Showing posts with label leather. Show all posts
Showing posts with label leather. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

(Leather) Vacation in Palm Springs

(This post covers my end-of-2011 vacation in Palm Springs.  A tiny bit of the trip report — covering the leather title pieces — is located on my Northwest LeatherSIR 2012 blog.)

Homo for the Holidays


For several years now, I have made a point of not being in Seattle for New Year’s Eve.  The biggest piece of this is that if I’m in the same city I live in, the holiday doesn’t feel “special” — it’s just another night at the bar, and the bulk of the people around me are the same ones I see every Saturday night.  Not that I don’t like being around them, but I’d rather spend the holiday somewhere else.

It isn’t just New Year’s Eve.  Holidays = Travel, for me.  I haven’t been home for Memorial Day since, um, 1995, either being at International Mr. Leather or an IAGLCWDC hoedown.  I’m typically gone for Labor Day, frequently for President’s Day and July 4th, coming up is my 13th trip to DC for Mid-Atlantic Leather on MLK Weekend, Thanksgiving and Christmas are usually at my mother’s house, etc.

So in the past decade, I’ve spent New Year’s Eve in New York, Palm Springs, Portland, and often in Vancouver, BC.  Vancouver and Portland are just a few hours away, easy trips, but that’s enough to satisfy my “be somewhere else” urge.  This year, it was back to Palm Springs, but double strength: Christmas as well as New Year’s.

If I had to tag a favorite vacation spot, Palm Springs would be it.  I’ve been there for New Year’s a couple times, for Wet n’Hot five times, and West Coast Rubber twice.  There’s relatively little to do as a tourist, compared to the likes of Los Angeles, Las Vegas, or New York, so it’s okay to just lay around the pool.  Even better, of course, with the gay resorts there, it's okay to lay around the pool wearing nothing at all.

For Christmas a few years ago, my mother gave me a week’s time share stay for a present, which I could have anywhere in the world.  That’s great in theory — and she’s taken me on trips where we stayed at time share condos in Killarney in Ireland and Rotorua in New Zealand — but if I’m going to go for a week’s vacation by myself, it’s going to be to a good place for being a leatherman.  Unfortunately, the time share places often aren’t all that convenient for that.  Amsterdam?  15 miles outside the city.  Similar for Berlin.

But Palm Springs?  The condos are a quarter mile from the downtown shopping core, and of course a 2.5 hour trip with airfare in the $300 range makes it way easier than Europe or Australia would.  And while Seattle would be in the low 40s around New Year’s, Palm Springs would be in the low 70s.  Yum.  So taking a week’s vacation at the end of the year sounded like a great idea.

With Christmas and New Year’s on Sundays this year, I decided to lengthen the stay a bit and include the weekends.  Of course, the time share stay being only for a week, I added two nights at the start and one at the end at Chaps Inn, the leather-themed gay resort.  I also invited my buddy Cliff along.  He’s my ex, but we get along great as travel buddies.  (And frankly, there’s no one better to have along to ensure that there are a good number of hot guys coming to visit.  Cliff can talk just about anyone out of their pants and into the sling!)

The Inns and Outs


Chaps Inn is located just off north Indian Canyon, a block or two from Camp Palm Springs.  It’s a small resort with about 10 rooms.  Each room has sling hooks in the ceiling and they will rent you a sling and chains.  Our room also had tie-down points and chain in one of the doorways.  Outside, they have a decent sized pool and a jacuzzi, plus an outdoor sling and cross.  (Unfortunately at this time of year, those don’t get much use.  Due to the proximity of Mt. San Jacinto, the sun went away by about 3:30, so it got too cold to play outside by the time you were ready to.)  Chaps Inn also features some nearly pornographic cacti among the landscaping.

The owners, Stuart and Ian, are great, friendly guys.  This was about the 5th or 6th time I’ve stayed there over the years.  It isn’t posh (but “posh” doesn’t interest me much), but the beds are comfortable and the setup is very nice, just the way I like it.  Very recommended.

Spending Christmas on vacation was new for me.  Spending it butt naked around the pool in warm weather, and then hitting the Barracks Beer Bust later in the day, that was great.  (The line I used in my Facebook status: “That's the downside of spending Christmas at a clothing-optional resort: no packages to unwrap!”

The time share condo was at the Palm Springs Tennis Club, at the end of Baristo Road within walking distance of downtown and the Arenas Road gay district.  The Tennis Club is right up against the mountain — like 10 feet outside the window — which was a very different sort of view.  The room itself was a suite, so we could again deal with what meals we wanted to eat in (especially breakfasts), with plenty of room for the sling and other entertaining.  Neither of us play tennis, and we didn’t spend any time around their pool, but Stuart let us come back to Chaps Inn a couple days to hang out there.

These are a Few of My Favorite Slings


Knowing that Cliff and I would want a sling available beyond the days we were at Chaps Inn, bringing a portable along seemed to be in order.  And while I have one, I’ve been borrowing one or two frames from friends for the play parties I host, so I figured it was time to get a new sling frame to supplement what I’ve got.

Given the cost to ship the frame and airline baggage costs, I had it shipped directly to Chaps Inn, so that I would only have a baggage cost coming back.  I arranged the delivery with Stuart ahead of time, although I didn’t tell him how big of a box to expect.  He pretty much knew what it was when it arrived.

My first sling was purchased in 2001 from JIMsupport.com (which is now owned by SIlver & Black Distributing, Inc.).  They are highly recommended, of course, but wanting branch out and sample what else was out there, I ordered the new one from Ft. Troff.  In addition to just the frame, the Ft. Troff sling frames (note: naughty pics at that link) have leveling feet on the base (although I’ve never needed such before), tie-down points at the corners (so you can use it for more than just hanging a sling), and they are the new taller design, adding a few extra inches (ahem).  Oh, and they come in blue, black, or fist-friendly red (that’s the one I got).

