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.