Big and Special Guy. Special Guy and Big. The leathergods are sure looking out for me. And there they both were, in my field of vision at the same time.
This might have been an awkward situation. "Uh... Hello there, guy I used to date. This is the guy I'm dating now." But at the risk of generalizing, I think that the hearts of leathermen are bigger than that. We are men who devote our lives to love. To deep, deep love. We know that our hearts are much larger than we think they are, that our hearts can expand seemingly infinitely, to be filled with so much love. And to give so much love, and still find that we have so much more to give.
Home. Bed.
That was tough. I didn't want the weekend to end. But end it would. In a few short hours, I'd be taken to SFO, and board United Flight 70 bound for EWR.
Tough to leave Big behind. Tough to have to wait three weeks until I see him again. See him. Feel the warmth and strength of his arms around me. Smell him. Taste him. Three weeks. That's tough. Tough to live and work and play thinking all the time that you'd rather be at the other side of North America. Tough.
But I'm tough, too.
Okay. Here's the pics.
Where to begin? How to recount an entire weekend and not have a huge and daunting block of text for you, my readers? I'll do my best to operate by headlines and brief-ish blurbs.
The Voyage Out
Not a prob!
Well, not entirely true. The long term parking lot at Newark was filled, so they sent us to the short term parking lot with a green tag that would give us long term rates. But, I drove around the short term lot for forty five minutes before concluding that there were no spaces available here either, and no one coming out the door with luggage that I could track to his car and nab his spot. I had given myself a comfortable window of time, but that window was closing.
What to do?
How about, move some orange cones and park on white stripes and spend the weekend hoping my car hadn't been towed when I got back? Yuh. Okee. So I did that.
And then, I somehow got it into my head that I was flying Continental. They set me straight on that at the Continental check-in counter. In Terminal C. And United, which I was flying, was in Terminal A. So, it was another trip on the tram for me. But, I even had time to stop at Starbucks for a half-caf grande latte before boarding.
Oh. The security guy complemented me on my boots ("Damn! Those are some big beautiful boots!") and my Schott MC jacket ("Yo. Sweet.") and the young woman at Starbucks, who made my drink wrong, told me she wished every customer was as nice as me.
I eat that up like candy.
But, how unnerving was it not wearing Big's collar? Very unnerving. After the Incident of the Wallet Chain at the Detroit Airport, I decided not to chance it. Hated that.
But I got into SFO, and there was Big waiting for me by baggage claim. Looking... well... like one of the hottest men I've ever laid eyes on. We grabbed my bag, headed to the parking lot, threw my bag in his white Ford pickup (Ooooh.) and rectified the collar situation.
Friday Night
Big is a very good driver. Maybe SF does that to you. Several times I felt that my skills wouldn't be a match for the not-covered-in-my-high-school-drivers-ed-class challenges presented by the streets, but very quickly I had full and complete confidence in Big. Big is a good driver.
We drove slowly through the Castro so I could get a first look, and then headed up Market Street to Chez Big in Twin Peaks. (On Twin Peaks? Is that a shiboleth?) Once there, I dropped my bags, and big had a light dinner waiting. Minestrone soup and popovers. (Popovers are a Big specialty.) How perfect was that? Perfectly perfect.
And, Big had a gift for me. A complete bootblacking kit. I'll be in touch with Cubby J. Sherwood about figuring how to use it. It's pretty wonderful. I am one grateful boy.
Good Morning, Sunshine
Y'know what rocks about traveling to the West Coast? You can be a lazy slug and stay in bed till noon, and they think you're up and at'em at 9 am. Big fixed us a quick breakfast of last night's popovers and fruit salad, and then we headed for home. 'Home,' in this case, being Starbucks. And this particular Starbucks was the Starbucks in the Castro. One venti iced latte with two pumps of cinnamon and a tall blend of the day with no room later, Big and I were sitting on a bench watching the world go by.
Welcome To The Castro!
We headed to a leather shop that sells second hand stuff, as they were having a sale. I think the idea is brilliant, what a great way to recycle gear! Alas, there was nothing in my size, so no money was spent. Then, we had brunch on the back porch of a nice little eaterie, and stopped by a plant place a few doors down. The enormous rainbow flag was flying at the Harvey Milk memorial, and Big informed me that the leather pride flag had been flying below it over the past few days, as Alan Selby, who put the 'S' in Mr. S had passed away.