Ft. Troff is also selling a number of add-ons for the slings: fish-eye mirrors, supply stands, camera holders, bars to attach toys to for solo sling play, and so on.  Frankly, this is a great idea, enhancing the ways to set up your play space with stuff that all works together.  I didn’t order any of that this time — and of course, brought my own sling and chains.

(By the way, Ft. Troff does an excellent job of turning around orders, and following up afterward to ensure that the order arrived satisfactorily.  I recommend them several notches above many other leather/gear shops on the net.)

On Christmas Eve afternoon when we got there, we went to local leather store Gear for some shopping.  (And Cliff shopped the staff as well.)  I bought a pair of red and black suspenders and got a look at the sling mirror (note: again with the naughty pics), since they had one on display.  I was able to get a better feel for it than I could from the Ft. Troff pics.  The mirror is a slightly convex mirror (about 16 inches across) with a ball-joint pivot, so that the bottom can get a wide-angle view in the sling, but it can also be adjusted so that the top can make use of it as well.  The frame attachment slides on when assembling the frame, and it can be used with slings other than the Ft. Troff models.

On Monday, I tried to do some due diligence and price similar mirrors at Lowe’s, Home Depot, and AutoZone, but no one had anything close to the size.  So I ended up going back to Gear and buying the floor model.  Made a great addition to my self-Christmas present, and I was even able to pack it into my suitcase coming home (I had expected to have to ship it)!

Take a Hike, Ike


While I said earlier that there’s not a lot to do in Palm Springs, that’s not quite true.  If you want to be touristy, you can take the tram to the top of the mountain, you can go to Joshua Tree National Park, you can hike the canyons, you can do museums, there’s the Palm Springs Follies show, and of course lots of shopping.  I’ve usually been to Palm Springs in July or August, with daytime temps above 100 degrees, so the outdoor stuff hasn’t had a lot of attraction, as you can imagine.  (And I’ve usually gone for events, which often preclude much sight seeing — you nap during the day and play hard until the wee hours.)

(“Wee hours”.  Heh.  I’ve been to Wet n’Hot five times.)

We went shopping at the Cabazon and Desert Hills outlet malls at Morongo the day after Christmas.  I bought a pair of jeans and four deep-dish mini pie plates (which should be great for the likes of chicken pot pie; two for me, two for my mother), and looked at tennis shoes at several places but found nothing that appealed to me.  Of course, 90% of such malls are clothing stores which hold no interest for me.  When at such places, I sometimes wonder if I’m missing out on some great pleasure in life by not being a straight woman or a fashion-interested gay man.  For me, it ultimately comes down to two things: I already have plenty of clothes (so why look to buy something I don’t really need), and I put little value in expensive clothes (are those $200 shirts 4 times as good as the $50 ones, 10 times as good as a $20 one?).  Which isn’t to say I disdain luxury and pleasure, but I seem to enjoy them a lot more when they are occasional rather than regular.

We tried one day to go take the aerial tram up the mountain.  We really did.  But after driving and parking and walking to the tram station, it was a 2.5 hour wait for the tram (and then the sun would be going down).  We hadn’t brought anything to read and there was no cell signal up there (they should have free WiFi in the terminal!), so we drove back to town rather than hang around doing literally nothing.  Sigh.  We sort of intended to buy tickets online, but you have to do it more than a day in advance, and we never got around to setting a new goal date.  (Oh well, not like I’ll never be back!)

We also didn’t get to Joshua Tree.  Oh well.

Thursday night, they shut down a few blocks of Palm Canyon Drive for a street fair.  We walked the fair, and I bought a hummingbird photo print for my grandmother.  We also met up with Frank and Jeaux, who are from Seattle but have a condo in Palm Springs.  We invited them to hike one of the canyons on Friday with us, a recommendation from one of my co-workers.  We were before the season when the creeks run — there’s a seasonal waterfall in one of the canyons — but the weather would sure be right for it.  Big rock boulders, palm trees in the oasis, a good hit of pot, and blow jobs back along one of the paths a mile or so out.  Yeah, I’d hike that again.

Fisting the Night Away


One guy I know in Palm Springs is Bear Films star Cameron Stuart, whom I met there the previous summer.  He invited me and Cliff to the play party he was hosting on New Year’s Eve.  I had to twist Cliff’s arm a bit — he originally planned to go to the play party at Helios — but I knew he’d have a great time.

The party was in a three-car garage space, broken up with hung tarps and some plywood walls.  I think there were five slings, plus a covered mattress and a fuck bench, plus maybe some other equipment.  It was a good layout of the space, and Stuart and a play buddy of his had made sure to invite a number of fisters to ensure that there would be a good set of guys there beyond those mostly interested in just fuck-n-suck.  Among other people I knew there were Bill, who I had played with the night before, and John, a buddy from San Francisco whom I have played with a could times before.

Definitely a good time.  We and a couple other guys shut the place down a while after 1:00 am.

In addition to the play itself, I always like to get a look at how other guys lay things out for their parties — where the snacks and drinks are, where the lube and supplies are, the make-up of the attendees, the layout of play spaces.  That stuff always helps inform and enhance my own parties.

All the Other Kids with Their Pumped Up Dicks


After a play session on Wednesday, my PA piercing got too heavily abused — bruised on the inside — so on Friday, I went to Palm Springs Piercing Company (who did my lorum piercing a few years ago) and had the PA taken out.  It was almost getting too painful to walk.  Of course, that meant that the piercing proceeded to shrink as it healed, so when I got home, I had to go back to my old 4 gauge curved barbell, and worked myself back up to the 2 gauge over the next week, just in time to head to Mid-Atlantic Leather.

