Happy Birthday to Me

I cruised around Club Seattle, looking for a hot man. My towel pulled strategically low enough to show my toned abs, I walked the dark halls and peered into the rooms past the half-opened doors. Men stroked themselves off and focused on video screens playing Matt Sterling porn. Others looked out into the dark hallway and nodded, a sign for me to enter.

That particular summer night I about thirty years ago I found no one of interest to fuck. Most seemed too anxious, too hungry, too willing, without enough fight to make it interesting. I wanted to feel some resistance before I buried my cock deep in another man’s ass. During those first few years after coming out I felt that fucking should be the end result of a contest between men both vying for the top position. No contest, no prize.

I wandered around the hallways of the Club, letting my towel like drop like a matador whenever a man of interest caught my eye. That Saturday night I met the usual candidates, men who weren’t ready to concede defeat in the bars. In top ballet form, my taut physique and natural endowment attracted a number of potential fuck buddies. But their eager glances betrayed a willingness that I found almost feminine and I quickly shied away from them. I was looking for a man who wanted to spar a bit before surrendering himself to me.

After doing the usual laps around the corridors I settled on one of the divans outside of the wet area, crossed my legs enough to show my semi tumescent state, and leaned back to watch the parade of men. Within minutes an older gentleman resolutely walked by me. He paused, looked back at me, and then entered the showers. I followed. Choosing a perfect vantage point, I watched him soap himself up. He was muscular without being over exaggerated. An athletic body framed by a discreet covering of white fur to match his full head of hair. He was impeccably groomed and when he looked up, he flashed a smile of perfect teeth. He was stunning.

The gentleman entered the Jacuzzi area and continued on into the dark interior of the steam room. I followed. He took the passage to the right and I turned to the left, knowing that the two ways would quickly meet in the back. I dropped my towel by the steam room door and sauntered through a sea of men who lined the tile benches. I tried to avoid their approving looks as I made my way for my inevitable meeting.

“I’m in here,” said a voice coming from one of the stalls in the back. “Come on in.”

I knew it was voice of the white haired gentleman and, without hesitation, I entered the stall. In response I immediately felt two hands reach out for my shoulders and pull me to him. I turned my head so that I could rest my cheek on his firm, pectorals. I breathed out.

The gentleman slowly worked his hands down to the small of my back, to the rounded mounds of my dancer’s ass. “Yes,” was all he said with a deep, resonant tone. His hands continued lower until they rested on the crests of both ass cheeks. Then he paused. He spread them firmly, gently, and placed his right finger on the pucker of my hole.

I winced. “I usually don’t get fucked,” I offered. “I'm sorry.”

“That’s OK. I don’t want to fuck you. I just want to feel that magnificent ass. I know who you are, that you are a lead dancer with the ballet, and I just want to enjoy the moment. Relax.”

The confidence in his voice had an immediate effect. I surrendered myself totally to him. No longer intent on finding a sparring partner, I succumbed to the caresses of this beautiful man.

“Do you mind if I ask you your age?” I asked clumsily. “You are so handsome.”

I looked up to see him smile. “Thank you,” he said. “I am sixty.”

More than double my age! I felt his chest with both hands as if, like the apostle Thomas, I needed assurance. I felt his flat torso and reached my hands down to his hardening cock, under to his pendulant balls, and then to his quads.

As if anticipating my next question, the gentleman said, “I don’t do anything extreme. I work out regularly. I watch what I eat. And I enjoy a good sex life.” He smiled again before turning me around.

I leaned against him and felt his engorged member pressed firmly in the valley between my glutes. I held my breath and waited for him to try and force himself into my clenched hole. Bu the was true to his word. Instead, he wrapped his left hand around my chest until he found my nipple. He began tracing small circles around the tender, outer part, working his way to the erect tit. He then took it between his fingers and slowly worked it back and forth while his other hand searched for my throbbing cock.

“I’d love to make you cum,” he said. “It would be hot to know I made you shoot the next time I see you on the opera house stage.”

I nodded and leaned my head back against him and allowed him to take control. At that moment I vowed quietly to myself that someday I would be like this handsome gentleman. I made him the paradigm of how to grow old as a Gay man. His courtesy, his confidence, his honest demeanor played well with his sexual advances. I vowed to remember him whenever the idea of growing older threatened to defeat my joy of living day to day.