Wow. So municipal government not only mounts a huge flagpole to acknowledge the contributions of it LGBT citizenry, but makes room for the kinksters in the citizenry, too? Wow.
Colorful Natives In Their Picturesque Costumes Practicing Their Charming Folkways
Time for touristry! Into the white Ford pickup (Ooooh.) and off to the site of the exposition, then down to Folsom Street to visit Mr. S, the store. (Nothing purchased. I think I'm pretty much set gear-wise. Imagine that!) Lots of picture taking. Another trip to Starbucks in the Castro. Then, it was time to head back to Chez Big for a nap.
San Francisco Nights
While I napped, Big got dinner dinner ready. Big does a lot more work than any man with a boy should, I think. But who am I to complain?
Dinner was great. Really superb. But if my Sir had served me toast and Kool-Aide, it still would have been a feast. 'Cause my Sir made it for me.
After dinner, I asked Big what he wanted to see his boy wearing that night. Big opted for the chaps, black tshirt, leather armbands. I got myself ready according to Sir's wishes. Sir looked pretty great himself. Natch. And so, the two of us headed out to the Loading Dock.
Big finds the Loading Dock to be all but totally devoid of sexual energy. And maybe it was just because IML was going down a couple of thousand miles away, but I had to agree. It was like those guys were waiting for a bus.
We took it in, relaxed, had beers.
Then, I was inspired. I'd show those San Francisco boys how this East Coast boy honors his Sir, and save Big the trouble of having to explain why he passed over the local options. Down I went, giving my Sir the boot service he deserves, making him proud. Oh man. When did I get such a taste for boot leather? I swear, I was rock hard the entire time. Happy as a pig in a pile of acorns. When I came up for air, Big was glowing, and a semicircle of awed leatherbar patrons had formed around us.
There. Nuff said. Made my point.
Big and I finished our beers and headed home. 'Cuz a certain boy had earned a nice, long, hard, sweaty fuck from the Sir he serves.
Before the fucking ensued, we had a little portrait sitting. Big wanted some pics of us together, and so did I. And since we were both leathered up, it seemed like a good opportunity.
Glorious Sunday
What a great day. Things started out with breakfast in the Castro with a buddy of Big's.
Interesting thing I noticed about San Francisco: you see the same guys over and over again. There at the restaurant was a boy we had just seen the night before at the Loading Dock, one of the awed faces I saw when I looked up from my boot service. And he was one of scores of repeats throughout the weekend. Sure is different from Life in the Megalopolis.
After breakfast, Big and I stocked up on sandwiches. We were going on a picnic.
We headed across the Golden Gate Bridge into the Marin headlands.
As we crossed the bridge, I asked Big if he was familiar with Armistead Maupin's riff from his Tales of the City books on Tonys and Jeannettes. Of course, he was. AM opines--through Michael, if memory serves--that there are two kinds of people who find their way to San Francisco. The first is in line with the sentiments expressed by Jeannette MacDonald in the ditty she made famous... "San Fran Cisco! Open your golden gates! Another stranger waits outside your door!" Wayfaring optimists, leaving behind their humdrum hootervilles to bask in the California Sunshine. The second variety are those who sway to Tony Bennett singing about his departure without his cardium, lyrical romantics, made melancholie by the spell of the City by the Bay. I had always thought of myself as a Jeannette, but I was beginning to think that Big was turning me into a Tony.
First stop was the Point Bonita lighthouse. Much photography ensued. I find something so magical about those golden hills of sand covered with sage and succulents. Then, back in the white Ford pickup (Ooooh.) and continuing on to Mount Tam. As in, Mount Tamalpais. (Question: 'Malpais' is a fairly common Spanish-language place name meaning 'badlands.' So where does the 'Ta' come in?) We drove and drove and drove, winding our wending way (or is it, 'wending our winding way') up and up and up. Near the top, we pulled off the road and climed the embankment opposite, and made a picnic lunch of our sandwiches. The whole of the Bay area, from Berkeley to Half Moon Bay was spread out before us. It was glorious.
Big pointed out the beach where once a month, the leather community gathers at night around a big bonfire.
*sigh*
I'm gonna say that again. The beach where once a month, the leather community gathers around a big bonfire. Men in leather, smoking cigars, their faces dancing in the firelight. Gathering to enjoy being men in leather, smoking cigars, and watching the faces of their brothers dancing in the firelight.
I guess there's a lot to like about San Francisco.