While I was at PS Piercing, I also had them upgauge the 12 gauge nipple bars to 10 gauge rings.  I had one nipple pierced with a ring at MAL 2000, but it never healed well (got regular small reinfections) and I took it out a couple years later — I primarily blame the temptation of the ring as a pull toy during the healing process.  In mid-2010, I got them both done with bars and they have behaved themselves vastly better and I was comfortable getting rings in now.

Cliff and I went dancing at DiGS on Christmas Eve, and I did again on Tuesday.  (Tue/Sat are the CW dance nights there.)  We ran into Jake, who had moved down from Seattle a few months ago.

Other names to drop in addition to those mentioned above: hunky Matthew from Gear, the guys from Off Ramp Leathers (who had just moved to Palm Springs from San Francisco, opening the store on the day we left, so we dropped in), Jim T. (who used to be in the San Francisco Saddletramps with me), and assorted guys at the Barracks and Chaps Inn whose names elude me now.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

What is “Gear”?

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Saturday, September 4, 2010

Trip Report: West Coast Rubber 2010

Before the Trip


West Coast Rubber takes place in Southern California each year on Labor Day weekend.  This is year 6; the first one was the same time as Hurricane Katrina’s after effects were being felt in New Orleans.  The event was originally held in Palm Springs, but has been in Los Angeles the last couple years.  I attended the first 2 or 3 years, but I haven’t been to it since it moved to Los Angeles, in large part because L.A. didn’t hold a lot of attraction to me as a place to go for the weekend.


This year, lots of events that I might want to or need to attend piled up on me for Labor Day weekend: West Coast Rubber in Los Angeles; the Rain Country Dance Association Member’s Retreat (where I’ve been the last couple years) on the Olympic Peninsula; the Northwest LeatherSIR, Leatherboy, and Community Bootblack contest in Seattle; and a possible final VisQueens performance for Anchorage coronation.  (I don’t think the last of those came off.)  I chose WCR.

Travel: Friday


I ended up flying on Virgin America, as it was the cheapest option with decent flight times (10:30 am going down on Friday, 12:00 noon coming back on Monday).  The airline still gives off a lounge/night club vibe, with the white plastic and subdued purple lighting, but it’s ultimately not appreciably different from anything else running down the coast.  I did note that their boarding cards are only about 60% as long as most airlines; I wonder what that actually translates into as a cost savings for printing over the course of a year.  (Probably a whole lot more than you’d imagine.)

There is no host hotel for the weekend, although they recommend the Silver Lake Comfort Inn as it is fairly central to the event locations (Syren, the bars, etc.)  $130 a night for a 2-star hotel, though?  *choke*  So I priced around and found “America’s fastest growing hotel chain”, America’s Best Value Inn, with a motel about a mile from the Comfort Inn at $70 a night.  Much more doable!  (Although maybe I should have poked around on Hotwire and such to see if I could find something more upscale for that price, even if not as close in.)

On light rail to the airport, I got checked for ticket compliance.  This happened on my last trip (Palm Springs in July), too, but had not before that.  After a minute, I realized: light rail has been open for just about a year.  They always said there would be spot checks, but they probably didn’t do any for the first year, to encourage ridership to get used to the train.  And they may only be checking on airport-bound trips, rather than commute direction (since I didn’t get checked on those in July when I was riding the train to work).

Going to Los Angeles, a car is a must.  I found a great deal through Ace Rent A Car, located at the Sheraton near the airport: a Smart Car for about $12.50 a day, $50 total for the weekend, or about half of what it would cost for a cheapest rental from my usual choice, Alamo.  Unfortunately, I had forgotten how much easier it can be to deal with the big guys than these third-tier providers.  Long story short: I don’t recommend Ace — the price was great, other parts not so much.  (Read more here.)

The Events: Friday


After getting to the motel, I drove to a local store to get some groceries — the room had a fridge — and then had a couple tacos at Burrito King.  After a nap, I went to another Mexican place for enchiladas to round out my dinner.

Friday night was the Meet & Greet and Rubber Fashion Show, at the showroom net door to Syren/Stockroom in Silver Lake.  It was a comfortable cocktails venue with a fruit-and-cookies snack buffet and a hosted bar (at least for those with the weekend pass).  A couple photographers were documenting things, so once again I got pics taken with booze in my hand.  Sigh.

(Decent liquor selection at the bar, but the only beer option was Bud Light.  WTF?  And the red wine was okay, but the white wine was described by the bartender as “nun’s piss”; indeed, that intake of breath you do just before a sip said his description wasn't that far off.  Urk.)

The fashion show feature various gear from Syren, including rubber aprons (I need one of those!), dog and rabbit hoods, body harnesses, see-through latex, wrestling singlets, straight jackets, and dildos.  By being a closed event, they were able to have some nudity involved, and at one point, even some on-stage dildo play.

They also announced the new Mr. West Coast Rubber.  Rather than a full contest, they took applications ahead of time and the previous titleholders chose based on those applications, apparently.  It’s as valid a way as any, I suppose, but it took most of the drama and interest out of there being a titleholder; turned the title part of things into an apparent afterthought.  Doing the decision ahead and behind the scenes is fine, but who else was competing?  Can’t you even introduce them?

The winner is Reid from Vancouver, who always sports some great rubber gear when I’m up there.  He’ll do a great job, and might bring in a 4th Canadian Mr. International Rubber title.

After the show, I cam back to the motel for a fuck date with a hot Latin guy who drove up from Irvine (45 minutes away) just for a crack at my ass.  (Something like that makes you feel special, that you’re intriguing enough to take a good long ride to have a good long ride.)  I think I served him well.  Afterward, I went out to the Eagle for the Cub Scout event, and then to Slammer.

