Leather as Mid-Life Crisis

Right after coming out as a Gay man with an admitted propensity for deviant sex, I went for my first time to Club Seattle. In the mid-80s, I considered myself King of the Clubs and knew that I could pretty much have my pick of any man. I was handsome, successful, well-hung, and intelligent. I had no qualms about fucking hard and then exploring a deep, philosophical topic moments after cumming with my temporary mate. Sex was creative expression, far more than simply scratching an itch.

The early morning hours found me seated in the dark steam room, openly stroking myself and sizing up the available meat. I watched the slow parade of towel clad men pass by, a moveable feast of every conceivable shape and size. Suddenly I saw him, a silver haired gentleman with a perfectly toned body and a handsome face that exuded self-assurance. This was the first time that I felt a longing for a Daddy.

He moved past and I rose, threw my towel around me, and followed him around the corner and out the door. He glanced back and continued. 

"Didn't he realize that I was cruising him?" I wondered as I continued to follow him through the maze of corridors. 

After ten minutes of cat and mouse, he turned and re-entered the steam room. He went directly to the dark shower stall and turned to face out, his eyes directed at me. "Do you want something?" he asked.

"I want you," I replied. "You are the most handsome, older man I have ever seen." I stopped myself, realizing that my compliment hardly needed a qualifier. He was the most attractive man in the Club, bar none.

"Thank you," he said, and with a swift movement of his arm brought me against his muscled body and put my head against his firm pectorals.

I stayed with him most of the night, my first Daddy encounter. We made man to man love, conversed about classical music and the arts scene in Seattle, and then made love again. I came a second time while he abstained, focused instead on bringing me to a new state of arousal, finding ways to play my body hard like a Spanish guitarist beating out rhythms on his instrument.

Finally, I asked him how he maintained himself. 

His answer, one word. "Discipline." His self-assurance, his prowess, his muscled body, all could be traced to his mastery of himself.

Over the years I would meet other handsome Daddies, older men who cared for themselves both body and mind. These men seemed invincible, bigger than life. Unfortunately most are gone, early victims of that cruel plague that took so many of our great men in their prime. Their memory lives on in my heart and now, decades later, I aspire to be like them. I want to be one of those middle-aged men whose discipline, intelligence, and prowess left an indelible mark on their physiques. They defied the common Gay stereotype found in most publications: a young, smooth, boy-like creation with a smooth body and a Carvel hair-doo. 

Recently I have heard a number of men tell me that they came to Leather later in life because they were "too old for the club scene." Leather as mid-life crisis. Indeed, the Gay Leather Community seems to have become a holding tank of middle aged men who seem to believe that a vest, a pair of chaps, and a credit card are all they need to become experienced Leathermen.

Leather is a tradition. It is far more than clothing, clubs, and empty oaths and phrases. The foundation of Leather is discipline. Mastery of self is the true sign of a Leatherman. A Leatherman understands that for another to obey him, he must first learn how to discipline himself. 

Some may disagree with me and state that such a statement is elitist. Others may feel that by this statement I exclude many who have found Leather later in life. To them I offer the following example of how to become a Leatherman and a Sir.

A few years ago a handsome, local man asked me if I would teach him to single tail. He had been entering the scene as a Sir and felt that he would enjoy learning the art of throwing a whip. In response, I gave him two of my whips to throw for the afternoon with a few pointers on technique. Then I stepped back, way back. And I watched him as he methodically worked, a smile playing on his face whenever he was able to charm out an occasional crack or pop. After a while, he approached me again.

"Would you let me see what it feels like? I believe that I should bottom for a single tail if I am ever going to top with one."

I was very honored and what ensued was one of the highlights of my Leather, a bonding experience between brothers.

This is how one learns to be a Sir. This is how I was taught. This is how I became a Leatherman. 

"Oh, the wild joys of living!"

Almost seven weeks ago I received a telephone call from my partner of thirteen years. "I am romantically in love with someone else," he said. "I don't think I want you as my partner anymore."

The pronouncement abruptly changed my entire life view. I had believed that I would grow old beside this man. No matter what challenges existed in the relationship, I felt that we could have resolved them because we loved each other. Or so I thought up until that moment.

As my world came crashing down, I broke into frantic tears. How would I go on? Where would I go? I looked around at my home, a house that I had purchased together with my partner years before. I had spent many hours making improvements both inside and out. I walked to the back door and opened it to look at my lovely yard full of fruit trees and vines, and my annual tomato plantings still waiting to bear. What would I do?

More than twenty years before my friend, my brother, my mentor, Al D Sowers, had helped me through a difficult break up and it was to him again that I turned. In spite of the fact that Al left this life more than ten years before, I recalled his words. His advice came to me as if it were yesterday.

During the last few weeks Leather friends have asked what steps I took to recover from so great a loss, the loss of a partner, a home, and my plans for a happy life in old age. I simply followed the guidance that Al provided me years ago. The steps to healing are really quite simple:

1. Ask for help from friends. Do not be shy about stating your needs to others. During this time your true friends will emerge and others who you thought were "family" will fade into the background. A very important lesson.
2. Maintain sobriety. Avoid alcohol and all mind altering substances so that you can look at things clearly, so that you can see clearly the opportunities that will present themselves.
3. Avoid Leatherplay. Many years ago Guy Baldwin told me that play is not therapy. The inverse is also true. Therapy is not play. Play can be volatile during traumatic periods. Anyone worth playing with will understand and wait patiently while you heal. 
4. Resolve to care for self. Good nutrition, exercise, sleep, and meditation. If necessary, create a schedule of care for the next month. Self care is crucial during the first few weeks of a break up because it serves as a reminder of self worth.
5. Do not date. I am not recommending to avoid sex. Rather, I am stating that it is a bad idea to become romantically involved with someone while healing from the loss of a partner.
6. Enlist the help of a therapist. I worked with a therapist for six weeks. As she put it, "Therapy is like  car maintenance. Sometimes you need an engine rebuild. Sometimes, a tune-up. And sometimes, an oil change." I had an oil change. To not enlist professional help is not wise. When a person breaks a bone, he must go to the doctor for help in healing. When a person's heart breaks as a result of the termination of a long relationship, professional help is usually required to insure healing.
7. Do not make any rash decisions. Running away from issues simply means that you have left issues unresolved. They will resurface but in a different context. This is the principle of karma. 
8. Address your issues, do not run from them. After a few weeks, you will find that issues will present themselves again naturally for examination, and that the nature of them will be revealed. This can only happen if you bravely face the situation. Once again, sobriety is key.
   

Today I sit and look out the window of my new home, a small apartment on the south shore of Sesttle's Lake Union. My feeling this evening as I watch the sun set on the water, gratitude. I am so thankful to the wonderful friends who have helped me over the last seven weeks, and to my special alpha boy and my property. To them, I owe far more than I ever could repay them. 

At 57 years old, life feels like it is just beginning. I like who I am. My life has drastically changed and I look to the future with far more excitement that I could have dreamed. I wake every morning and look around at my new home. I smile and look back on a difficult period. I am glad to have endured it andbto have grown from the experience. And I want to proclaim with Robert Browning's protagonist, "Oh, the wild joys of living!" I feel good!