We drove the balance of the way up to the summit, then headed back across the bridge and into town. First stop was (you guessed it) Starbucks, although not the one in the Castro. Then, Sir told me to tuck my BDU pants into my Wesco's because we were headed for the Eagle.
Cool.
Well. Maybe not.
It was packed to capacity. Verrry Sunday Beerblast at the Dugout. Only, the vast majority of the crowd were neither bears nor leathermen. They were just... y'know... gay guys. Mebbe because it was IML weekend?
Interestingly enough, someone I had met a few years ago at the Harm Reduction Conference in Seattle where I delivered my presentation on barebacking was receiving an award for service from the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. Small world, huh?
Big and I got beers, and took in the scene. Then, Big decided that it was time for me to spend some time on the leash I had gotten him. He clipped it onto my collar.
Schwing!
Oh. Man. Did that feel great or what? Instant hardon.
The crowd got to be a little much, so we headed first for the Lone Star. There was a line, neither of us felt particularly compelled to stand in line, so we headed for home. Nap time again.
I told Big I wanted to take him out to dinner that night, to show my appreciation to my Sir. He was amenable to that.
So we headed home. We decided that a nap was in order, and headed to bed. Really great sex ensued. I mean really great. As in, that weren't no seismic activity, that were boy breeding! I drifted off to sleep in my Sir's arms.
A Man And His boy Dine Out
We awoke at 9 pm, showered and dressed hastily, and headed down to the Castro. The restaurant was ideal. Great food (Great Food!) at reasonable prices.
Big and I talked. And talked and talked and talked.
This man... his mind, his life, his manner, his ways, his predilections... This Man. What have I done that was so selfless, pure, and good to merit wearing his collar?
I'm falling hard for Big. Way hard.
Chance Meeting
After dinner, Big and I took a passegiata so I could mail postcards to my father and the Baron. I'm not a postcard kinda guy, but both of them
As we walked, in stride, hand in hand, to the mailbox Big knew of, who should come walking the other way but Special Guy.
I'd been keeping half an eye out for him the whole weekend. And there he was. We greeted each other warmly. He looked great. He introduced me to the guy who was with, I introduced him to Big, although, of course, they had met a few days ago outside Starbucks in the Castro.
How uncanny, that I have known the love of two wonderful men. Big and Special Guy. Special Guy and Big. The leathergods are sure looking out for me. And there they both were, in my field of vision at the same time.
This might have been an awkward situation. "Uh... Hello there, guy I used to date. This is the guy I'm dating now." But at the risk of generalizing, I think that the hearts of leathermen are bigger than that. We are men who devote our lives to love. To deep, deep love. We know that our hearts are much larger than we think they are, that our hearts can expand seemingly infinitely, to be filled with so much love. And to give so much love, and still find that we have so much more to give.
Home. Bed.
That was tough. I didn't want the weekend to end. But end it would. In a few short hours, I'd be taken to SFO, and board United Flight 70 bound for EWR.
Tough to leave Big behind. Tough to have to wait three weeks until I see him again. See him. Feel the warmth and strength of his arms around me. Smell him. Taste him. Three weeks. That's tough. Tough to live and work and play thinking all the time that you'd rather be at the other side of North America. Tough.
But I'm tough, too.
Okay. Here's the pics.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
...Make Sure To Wear Some Flowers In Your Hair
Dropped of Faithful Companion after work at the kennel. As usual, they love him there, and he seems happy to spend time there.
Now, time to get packed (Sir gave me a packing list), then to bed. Tomorrow I head to work, I'm leaving work at 2:30 pm, I stop home to say goodbye to my father and pick up my luggage, then I drive to Newark International Airport, and fly to San Francisco.
Wow.
What a great thing. I get to spend another weekend with Big, and I get to see a new city.
And all of this feels so right. So good.
As I expressed it to Big in an email this morning, it's like he and I have discovered a gate to a walled garden. Although we have never been in the garden before, it seems as though it was planted just for us. All the blooms familiar to us are there. And in a way, we're not alone. Present also are so many men who have discovered this same walled garden.
Sweet. So sweet.
And, work was great today. Today was Pirate Day! Psychoboy and Calculusboy were both wearing bandanas on their heads. I took mine out of my back pocket and joined them. We looked like pirates, and plunged into exclamations of "Arrrr!", and peppered our day with sea shanties and Hollywood pirate expressions ("Avast, swabbie!" and "You'll join our pirate band or walk the plank, landlubber!").