Slammer is a decent size sex club, with a main space that is mostly stalls and an elevated group blowjob area.  Several of the stalls are equipped with slings.  There are also two semi-outdoor cruise areas.  Slammer was pretty underattended that night, but I did finally get a hand up my ass at about 3:30 am.

The Events: Saturday


I woke up at 11:30 and went to a nearby diner (Alexander’s Brite Spot) for breakfast.  Piddled around for the early afternoon, trying to set up a play session, but no luck.

Afternoon event was a “slime pit” at the Eagle, from 4:00-6:00.  I got there at 4:15 and was the first rubber guy to show up.  The slime pit — actually a vinyl sheet on top of rubber padding, with lube on top, used as a rubber wrestling pit — didn’t get set up until 5:00.  Six of us ended up wrestling and sliding all over the place.

Somewhere at the Eagle (I think), we found a chair leg or a post or some such wrapped with kitted or crotched yarn, like a weird cozy.  I’ve since found the term “yarnbombing”, which apparently covers this — basically a form of anti-graffiti or a “random act of kindness”.  Why you would do this to a chair at a leather bar, and in plain brown yarn, is beyond me.

Took a nap of sorts — didn’t sleep well — and then out to dinner at Pizza Buona.  Don’t know if it was the sun, the beer, or the wrestling, but I was plastered all through dinner.  Didn’t bode well for the evening.  I had clam linguine in red sauce; yummy, but a huge portion, so I got the rest to go, intending to maybe heat it up for lunch on Sunday in the room’s microwave.  (Never got around to it, alas.)

The evening “Gear Up” dungeon party was at a playspace in North Hollywood called Threshhold.  Typically a het/pan space, it gets rented out for gay sessions as well.  Some “gay event in het sex space” events don’t work very well (I’m thinking especially of the Center for Sex Positive Culture in Seattle, originally known as the Wet Spot), because they are set up mostly to make kinky straight and bi women comfortable, which doesn’t tend to be what kinky gay men want — we don’t want comfort, we want edgy and dark and loud and somewhat anonymous, even with the hint of danger.  Threshhold was one of the better jobs of converting such a space for gay kinky use, with bondage areas and porn in the main area and low lighting throughout the rest of the space; barring the geisha and boudoir themes of some of the room, the space was reasonably conducive.  (One major omission, though: no slings.  Doubly odd because one guy I chatted with on Recon goes there for gay bondage parties and says there are usually a couple slings then.  I can only guess that the people responsible for setting things up for Gear Up aren’t fisters and/or didn’t have any portable slings available.)

Play at Gear Up, for me, was sparse.  Some guys were getting into some bondage and maybe some mummification (not my scene), but beyond that, it seemed to be mostly prowling and dick sucking.  Not that such is bad, if there’s enough of it and it’s good.  (There was some, and some good, just not enough.)  At about midnight, I was prepping to leave — was going to go to Slammer again — but I got convinced to stay, to get into some mutual fisting.

We decided to use the medical room, which had a table with stirrups (although ones that just extended out, not up; silly pregnant women!) and was better (and better lit, although still dim) than other options.  I got into his ass without much difficulty, and then passed him on to David (with big hands, a little too big for his comfort at that point), and then to Peter (with tiny hands, who probably could have double-fisted him if we hadn’t been at it a while already).  We then got me on the table, and he was able to get into me easily (which is always nice).  We played for a bit, but my clean-out eventually gave out (as I thought it was going to; churn churn went the tummy).

I used J-Lube with him because he was in latex, but I was in neoprene and industrial boots, so we used Crisco with me.  This was apparently his first time using Crisco for fisting.

The Events: Sunday


My search for a brunch spot for Sunday was fruitless.  A web search showed a handful of nearby possibilities.  The nearest was a coffee place where “breakfast” was four bagel options.  I aimed for one near downtown, but could not get to it; the street I was on turned one way and took me back across the freeway, to where I would have been six blocks away before I could try to find my way back, so I gave up on that one.  Another option turned out to be a restaurant supply place, and another was closed.  I ended up at Starbucks.  Sigh.

Sunday afternoon was a pool party at a house in the Altadena hills, a beautiful private location with a great view of the valley.  It was attended about half by WCR attendees and half by other guests or people who had bought just the single ticket for that event.

My left shoulder was hurting.  At first I thought it was from holding my own legs up during play the night before, but later I decided I probably strained it a little with the slime pit wrestling.

Unfortunately, after about an hour at the pool party, I made the mistake of accepting a couple hits of pot and I quickly ended up pretty toasted, to the point that I pretty much just quietly sat off to the side the rest of the afternoon.  Didn’t engage with anyone, didn’t go swimming, didn’t even walk around much (and thus stayed out of the sun).  My senses of time and speed were so fucked up, I didn’t trust myself to even walk around much, and If I sat down somewhere I could recline, I was sure I would fall asleep.  (I’m told now that I probably should have walked around more.  I’ll remember than next time.)  Pretty much wrecked my afternoon as a result.  Party was scheduled to run until 5:00 (I think), and I left about 4:45; just picked up my bag and left without saying goodbye to anyone.

That’s the third time I’ve been too blitzed like this to trust myself this summer.  First time, I was hitting it off with a guy at the bar, we had a couple hits with his friends, and some time later I found that he wasn’t there any more and I didn’t remember why (but I can guess) or when he left.  When I tried to go home, I couldn’t even get the scooter to start (probably a good thing), so I went to the sex club for a few hours (and didn’t do much there) until enough had worn off that I could ride home.  Second time, I got toasted with someone else and had some fantastic sex as a result, but then had to ride back to my hotel.  I wasn’t too bad, but being in a new neighborhood in a less familiar city, I couldn’t track well where I was on my route and had to stop twice to check the phone map; I was only going about 2 miles, but absolutely could not tell where I was or how far I had gone.

