Leather Bound #29

I began writing Leather Bound before I was a member of any leather club or a holder of any titles. 

 

It felt like a safe way of getting involved—reflecting on the issues, ideology, play techniques, etc., that attracted me or affected me as an individual (who self-identifies as a leatherman) and as a member of a larger community. 

 

I had no agenda to push or event to promote.  I simply wanted to provoke thought or discussion about who we are and where we’re heading.  After all, the more we talk about ourselves and the issues that affect our lives, the more likely we are to find common values, needs and interests.  These common touch points are the very foundation of community. 

 

I reasoned that if a monologue can generate a dialogue, perhaps a written column has the potential to help build community. 

 

Over the past year or so, starting shortly before last year’s contest, I found myself embarking on a deeply personal journey that has bled into the Leather Bound column.  A column intended to look at “big picture” issues became introspective and, arguably, self-indulgent and egocentric. For that I apologize.

 

I thank the followers of this column for sticking with me during this time, and I ask for just a little more patience with this, my last column as Mr. Philadelphia Leather, as I reflect upon the title year that was.

 

One of my favorite quotes, one from which I find much inspiration and great personal challenge, is attributed to Mark Twain:  “Sing like no one's listening, love like you've never been hurt, dance like nobody's watching, and live like its heaven on earth.”

 

And so today, as I look toward the end of my title year, I sing.

 

Although I find men attractive in many shapes and sizes, I wasn’t happy with my own physical appearance.  In the months leading to the contest, I put myself on a diet to be in better shape for the competition.  I met my goal just in time to fit into the outfits I hoped to, and have mostly kept the weight off.  Mostly.  And so with pride at my accomplishment, I sing.

 

I was a coward the night of the contest.  I’m a light drinker who consumed more than a full bottle of vodka (not to mention some rum and other beverages) to get through the jockstrap competition.  Looking back I marvel that I not only managed to climb out onstage without stumbling, but to get through my speeches without slurring my words.  With amazement and joy, I sing!

 

I not only met my obligations as a titleholder, I exceeded them—but couldn’t have done so without the help of some wonderful folks who I’ve met along this journey.  Friends and strangers alike assisted with demonstrations and lectures, volunteered at fundraisers collecting raffles, hosting auctions, manning doors or kinky play stations… and for their assistance and passion, and to their commitment, I sing!

 

But something was a bit off.

 

I was told that if you’re not having fun as a titleholder, you’re doing something wrong.  And I probably did it all wrong.  For me, organizing events is work.  Talking to strangers is awkward.  Asking for donations is difficult.  Trying to feel attractive next to men with more handsome faces, bigger arms, sexier chests, etc., is painful. 

 

I did what felt right for the title, but what wasn’t really true to my nature.  I hoped that as a titleholder I could more effectively help to build community, and pushed myself outside of my comfort zone.  I know I achieved some personal growth, and I think I did some good for the community too.  So I may be off-key, but still I sing!

 

Fortunately along my journey I found myself at events with other titleholders who were also challenged.  I met some wonderful men who believed in giving back to their respective communities but who weren’t necessarily outgoing and extroverted.  We jokingly created a Social Maladepts club (for which I’m still giving out pins) as a sign of solidarity, and as an ice-breaker when meeting new people.  With solidarity and kinship, I drank more, I paced a lot, I shed a few tears… and with these other valiant men, I sing! 

 

There was great relief to not be alone, to find my voice in a larger collective chorus.  Sometimes even if you’re not pitch-perfect, there can be beauty and harmony when voices are raised together. 

 

I came to meet some really wonderful folks in this area, and found more support than I realized I needed.  But I also came to understand the challenges of being a part of the local leather community. 

 

It was not an easy year for me, but it was also not an easy year for many of us who, while trying to build and sustain community, needed to exert tremendous energy to work with (or around) polarizing figures who seemed to enjoy nothing more than pitting us against each other.  If these regional and national titleholders, based in Philadelphia, did not get what they deemed to be just recognition and adoration, you were targets.

 

And I was one of the targets.  There were many others.

 

I was attacked when I asked for financial accountability for a fundraiser that I was asked to chair (money had not been remitted to the beneficiary as promised—and months later when funds were handed over, it was not in the amount promised).  As a result of my queries about the finances, a national titleholder told me that she would not bring in any national leaders to speak to the local Philadelphia community because I was a “bean counter stalking in the shadows” that would make people uncomfortable. 