Here's the thing... we all really did look like extras in a pirate movie. Or members of Captain Hook's crew. I don't think I've ever worked in a place where I and my co-workers all looked like swashbucklers.
Big Big Big Big.
Big and San Francisco.
Well, time to go pack.
Dropped of Faithful Companion after work at the kennel. As usual, they love him there, and he seems happy to spend time there.
Now, time to get packed (Sir gave me a packing list), then to bed. Tomorrow I head to work, I'm leaving work at 2:30 pm, I stop home to say goodbye to my father and pick up my luggage, then I drive to Newark International Airport, and fly to San Francisco.
Wow.
What a great thing. I get to spend another weekend with Big, and I get to see a new city.
And all of this feels so right. So good.
As I expressed it to Big in an email this morning, it's like he and I have discovered a gate to a walled garden. Although we have never been in the garden before, it seems as though it was planted just for us. All the blooms familiar to us are there. And in a way, we're not alone. Present also are so many men who have discovered this same walled garden.
Sweet. So sweet.
And, work was great today. Today was Pirate Day! Psychoboy and Calculusboy were both wearing bandanas on their heads. I took mine out of my back pocket and joined them. We looked like pirates, and plunged into exclamations of "Arrrr!", and peppered our day with sea shanties and Hollywood pirate expressions ("Avast, swabbie!" and "You'll join our pirate band or walk the plank, landlubber!").
Here's the thing... we all really did look like extras in a pirate movie. Or members of Captain Hook's crew. I don't think I've ever worked in a place where I and my co-workers all looked like swashbucklers.
Big Big Big Big.
Big and San Francisco.
Well, time to go pack.
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Hump Day Morning
Inter'stin...
girlfag had quite the nasty a.m., too.
Here's mine.
I woke up. Faithful Companion was fussing. That means, he has to go out. Yeah, well, my alarm was set to go off at 4:15 anyway as I was due in to work at 6 a.m. So I'm getting up a little earlier. That's fine. I hit the light, stumble out of bed, and look at the clock. It's 2:32 a.m. I've only had three hours sleep. I take F.C. out, put him on a leash, send him out the back door, imagining he needs to pee, and there, a few steps from the back door, I hear the unmistakable sound of explosive diarrhea.
Oh, boy-boy! Not feeling too good? Oh my poor buddy.
We head back to bed. I just manage to drift off to sleep when what do I hear? More fussing from the Faithful One.
This time, I know better than to lay in bed drowsing. I'm up like a fireman and have my pup at the end of the driveway within less than a minute. More turmoil for my buddy.
Back to bed.
I guess the alarm went off at 4:15 as planned, but by the time I got out of bed to shut it off it was 4:58 a.m.
Yikes! This means I'm pressed for time.
While tea was brewing, I notice Faithful Companion sniffing around in front of the fireplace.
Uh oh!
This time, I wasn't fast enough on the uptake. Heck! I hadn't even had my tea!
So there I am, cleaning up dog poop--the really runny kind--at 5:15 a.m.
Good morning, Starshine!
Tea, quick shower... and someone needs another walk. There I am, leading my poor ailing pup up and down Tollgate Road wearing my bright red bathrobe and my Keens (see below). Back inside, get dressed, pack a lunch... and time for another walk, albeit an 'Insurance Walk.' At this point, I had given up on getting to work at 6 am. That opportunity had come and gone. I set my sights on the usual time, 7 am.
Success! I make it out the door! Success! I beat that damn school bus. When I get trapped behind the lumbering yellow wreck filled with snotty brats it means I'm 2 minutes late for work. And I hate that.
I shoot down Rte. 611 and swing onto the Doylestown bypass. I'm doing about 65, and the speed limit is 55.
I notice two green cones set up at either side of highway. "Huh. Wonder what they're for." As I zip between them, I find out. There's a cop car parked behind the bushes. And I come around the corner, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but four cop cars, and about six cops, two of whom appear to be waving me onto the shoulder to park.
So I do.
But wait! What's this? A black jeep, that was in the process of passing me (going really fast) when I went through the cones is right behind me. And the cops now seem to be waving people by. And none of the cops are pointing and motioning to me.
So... y'know... I took off.
No cops in pursuit. I made it to the exit and headed to work.
"Huh," I thought as I turned off the ignition, "Did I just run from the police?"