I’ve done this a couple times in the past at other parties, too, taking more than I probably should.  This is not a feeling I like, very out of control.  Intellectually and after the fact, I apparently am adequately in control, but my brain is racing so much that I feel that I’m not.  Obviously, I have to learn balance much better with this and limit myself to only one or two hits unless I’m at my final destination of the evening.  (If I’m where I’m going to sleep, fuck it, just keep me from falling down the stairs.)

(I’m such a lightweight.  That comes with never smoking anything until in my late 30s, I guess.)

Back at the hotel, I tried to nap, but no good, so I got online for some cruising.  Invited a guy over who was a bit of an SM top.  Some dick sucking and marking up my ass with the tail of my rubber belt (hurts more than a leather one!), and then zoom zoom, he had his hand up my ass.  Ah, very nice.  I appreciate going into some good SM subspace now and then.

Last formal event of the weekend was the group dinner at Casita del Campo, a Mexican restaurant in Silver Lake.  11 or 12 of us were there in gear.  It was an enjoyable time, but I was still somewhat toasted from the afternoon pot, so I was fairly quiet.  At the end, we said our goodbyes.

I had originally wanted to go play some more, maybe go back to Slammer, but with the pot slowly wearing off, my shoulder hurting, and no afternoon nap, I headed back to the hotel.  Invited a guy over for some dick sucking, but ended up sending him away after a bit; I just wasn’t into it, and I went to bed shortly after.

Travel: Monday


Breakfast at Starbucks again.  Sigh.  I really prefer to mix it up.  Maybe should have hit the Mexican place I ate at on Friday night instead, in retrospect, since they serve breakfast.

Returned the car.  Didn’t have nearly as long of a wait, but see this page for the aftermath on the rental return.

Talked to Cliff at the airport, since he had been house sitting while I was gone.  He offered to pick me up at the airport, and suggested we later go to a friend’s Labor Day Party.  After we got back to the house, we did some removing of branches off one of my cedars (in light rain), preparatory to taking it down completely the next weekend.

The party was a bit of a bust, with low attendance (due to the rain and too much partying by people over the weekend) and a lot of the people smoked (and frankly, we weren’t all that interested in the conversations), so we left after an hour or so.

Back at the house, we watched Hairspray (the movie version of the musical version of the movie version; that is, the one with John Travolta).  I haven’t seen the stage musical, but a couple notable songs were missing from this and John Travolta in a fat suit doesn’t make a pretty woman (or much of a woman at all), so I came away thinking that the original Divine movie is likely the best of the three.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

What is the “Hanky Code”?

So you’re out at the local gay bar and you see a hunky number you’d like to cruise.  Then he turns around to talk to someone or order a drink, and you get a view of his yummy ass.  But what’s that in his pocket?  A colored bandana?  Didn’t you hear that those mean something, that different colors mean different things?

Quick, get out your gay phone (iPhone) and Google it.  Choose this link.  Or this one.  Or this one.  Maybe check them all out.

What the --?  There are dozens of colors listed.  How are you supposed to remember all this stuff?  And man, if you read the various lists closely, they don’t even all agree!

First, Some History


The Hanky Code is a list of bandana colors and associated (gay) sex activities.

In the 1970s and before, the gay community (and especially the gay leather community) used many non-verbal signals to help indicate sexuality and sexual activity preferences.  At the time, engaging in homosexual activity at all could get you arrested; engaging in kink activities would just make that worse, so these non-verbal signals were invaluable.  Non-verbal signals includes styles of dress — Levis, leather jackets, etc. — and accessories such as keys attached to belt loops, rings attached to jacket epaulets, and bandanas stuck in back pockets.  All completely innocent items, unless you knew to look for them and how to decode them.

(This, of course, is the root of the concept of “gaydar”, detecting other gay men amongst the mass of presumed straight humanity.  All the little signals that we read — sometimes subconsciously — which add up to “He’s gay.”)

Even gay bars and bathhouses “signaled”, via their names.  Straights might not think anything of a given name, but names with sexual double entendres — Hole, Slot, Ambush, End-Up — were as good as a neon sign if you knew what you were looking for.

Top or Bottom


The first thing you need to know is which side means what.  That’s easy: left is top and right is bottom.  Anything on the left signifies top, and anything on the bottom signifies bottom.  Hanky, keys, wallet chain, arm band, knot on a bandana tied around the neck, etc.

Okay, it’s not quite that easy: when this sort of codification first came into being, the definitions were regional rather than global.  The West Coast (California, especially) used Left=Top, but either/both the East Coast and Europe (I’ve never had it confirmed which) used the reverse, Left=Bottom.  Needless to say, this could cause confusion for tourists and business travelers.  By the time the 1990s rolled around, though, California-style had largely won out, although people still knew that there was or had been a difference.

(In terms of heraldry — coats of arms and such — things on the left are dubbed “sinister” and things on the right are dubbed “dexter”.  “Sinister”=Top has always seemed like the right rule to me.)

And for those who are thinking ahead, yes, putting something in the middle can be read to mean “Versatile”.  (Which itself means “Bottom” to some guys, of course.  Off or On, Top or Bottom, Gay or Straight: they can’t conceive of anything outside of binary existence.  Bisexual is right out.)  Of course, you have to be careful with that location.  It’s a nicely symmetric place for handcuffs, but hanging your keys from the the belt loop in the back of your pants makes them hard to reach.

Color Matching


In the case of hankies (bandanas), there are a whole slew of colors out there, for whatever uses cowboys and construction workers and mechanics (whew, is it getting hot in here?) might use them for.  That and knowing that our ability to accessorize is what separates man from animals means that there has to be a use for each color.