Today I am nearly sixty years old. I am married to a handsome man who also serves as my boy. After an exciting hour of play this afternoon, we collapse on the bed, his head resting on my chest. I hold him confidently in my arms and look at him resting comfortably. His two hands are poised on my pectorals and he smiles. He is the man that has always been the locus of my dreams since childhood. I am his husband and his SIR.

As the decades have passed I have kept my vow to myself. I have never forgotten my encounter with that wonderful, older gentleman in Club Seattle. Whenever I have felt reluctance in accepting the passing of time, I think of him. Although I never learned his name and never saw him again, he has been my role model. Like other older Gay men that I would meet later in the Leather Community that decade, he cared for his physical self. It was obvious from how he treated me that night that he showed similar care for his emotional health. I have often marveled how much more challenging it must have been for him during the eighties to have groomed such confidence. In a time of AIDs, of death, of negative messages regarding Gay sex, he had a charisma that drew me to him. At sixty, he was the most beautiful man in the club that night.

I love being an older, Gay man. Happy Birthday to me!

Reconsidering Monogamy (in three scenes)

Scene One: IML 1991
“You need to adjust your way of thinking and allow your partner to explore his fantasies with other men. That’s what we do in Leather. You’re new to the scene. You don’t understand.

”I sat across the breakfast table from an older Leatherman in the restaurant of the Chicago Hyatt. Although I had been playing for years with other men, even some that wore title sashes, I had avoided any affiliation with the “community” until 1990. After a year, I still felt green as to the ways of Gay Leather.

Continuing his reprimand, the gentleman continued, “You need to get rid of your jealousy and let him explore. You simply can’t fulfill all of his sexual needs. Men are not monogamous by nature. Monogamy is nothing more than a remnant of heterosexuality. You were taught to feel that way.”

“Yes, Sir,” I responded as I left the table.  I had been sternly chastised. As a result, I felt compelled to feel contrite for my desire to enjoy a monogamous relationship. I thanked the older gentleman for his wisdom and left the breakfast room resolved to change. I simply had to learn to let go of my partner and allow him to enjoy the freedom of an open relationship.

Transition
Over the next eight years I worked hard to readjust my thinking. I tried convincing myself that my monogamous fantasy was due to my adoption of heterosexual mores during childhood. I convinced myself that to be true to my birthright as a Gay Leatherman I had to accept the paradigm of the open relationship. Non monogamy and sexual promiscuity seemed to be an integral part of the lifestyle.

I reflected on my past relationships. My partners all had strayed after promising fidelity. Worse, they lied about their dalliances. Accepting non monogamy would preclude me from hurt in the future.

Bolstering this concept, I listened as more vocal members of the community pronounced with academic solemnity that monogamous relationships were rare between men. And as the Leather community expanded to include heterosexuals who were part of the “swinger” lifestyle, the discourse grew until it seemed to be accepted beyond question. I accepted it, too.

Scene Two: May 1999
“You’re a bottom?” I asked tentatively into the telephone receiver. I waited for his answer.

“Damn, I’m so glad!” I exclaimed.  “I’m a top. Perfect fit.”

We had met at The Cuff the week before. We spent those first few hours trying to conduct a conversation against the noisy backdrop of the bar until he offered to give me a lift home. With the Yankee thrift of a typical New Englander, I accepted. A lift would save me the expensive cab fare from Capitol Hill back to West Seattle.

At my apartment we lay down masturbated together quickly and then fell asleep for a few hours. No blow jobs or hot fucking. No hot conversation to serve as a prelude to what was to come. Strictly Gay sex, missionary style.

Returning to the telephone conversation, I nodded as he told me that he did not believe in monogamy.

“Yes, I don’t believe in it either,” I said. “Monogamy is a lie. Every relationship I have had over the last ten years has been monogamous in principle but open in practice. Might as well be honest about it,” I said with resolve. “Let’s just be honest.”

He agreed.

“I have a voracious appetite when it comes to fucking,” I continued. “I love to fuck. I love a bottom with a big, gaping, hungry hole.”

I grinned ear to ear as his voice rose with excitement. He suggested that we travel to Vancouver, British Columbia the following weekend to consummate our budding relationship.

I thought about how much I liked to fuck. I also thought about the men in my past and realized that I had been very lucky. Two of the men from the past ten years had been positive. During our time together they had not disclosed their status to me. I was one of the lucky ones.