When I clocked in, it was 7:01 am. And I had cleaned up dogshit twice and evaded the police.
Other than that, it was a pretty good day.
Inter'stin...
girlfag had quite the nasty a.m., too.
Here's mine.
I woke up. Faithful Companion was fussing. That means, he has to go out. Yeah, well, my alarm was set to go off at 4:15 anyway as I was due in to work at 6 a.m. So I'm getting up a little earlier. That's fine. I hit the light, stumble out of bed, and look at the clock. It's 2:32 a.m. I've only had three hours sleep. I take F.C. out, put him on a leash, send him out the back door, imagining he needs to pee, and there, a few steps from the back door, I hear the unmistakable sound of explosive diarrhea.
Oh, boy-boy! Not feeling too good? Oh my poor buddy.
We head back to bed. I just manage to drift off to sleep when what do I hear? More fussing from the Faithful One.
This time, I know better than to lay in bed drowsing. I'm up like a fireman and have my pup at the end of the driveway within less than a minute. More turmoil for my buddy.
Back to bed.
I guess the alarm went off at 4:15 as planned, but by the time I got out of bed to shut it off it was 4:58 a.m.
Yikes! This means I'm pressed for time.
While tea was brewing, I notice Faithful Companion sniffing around in front of the fireplace.
Uh oh!
This time, I wasn't fast enough on the uptake. Heck! I hadn't even had my tea!
So there I am, cleaning up dog poop--the really runny kind--at 5:15 a.m.
Good morning, Starshine!
Tea, quick shower... and someone needs another walk. There I am, leading my poor ailing pup up and down Tollgate Road wearing my bright red bathrobe and my Keens (see below). Back inside, get dressed, pack a lunch... and time for another walk, albeit an 'Insurance Walk.' At this point, I had given up on getting to work at 6 am. That opportunity had come and gone. I set my sights on the usual time, 7 am.
Success! I make it out the door! Success! I beat that damn school bus. When I get trapped behind the lumbering yellow wreck filled with snotty brats it means I'm 2 minutes late for work. And I hate that.
I shoot down Rte. 611 and swing onto the Doylestown bypass. I'm doing about 65, and the speed limit is 55.
I notice two green cones set up at either side of highway. "Huh. Wonder what they're for." As I zip between them, I find out. There's a cop car parked behind the bushes. And I come around the corner, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but four cop cars, and about six cops, two of whom appear to be waving me onto the shoulder to park.
So I do.
But wait! What's this? A black jeep, that was in the process of passing me (going really fast) when I went through the cones is right behind me. And the cops now seem to be waving people by. And none of the cops are pointing and motioning to me.
So... y'know... I took off.
No cops in pursuit. I made it to the exit and headed to work.
"Huh," I thought as I turned off the ignition, "Did I just run from the police?"
When I clocked in, it was 7:01 am. And I had cleaned up dogshit twice and evaded the police.
Other than that, it was a pretty good day.
Watersportswear
Oh cool.
For the upcoming trip to Southern California, I decided to get some hiking shoes. Check out the latest thing in hiking shoes...
They're called 'Keens.' They were dreamed up by a river guide, who wanted something like sandals (waterproof, fast drying, give your feet air), but with a closed toe because he was tired of stubbing his on rocks while wading.
Or so they told me.
I have another idea about their origins.
Take a close look. They're done in black leather. Their trimmed in bright yellow. They're waterproof. They have a no-slip tread. I mean... c'mon! Obviously they were made for pissplay!
I debuted mine at TESFest, and wore them to work one day. They're reeeally comfortable, and offer a lot of arch support.
Watersports? That's Keen!
Oh cool.
For the upcoming trip to Southern California, I decided to get some hiking shoes. Check out the latest thing in hiking shoes...
They're called 'Keens.' They were dreamed up by a river guide, who wanted something like sandals (waterproof, fast drying, give your feet air), but with a closed toe because he was tired of stubbing his on rocks while wading.
Or so they told me.
I have another idea about their origins.
Take a close look. They're done in black leather. Their trimmed in bright yellow. They're waterproof. They have a no-slip tread. I mean... c'mon! Obviously they were made for pissplay!
I debuted mine at TESFest, and wore them to work one day. They're reeeally comfortable, and offer a lot of arch support.
Watersports? That's Keen!
Ritual
Big and I have talked about a collaring ceremony. Actually collaring ceremonies, one in SF, and one in NYC. Both of us are (whaddya know!) walking in step on that issue, too.