It’s easy to reverse engineer the creation of much of the hanky code.  Navy blue is probably the most common bandana color, so it goes with the most common activity: fucking.  Since sucking dick is so tightly coupled with fucking, make it light blue (“fucking lite”).  Red obviously goes to fisting, yellow to piss play, and brown to scat play.  (Yes, Virginia, there are people into that.)  Black and gray are another heavy/light pairing, and get connected to S&M and bondage, respectively.

(As another possible derivation of Red=Fisting, red flags are supposed to be attached to loads hanging out the back of your truck.  I’m sure we can make some connection path to that.)

After the colors that you actually occasionally see in bandanas, and the big ticket leathersex activities that go with them, though, what about all the other bandana colors?  And what about all the other colors of the rainbow, whether they ever actually show up as bandana colors?  (Well, of course they do, or can, exist: go to the fabric store, get a yard of fabric, and break out the sewing machine, boy!)

Why Are There Multiple Lists?  Which One is Right?


It is doubtful that the different lists were both created independently.  Way too many secondary items match up the same on each list for true independence.  More likely, someone created an initial list, and then either (a) different people fleshed out items they saw as missing, or (b) someone tried to replicate the list from memory and got some things wrong, or [most likely, to me] (c) someone decided to “fix” the list, either to match his own preferences or to just make his own variant.

(Ask country line dancers about how line dances that date from pre-Internet days mutated as they propagated, due to either poor memory or “fixing” the dances, resulting in regional differences that are sometimes minor and sometimes vast.  It’s like a giant game of “grapevine”.)

(I was once told that the differences are likely due to geographic separation between East and West Coasts.  To be sure, there has historically tended to be a lot more north/south movement and interaction between leathermen than there has been east/west, at least until the expansion of cheap air fare in the 1990s made that more viable, so I can buy this as an explanation.  This also ties in with the geographic left/right dichotomy mentioned above.)

Decades down the line, of course, what was once intended as fun (or even as funny) now sometimes gets seen as a Holy Artifact of Old Guard Leather, as though Marlon Brando himself whispered it in the ear of Larry Townsend from behind a curtain and Mr. Marcus then transcribed it onto gold plates.  (Oh, I’ll burn for that one!)  And thus guys today encounter the Hanky Code and they think they are supposed to obey it, and to do that, they are required to memorize this super long list of color/fetish combinations.

This is bullshit.  No one expects you to memorize the entire list, nor do you need to.

(Of course, it is an understandable belief in its way.  PINs, passwords, pledges of allegiance, Boy Scout oaths, etc.: our society is heavy on memorization.  And for those of us who are founts of useless trivia, something like the Hanky Code is very doable.  If I can manage to remember the sci-fi codenames, real names, home planets, super powers, and origin stories of 50-odd members of the Legion of Super-Heroes and the order they joined over the course of 50 years of stories and 5 continuities, then pfft, 40 color/fetish combos is a breeze!  Any geek would agree.)

So what we get today is guys new(er) to leather encountering the Hanky Code and freaking out at the long list, convinced that they are being judged as a Real Leatherman on whether they can rattle off the meaning of a coral-colored teddy bear in a silver lamé jumper in the left pocket.  And thus they reject the entire concept out of hand.

(That would be a titleholder or pornstar who wants to cuddle and suck on your toes.  Just for the record, you understand.)

Is the Hanky Code of Any Use?


That depends on what you think the hanky code is or should be or could be used for.

Does it assure you of getting laid?  Fuck no.  (Or is that “No fuck”?)

Does it provide a means of non-verbal communication, an invitation to cruise, converse, and pick-up?  Fuck yes!

Don’t be distracted by the (fun) junk content of the long Hanky Code lists.  No one expects you to be able the tell the difference between Peach and Apricot (bears vs. chubbies) or Dark Yellow and Gold (heavy piss vs. three-ways) in bar light.  Hell, no one expects you to ever even see some of those colors for hankies in the real world.  (Although I know where you can buy most of them, if you’re really interested.)

(Let me stress here again: all the myriad colors and their fetish pairings are intended to be fun!  Peach is for bears because bears are fuzzy!  Mosquito netting is for outdoor sex because of the bugs!  Mustard is for “more than 8 inches” because mustard goes on foot-long hot dogs!  And so on!)

What you do need to remember are the Big 10 colors: Black, Grey, White, Red, Orange, Yellow, (dark) Green, (light) Blue, (dark) Blue, and Brown.  (That is: S&M, Bondage, JO, Fisting, Anything, Piss, Daddy/Boy, Sucking, Fucking, and Scat.)  Oh, and remember anything you like and want to flag, such as Piercing (purple) or Puppy Play (bone print).

(Orange is one of the major differences between the lists.  One list has it as Anything Top/Anything Bottom depending on the side, while the other has it as Anything/Nothing Now (Just Cruising).  I prefer the former, since it echoes everything else in the list better; it gives a pig play bottom something to flag without being needing a dozen bandana stuffed in the same pocket.  And of course, I’m simply confused about “Just Cruising”.  What the fuck is that?  Cruising is what we’re all doing when flagging.  If you don’t want anything, don’t flag anything!)

Does the Hanky Code Get Used?


The Big 10 are just about the only colors you will likely ever see being flagged, and thus the only ones you really need to be able to identify.  Yes, I have seen brown flagged: once at IML and once at MAL.  Not my scene.  I’ve also seen Purple flagged a couple times.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen most of the other lesser colors, or if I did, I didn’t recognize them for what they were.  In the local bar, the only colors I see with regularity are Red, Yellow, Dark Green, and Black (but that’s hard to notice in leather pants), and sometimes Gray.  Yellow seems to have become far less common in the past decade.

So back to the question: does anybody actually use the hanky code?  Well, I do.  If I’m going out to the bar — or generally any time on the weekends, anywhere around town — I have a hanky in my pocket.  (Usually a red one.)  Will it get me a “sudden date”?  Probably not, but on the off chance that someone will see it and approach me, it’s a whole lot better than not having it there!