“I use condoms,” I blurted out. “I am negative and want to stay that way.”

He agreed. “No problem. I used condoms, too.”

A good start to a budding relationship. The open dialogue suggested that things would be fine. As long as our sexual relationship was founded on honesty, I could live in an open relationship. After all, I was a Leatherman.

Transition
With my usual gusto I threw myself 100% into creating a relationship that would fully exploit the idea of openness.

Thirteen years later I suffered the painful end. My partner had fallen in and out of love with other men for the last few years leading up to the breakup. Loyal to a fault, I was left in the dark about his dalliances. So much for no getting hurt again. I felt that he had strung me along until he was ready to jump to someone else. More like a cockroach than a man.

During the subsequent four months I re-examined my life with surgical precision. I obtained a counselor to assist me in the operation. I kept myself sanitized from the contamination that could come from sexual or emotional relationships. I swore to adhere to the antiseptic of sobriety. I meditated longer than usual, allowing myself to see with medical certainty those parts of myself that had been infected by magical thinking.

To my surprise, I found that the ideas of polyamory and sexual openness were foreign to me. In spite of my experience as a happily promiscuous and open Leatherman, my original ideal was still alive within my heart. My childhood fantasy was still my deepest desire. I wanted to find that one true man to whom I could give myself totally. I still dreamed of a man with whom I could share a bond that would be built on emotional and physical monogamy.

My realization seemed quite naïve at the time. After all of my experience and my academic investment into Queer Theory, did I still cling to this childhood fantasy after more than five decades? I extracted my heart and examined it with my counselor. I contemplated on the potential of being hurt again in a relationship. I asked myself over and over again if monogamy was truly what animated my desire.

I accepted the fact that my original fantasy was still true. I still longed for my one, true love.

Scene Three: The United States Federal Courthouse, June 20, 2014
“I vow to be faithful to you,” I said as plainly as I could through my tears. I looked into the clear, blue eyes of my husband to be and felt a wave of joy. “I vow to be your loyal SIR,” I continued. I felt that I had never understood the true nature of love until that moment. I blinked back more tears and said with resolve, “I vow to be your devoted husband.”

We had known each other for years in the community. Both of us had held Leather titles during the same year and had developed a friendship based on admiration and respect. We were honest about our sexual proclivities like most Leathermen and had no shame in admitting our vast experience with a multitude of hot men.

As observed by a mutual associate in Seattle, “Your husband to be has a reputation for being a pig.”

To which I quipped, “Given that I have the same reputation, sounds like a match made in heaven.”

Given our past, one might surmise that neither of us would entertain the thought of monogamy. But when we met on our first date we both confessed that we were not interested in a polyamorous relationship. We both wanted to focus our sexual expression on each other rather than sharing it with others. During the previous year we both had gone through a similar process of self-examination and we both arrived at the same conclusion. We preferred monogamy.

Tattooed on our arms is the motto of our clan, “Be traist.” Our wedding rings also contain the same inscription. “Be faithful.”

The United States federal judge concluded our ceremony by pronouncing us “husbands and companions.” I felt a deep loyalty, an unmitigated adoration for my new husband. I took him in my arms and kissed him as an emotional seal of our legal agreement. We were married.

Epilogue
Our decision to be monogamous has elicited a number of comments. Many Leathermen have written to me over the last few months. Almost every man has expressed a desire similar to my own, to find someone to whom he can be faithful, someone who will complement his own physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. A few expressed disappointment because I was no longer available as a player. A couple of men showed overt disdain over my decision, feeling that I had sold out to heterosexual values.

I have always felt that Leatherplay simply adds colors to my sexual palette. Sexuality is one of the means that I have of expressing myself. I like having a spectrum of colors to choose from when painting the scene. To me, this is the freedom of being a Leatherman. The same should be true when creating a relationship. One should be able to draw from a broad palette.

Polyamory and monogamy do not necessarily create a binary. One is not better than the other. A man can experience both during his lifetime. Whereas once I settled on a polyamorous life with a primary partner, boys, and a slave, I now value a relationship founded on a monogamous coupling.

Decades ago, even before deciding to become a part of the Gay Leather community, I embraced the idea of freely expressing my sexuality in conjunction with my relationships. I refuse to extoll the virtues of one in sublimation of the other. Free expression requires the viability of both polyamory and monogamy, and it must admit the modification of expression over time. If not, we have simply created another binary of exclusion.