This afternoon, sitting on the porch of Starbucks, enjoying a latte and a cigar, I opened my journal and began to write.
Here's what I wrote. (Note that everything is to be spoken by the officiant--whomever that might be--unless otherwise indicated.)
Friends, we are gathered here today to celebrate the connections that bind us together. We are friends, we are brothers and sisters, we are a tribe, we are of a people. And ultimately, all of us are part of one human family. We are all of us alone, but none of us walk alone on the journey.
We are here to uphold one of these connections between Big and Drew. Today, before all of us, a man will claim his boy, and a boy will be bound to the man he calls 'Sir.'
Big and Drew, are you here today?
Big and Drew: We are, yes.
This is no bond to be entered into lightly. This is a sacred bond, a holy thing, of flesh and the spirit.
Now at the threshold, take time, both of you, to reflect on the pledges you will soon make to each other, and how your lives have prepared you to take this step.
Big, in your life's journey, have you sought out joy always? Have you learned the music that your heart sings? Have you known loss and grief worse than death?
Big: I have, yes.
Then life has given you the gifts of wisdom, strength, courage, and compassion. You have much to offer.
Do you believe that you have found in Drew a man who will take pleasure in your guidance?
Big: I do so believe, yes.
Drew: In your life's journey, have you sought the truth in small things? Have you walked the road with boldness, under the midday sun and darkest night, And have you cherished the burning sun and the bleak night, as well as the rain, the wind, the dawn, the dusk, the thunder, and the dew?
Drew: I have, yes.
Then you have given fear no quarter in your heart. Your way is the way of the pilgrim, and with every step you have left behind one destination and set out for another.
Do you believe that you have found in Big a man of kindness and patience, to whom you can open your secret heart and show your secret face?
Drew: I do so believe, yes.
Dear friends gathered here, down through the ages, again and again, one man has bound himself to another as these to men propose to do now. Teacher and student, general and soldier, abbot and monk, leader and disciple, captain and seaman. One lesson of this ancient legacy is that we are, all of us, fragile and weak. The words of men are written on sand. But by our presence here today, we give our solemn promise to henceforth give to Big and Drew our love and support. We will learn from their example, encourge them with our friendship, and rejoice in their company.
Do all of you so promise?
The People: We promise, yes.
Let us form a circle of loving protection now around Big and Drew, joining our hands together. There is strength in this circle of warriors, and we now lend our strength to these two men.
Big, what thing have you chosen to show the world that you hold Drew in your heart? To show that from this moment until the last star dies that you will be responsible to your God, to all of us, and to the whole human family for the care and safeguarding of this man?
Big: I have this collar, made of eternal steel, to be secured with a lock to which I will always hold the key.
Drew, will you, here today, submit yourself to this man, and allow him to bind you with this collar, vouchsafing yourself to his care, and rendering to him your devoted service as a manifestation of your gratitude?
Drew: I offer myself to be collared by this man, with all gratitude and humility.
Drew, drop to your knees. You are made today this man's boy. You incur a debt you can never fully repay, but you must try always and in every way to do so.
Big, claim your boy that the Universe has given you with your collar.
[Big collars me.]
Now he belongs to you, Big. and you will forever be measured by the steadfastness of your commitment.
Big: boy, to whom do you now belong, body and soul?
Drew: I belong to you, Sir, body and soul. I am for your joy, pleasure, and comfort, Sir.
Big: On your feet boy, and take your place by my side.
Big and Drew, today you set out on a new road together. Big, you will lead, and Drew, you will follow close behind.
We now send you on your way with music, wine, laughter, food, and our friendship.
God bless you both!
To be sure, this can only be considered a verrrry rough draft. It came right out of my head a few hours ago. I'm posting it here as a sort of elaboration on my thoughts and feelings, and to explore how these can be manifested in ritual.
If you want to see how it comes out, well... I guess you'll have to wrangle an invitation!
Big and I have talked about a collaring ceremony. Actually collaring ceremonies, one in SF, and one in NYC. Both of us are (whaddya know!) walking in step on that issue, too.
This afternoon, sitting on the porch of Starbucks, enjoying a latte and a cigar, I opened my journal and began to write.
Here's what I wrote. (Note that everything is to be spoken by the officiant--whomever that might be--unless otherwise indicated.)