If you go to any leather bar — and definitely if you go to a big leather event like IML or MAL or Folsom Street Fair — you will see people flagging, and you can be sure they are doing it quite intentionally.

If you are just out and about somewhere other than a gay neighborhood and you see someone with a colored hanky in his pocket, well, odds are against it, but he could be flagging (like I do).  Does he set off your gaydar?  Does he have the bearing of a leatherman?  As noted before, a hanky in the pocket isn’t an invitation to fuck so much as an invitation to talk about fucking.  So go talk (or at least make eye contact) if he turns your crank!  Worst case, he’s a clueless straight contractor.

So, Should You Flag a Hanky?


You know, that’s ultimately up to you.

I know several guys who are completely disdainful of flagging, apparently under the idea that some people — straight people! — flag unknowingly.  As best I can tell, rather than get their hopes up that some random person they see might be a fetish match for them but actually isn’t, they prefer to toss out the entire concept.  Cutting their losses, it seems.

Others can’t decide what they should flag.  Does yellow send too strong a message, will it ruin my reputation?  (Might make it, actually.)  Does light blue send too weak of a message?  (Depends on how much you like cocksucking.)  Can you get away with two hankies in the pocket?  (I say yes, but three is pushing it.)  Three in one and two on the other side.  (Mmm, no.)  Should I wear red in both pockets since I’m versatile?  (Hmm, I’ve never tried it.  Give it a shot.)  Do I just wear orange to cover all the bases?  (To swap around the line Tony DeBlase is famously credited with, only if you’re into kangaroo shit.)  Faced with too many choices, some guys freeze and opt for nothing rather than risk going too far or not far enough.

Myself, I know from direct experience that flagging sometimes does work.  (I was on my way to a fisting party in Berlin, to a bar I had never been to before.  Someone else on his way there noticed my hanky and helped me find the place.  We also played later.)

I’m also cognizant of the historical nature and value of flagging, and I consciously choose to propagate this behavior both to show my honoring of our past and to promote those older rituals which actually still work in today’s world.



Updated on April 6, 2010
You can even get a Hanky Code app for your iPhone!

I forgot to include links to various hanky code listings.  Fixed that.  It was remarkably hard to find one which featured orange in the top/bottom way that I think it should be.  And I found that Wikipedia’s entry has some oddities of its own, like attaching Rust to Pony Play rather than to Western Fetish like I think it should be.

There has been something of a renaissance of additions to the hanky code in recent years, such as:
  • Lightning Bolt Print (Electrical Play)
  • Bone Print (Puppy Play) — (with the color of the background signifying fist pup, piss pup, etc.)
  • Mint Green (Leathergirl)

Updated on February 11, 2011
A recent Facebook exchange with my friend Lorelei brought up the discussion of what a plaid hankie she once saw might mean.  I suggested three options:
  • Dyke Top / Dyke Bottom
  • Scotsman / Looking for a Kilt
  • Lumberjack / His Tree
(This last echoes off of the Rust hanky definition being “Cowboy / His Horse”, which is presumably Western Fetish/Cowboy Gear.  “Lumberjack / His Tree” would mean Outdoorsman Fetish — hiking, camping, etc.  Although now that it’s been proposed, someone will twist “Lumberjack” into shorthand for “Axe Play”.  Sigh.

Updated on September 8, 2011
Corrected a bunch of typos, added links, and revised/clarified some of the text, including adding the paragraph on gay bar names.

Three more colors which vary between lists:
  • White: JO (masturbation) or Not Looking, depending on the list you look at.  As mentioned above with the variances with Orange, why would you flag anything to signal you aren’t looking?
  • Rust: Cowboy/His Horse (which I read as Cowboy Fetish) on older lists, Animal Play on others.  Presumably meaning Furries/Animal Role Play rather than Zoophilia.  This may be a repurposing of an underused color to be something more common today, or it may be a total misconstruing of what “His Horse” would have meant in the 1970s.
  • Lime: Pays for Dinner/Dines off Tricks on older lists, Foodplay on newer ones.  Again, likely an example of repurposing an underused color to be something more common today.
And a mystery one from a recent Facebook thread: what should Steel Blue be used for?  One person suggested sailors.  I suggested some narrow slice of police (state troopers?), since it is close to Medium Blue.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Mid-Atlantic Leather 2010

This past weekend was my 11th consecutive trip to Washington DC for Mid-Atlantic Leather weekend, aka MAL.

My first trip was in January 2000.  The previous year, Mr. Marcus had asked me if I was going to attend again, thinking that I had (or must have) attended in the past.  I had not, although I had attended International Mr. Leather (IML) in Chicago a couple times, LeatherFest in San Diego, and I guess I was becoming enough of a known quantity in the San Francisco area that he thought attending MAL was a logical thing for me to do.

In November 1999, I competed at Mr. International Rubber (MIR) in Chicago.  Years down the line now, I can’t say whether I planned to attend MAL ahead of that event (in case I won; I ended up as 2nd runner-up), or if I decided to attend MAL after having been to MIR.  I think Mr. Marcus’ comment came before I attended MIR, but I can’t be sure.

Anyway, think I have been every year since then.  I’ve attended the WaterBuddies watersports parties three times and the FFA/CAC handball parties twice.  I’ve been a vendor twice.  I’ve represented Seattle Men in Leather in the Parade of Colors two or three times.  I’ve been on stage as a titleholder twice, as Seattle Leather Daddy 2004 and International Mr. Saliva 2006.  I’ve been there as the spouse of a titleholder twice when Rusty was Washington State Mr. Leather 2005 and American Leatherman 2006.  I’ve sometimes had (paid for) a weekend package and sometimes not.