 

This same titleholder, an IML judge, told me she was “embarrassed and appalled” by my decision to run for the local title and to appear at IML when I didn’t want to win the latter title.  Although I had made my position known to the local contest producer and the judges at the local level and even spoke of my desire to stay local in my formal speech, she called my actions “a betrayal of the community's trust."

 

(To be perfectly honest, I’m equally appalled that contests like IML accept and encourage current titleholders to compete—that’s not nurturing community leadership, it’s cannibalizing local community talent.)

 

I was even attacked for being upfront about past relations with a contestant at another contest where I was asked to judge.  (I informed that contest’s producers that I had been with one of the contestants in the past, and I felt that I could perform my duties fairly, but wanted them to be aware of the situation so they were comfortable.  I offered to maintain my position as judge or to step down, whichever they were most comfortable with.  The producers made the choice to avoid any public appearance of conflict of interest and excused me.)  Instead of appreciating my honesty, the feedback that I got from this same titleholder: “Suffice it to say if everyone was so honorable, there wouldn't be a lot of leather men judging contests now, would there?”

 

To me, personal integrity is more important than judging.  With pride in my actions, I sing!

 

Fortunately these two “leaders” of the local community are now off the local radar.  And with these malignancies gone, the Philadelphia community has already begun to heal.  Mid-Atlantic Leather Sir Andy Liu and Mid-Atlantic Leather boy Steve Mercer are now hosting their own monthly gear party.

 

And with the amazing support of Michael Casey, I co-hosted the Voyeur fundraiser last month, also at The Bike Stop.  The turnout was great and the energy was terrific.  We all had fun watching both friends and models in slideshow presentations and videos on large screens around the bar—not to mention the live stage demos taking place!  And best of all, thanks to generous donors, and the sale of beer and jello shots, we managed to raise $1,800 for the Keystone boys of Leather and the Mazzoni Clinic Holiday Gift Drive for Children with HIV/AIDS! 

 

This was a collective effort and a community party, and it was drama free!  We are back on track, my friends, and we’re coming back stronger than ever.  With relief and with the audacity of hope, I sing!

 

And on the most personal note of all… I came to realize over the past year that my triad relationship just wasn’t making me happy.  Although I continue to love both men who have shared my life for so long, I decided that I needed to end my relationship with my husband of 16 years.  We have struggled in our attempts to make one another happy for some time, and that struggle was only making things worse.  We all deserve happiness, we all deserve joy in our lives, and I hope to share his in the future.

 

So although my boy and I are still very much together as a couple, the triad relationship that I have so often spoken of with great pride is no longer.  With pain, with regret, and with assurance that this was the right thing to do for all three of us, I sing for the relationship that was and for the relationship that wasn’t and for the relationship that will never be.

 

Yes, it’s been quite a journey.

 

They say that being a titleholder can change your life, and it is true.  I’m not the same person I was before.  I’m a little stronger, a little wiser, a little sadder, and a lot more hopeful… for myself and for my community.  And so with tremendous gratitude, I sing!

 

In the past I would look in the mirror and see only my flaws.  Today I’m coming around to appreciate and love the man who was cheered for by a sell-out crowd at last year’s contest and voted for by a handful of judges.  I’m finding within me the strength and courage that others perceived but I doubted.  To this community of strangers and family of friends who continue to build me up and support me (and each other), I sing!

 

Freeing myself from constant self critiques (or criticism by others), I’m at long last finding myself able to connect with and appreciate so many remarkable men and women that I’ve met along this journey.  For these connections, I’m endlessly excited and optimistic.  And I sing!

 

Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night opens with the sentiment, “If music be the food of love, play on.”  

As a fan of music and food, I’ve always loved that line.  And as I look ahead to November 15, when the next Mr. and Ms. Philadelphia Leather will be named, I have no doubt that the music plays on. 

 

Despite the occasional shit stirrers that try to tear us apart, we in the Greater Philadelphia metropolitan area remain a strong community committed to public service and partying, friendship and play.   The music plays on and we will celebrate together and dance to the victories of our new titleholders.

 

Yes, the music plays on and it is alright that I can’t carry a note or keep time with its rhythm.   

 

Because as long as the music plays, I will sing along like no one’s listening, and I will dance like nobody’s watching.  

 

What more can I say, my friends?  Surrounded by love and friends and community… heaven is on earth.