Friends, we are gathered here today to celebrate the connections that bind us together. We are friends, we are brothers and sisters, we are a tribe, we are of a people. And ultimately, all of us are part of one human family. We are all of us alone, but none of us walk alone on the journey.
We are here to uphold one of these connections between Big and Drew. Today, before all of us, a man will claim his boy, and a boy will be bound to the man he calls 'Sir.'
Big and Drew, are you here today?
Big and Drew: We are, yes.
This is no bond to be entered into lightly. This is a sacred bond, a holy thing, of flesh and the spirit.
Now at the threshold, take time, both of you, to reflect on the pledges you will soon make to each other, and how your lives have prepared you to take this step.
Big, in your life's journey, have you sought out joy always? Have you learned the music that your heart sings? Have you known loss and grief worse than death?
Big: I have, yes.
Then life has given you the gifts of wisdom, strength, courage, and compassion. You have much to offer.
Do you believe that you have found in Drew a man who will take pleasure in your guidance?
Big: I do so believe, yes.
Drew: In your life's journey, have you sought the truth in small things? Have you walked the road with boldness, under the midday sun and darkest night, And have you cherished the burning sun and the bleak night, as well as the rain, the wind, the dawn, the dusk, the thunder, and the dew?
Drew: I have, yes.
Then you have given fear no quarter in your heart. Your way is the way of the pilgrim, and with every step you have left behind one destination and set out for another.
Do you believe that you have found in Big a man of kindness and patience, to whom you can open your secret heart and show your secret face?
Drew: I do so believe, yes.
Dear friends gathered here, down through the ages, again and again, one man has bound himself to another as these to men propose to do now. Teacher and student, general and soldier, abbot and monk, leader and disciple, captain and seaman. One lesson of this ancient legacy is that we are, all of us, fragile and weak. The words of men are written on sand. But by our presence here today, we give our solemn promise to henceforth give to Big and Drew our love and support. We will learn from their example, encourge them with our friendship, and rejoice in their company.
Do all of you so promise?
The People: We promise, yes.
Let us form a circle of loving protection now around Big and Drew, joining our hands together. There is strength in this circle of warriors, and we now lend our strength to these two men.
Big, what thing have you chosen to show the world that you hold Drew in your heart? To show that from this moment until the last star dies that you will be responsible to your God, to all of us, and to the whole human family for the care and safeguarding of this man?
Big: I have this collar, made of eternal steel, to be secured with a lock to which I will always hold the key.
Drew, will you, here today, submit yourself to this man, and allow him to bind you with this collar, vouchsafing yourself to his care, and rendering to him your devoted service as a manifestation of your gratitude?
Drew: I offer myself to be collared by this man, with all gratitude and humility.
Drew, drop to your knees. You are made today this man's boy. You incur a debt you can never fully repay, but you must try always and in every way to do so.
Big, claim your boy that the Universe has given you with your collar.
[Big collars me.]
Now he belongs to you, Big. and you will forever be measured by the steadfastness of your commitment.
Big: boy, to whom do you now belong, body and soul?
Drew: I belong to you, Sir, body and soul. I am for your joy, pleasure, and comfort, Sir.
Big: On your feet boy, and take your place by my side.
Big and Drew, today you set out on a new road together. Big, you will lead, and Drew, you will follow close behind.
We now send you on your way with music, wine, laughter, food, and our friendship.
God bless you both!
To be sure, this can only be considered a verrrry rough draft. It came right out of my head a few hours ago. I'm posting it here as a sort of elaboration on my thoughts and feelings, and to explore how these can be manifested in ritual.
If you want to see how it comes out, well... I guess you'll have to wrangle an invitation!
Instant Message I Didn't Send...
To a guy whose profile I perused on WorldLeathermen...
"Your Aunt Shirley called... and she wants her lamp back."
C'mon, guys! You wanna get laid with lighting fixtures like that?
Think again.
Yeah. I guess somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed last night. Faithful Companion woke me up at 3:21 a.m. (an hour before my alarm would have gone off) because he needed a walk. Bad. I don't know what my father is feeding him, but I wish he wouldn't.
To a guy whose profile I perused on WorldLeathermen...
"Your Aunt Shirley called... and she wants her lamp back."
C'mon, guys! You wanna get laid with lighting fixtures like that?
Think again.
Yeah. I guess somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed last night. Faithful Companion woke me up at 3:21 a.m. (an hour before my alarm would have gone off) because he needed a walk. Bad. I don't know what my father is feeding him, but I wish he wouldn't.
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
DDC
Whilst Ms. Time and Motion was hovering about with her stopwatch, I had something of a flash of inspiration.
I was thinking about this cabinetry thing. In a couple of years, I should have a pretty good grasp of fine woodworking if my employer lives up to their part of the bargain. And I should be pretty adept at welding. And I have a flair for design.
Hmmm... there ought to be a good job in their somewhere, right?
How about... ...designing and building dungeons?
Nutty idea?
Maybe not.
The place I work primarily does kitchens. It's kind of kept from us how much clients pay for the kitchens we build, but it's common knowledge that we're talking tens of thousands of dollars. And many of these people have never had to pour themselves a glass of water little less make dinner seven nights a week. So given the importance of the dungeon in the lives of so many of the folks that I know...
Yeah, I know. One of the reasons people shell out so much for high end kitchens is that it significantly increases the value of their real estate. 'Chef's kitchens' are huge right now.
But still, I bet I could do a bang up job for about $5,000. Most of the materials I'd want to use--diamond plate, no-slip rubber flooring, industrial lighting fixtures, steel structures, custom storage for all the gear, cells and crosses and cages--are pretty reasonable. And, y'know, upwards from there. And possibly a little downwards.
That would be so cool! I'd get to travel, I'd get to meet some major SM players. I'd get to help people create their dream dungeons, spaces where spirit and flesh are wed, where fantasy and reality meet and kiss.
After all, the dungeon makes the man! And I'm the guy to make the dungeon that makes the man.
Whilst Ms. Time and Motion was hovering about with her stopwatch, I had something of a flash of inspiration.
I was thinking about this cabinetry thing. In a couple of years, I should have a pretty good grasp of fine woodworking if my employer lives up to their part of the bargain. And I should be pretty adept at welding. And I have a flair for design.
Hmmm... there ought to be a good job in their somewhere, right?
How about... ...designing and building dungeons?
Nutty idea?
Maybe not.
The place I work primarily does kitchens. It's kind of kept from us how much clients pay for the kitchens we build, but it's common knowledge that we're talking tens of thousands of dollars. And many of these people have never had to pour themselves a glass of water little less make dinner seven nights a week. So given the importance of the dungeon in the lives of so many of the folks that I know...
Yeah, I know. One of the reasons people shell out so much for high end kitchens is that it significantly increases the value of their real estate. 'Chef's kitchens' are huge right now.
But still, I bet I could do a bang up job for about $5,000. Most of the materials I'd want to use--diamond plate, no-slip rubber flooring, industrial lighting fixtures, steel structures, custom storage for all the gear, cells and crosses and cages--are pretty reasonable. And, y'know, upwards from there. And possibly a little downwards.
That would be so cool! I'd get to travel, I'd get to meet some major SM players. I'd get to help people create their dream dungeons, spaces where spirit and flesh are wed, where fantasy and reality meet and kiss.
After all, the dungeon makes the man! And I'm the guy to make the dungeon that makes the man.
Channeling Kate
*whew!*
What a day!
Remember 'Desk Set?' With Katherine Hepburn as a reference librarian and Spencer Tracy as an efficiency expert? Well that was my day. We have an efficiency expert with us for the summer. She's a graduate student, doing an internship, and she calls herself a 'Time and Motion Evaluator.' And I was her first victim.
Uh... Subject.
So three quarters of my day was spent with Ms. Time and Motion standing next to me with a clipboard and a stopwatch.
Nobody got the joke when I delivered the line (in a pretty fair Katherine Hepburn impersonation) "This is most irregulah Mistah Kinkaid! How do you expect me to work with you hah-vering about with that stopwatch?" Ah well.
*whew!*
What a day!
Remember 'Desk Set?' With Katherine Hepburn as a reference librarian and Spencer Tracy as an efficiency expert? Well that was my day. We have an efficiency expert with us for the summer. She's a graduate student, doing an internship, and she calls herself a 'Time and Motion Evaluator.' And I was her first victim.
Uh... Subject.
So three quarters of my day was spent with Ms. Time and Motion standing next to me with a clipboard and a stopwatch.
Nobody got the joke when I delivered the line (in a pretty fair Katherine Hepburn impersonation) "This is most irregulah Mistah Kinkaid! How do you expect me to work with you hah-vering about with that stopwatch?" Ah well.
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