I guess that what brings me back each year is that the event is pretty much just the right size.  Local and most regional leather weekends tend to be centered just around the contest, maybe with a play party and a meal involved.  That’s plenty of reason to attend if you are also local or in the region, but it’s not going to pull people in from around the country.  In particular, such events typically can’t sustain a vendors market, or a wide span of play parties, or dedicated dances or other events.

On the other end of the spectrum, you have IML, which is just fucking huge.  Massive contest, a myriad of play parties and dance parties and such, and a vendors market like no other.  But there’s arguably just too much: too many options, too many people, even too many vendors (in terms of truly shopping for what you want/need; you can barely manage to find your way back to a given individual vendor).

Mid-Atlantic Leather hits in the middle of these extremes: big enough to be a draw, but not so big that it overwhelms.  Big enough to support a vendors market, but not so big that you can’t find the vendor or item you want.  Big enough to have accessory events to choose from, but only a few.  Big enough that lots of people deem MAL to be an event worth attending, but not so big that you feel like you can’t manage to run into all your friends.

A few other things worth noting:
  • While MAL isn’t “too big”, it has been too big for its location at the Washington Plaza for several years.  There is a very limited amount of space for the vendors, such that each year we see almost exactly the same ones, in almost exactly the same layout; for people who attend each year, this ends up limiting the amount of time we spend in the vendor market (and thus how much money we spend), and by extension, how much time we spend in the host hotel at all.  (This year, I didn’t even enter the room where Mr. S was.  Too crowded and I knew I wasn’t likely to buy anything there.)
  • They have also been too big for the lobby for a while, although less so than with the vendors space.  There used to be some couches and such in the front lobby — they were used as a puppy play area a couple times — but the couches have been absent in recent years to accommodate more men.
  • MAL will be moving to a new hotel next year (the Hyatt Regency on New Jersey; I’ve stayed there for other events twice).  Apparently this one is large enough that they won’t (initially) have to require purchasing a weekend pass to have a room at the host hotel.
Will I attend again next year?  I expect so.  I did find this year that I spent less time at the hotel, and thus felt much more on the “fringe” than in years past.  Part of this is that I went to the FFA parties all three nights (like last year), which meant that I had to head there earlier in the evening.  While I enjoy going to the FFA parties, I don’t want those to be the reason I go — it becomes expensive to travel across the country for a fisting party.  (It’s always a trade-off: do I cruise the packed lobby for hours, perhaps fruitlessly, or do I bug out to an off-site event where I know I’ll get laid but won't see and be seen?  And how does the party price with free beverages balance against the overpriced lobby bar beers?)

I also stayed further from the host hotel this time than last year (although I’ve stayed slightly further away than this a couple times before) and was just generally disconnected from the hotel scene as a result.  I need to remedy that next year, or I may stop enjoying the weekend as much and will stop attending.

With luck, I’ll get my boyfriend to go next year.  I won’t even need the FFA parties, then, because he’s great about seducing guys into three-ways and play parties and such.   (evil grin)

Some notes about other DC stuff:
  • The Lambda Rising gay bookstore chain is closing down this year, and they were having a 60% (and more) off sale on all their stock.  I bought a handful of leather flag pins for 25 cents each, and a raft of what they termed “demo” CDs from the 1990s magazine New Country (which included a CD with each issue; I had a subscription for a year) for like a dime apiece.
  • Twice during the weekend, I saw people reading from a Kindle.  Up until now, I have largely dismissed the Kindle as a gadget fad, as a device that doesn’t do enough well enough to warrant purchasing one.  (And having worked on the first generation of eBook readers a decade ago, I know whereof I speak.)  I may have to reconsider that stance now that I’ve seen them in the wild; if people are actually using them, maybe they will last.  (I still think that the current designs are bland, though.)
  • DCA (Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport) remains one of my favorite airport designs.  Ticketing occurs on an upstairs level, then you descend to a lower level where there are shops and restaurants and the security gates.  The layout allows those checking in to overlook the lower level and to look out through large windows to the gates and runways.  The entire airport seems more intimate, and passengers checking in feel that they have more information by being able to see where they are going (how long lines are, what planes are at the gate, etc.)


Updated on May 25, 2010
Now that the iPad has been released, I frankly can’t see the Kindle surviving any longer unless it can retool into a generalist device.  There was a time when people had a device geared for this feature and one for that feature and one for the other features (remember the old Dilbert strips with the belt full of gadgets?), but the cell phone with text message capability killed the pager, and the smartphone killed the generic cell phone.  The Kindle could beat (live in parallel with) the netbook because it could do things the netbook could not and be used at times the netbook could not, but the iPad lives in the Kindle’s space and does more; the Kindle’s only advantages become the non-lit display and massive battery life, which aren’t enough in the long run.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Europe 2009: Aftermath

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

I had some nasty constipation after returning home, almost nothing passing through.  No pain or cramps, just minimal movements, despite ample food going in.  I finally realized that I’ve suffered from this before.  It’s the lack of intestinal florae, washed away from the repeated fisting cleanout regimen.  I need to get some live-culture yogurt in me to restore things.  (Yup, that seems to have helped; started improving just a couple hours after a dish of yogurt.)

In Berlin, I bought a 2010/2011 (two year) large format flip calendar, with the imagery on each page being some good, strong BDSM pics.  (That is, pics that look like real BDSM scenes, not stuff staged for porn videos.)  At €10 a pop, a good deal.  So I bought two, the second to be donated to be a fundraiser item: a large format German BDSM calendar should easily be auctionable for more than $15.

Out & About, a gay guide webzine from Denmark, has an article about the Mr. Leather OutGames contest (among its other coverage of the OutGames), including this pic of the five contestants.  (Photo by Claus og Tonny Bønløkke Hertz.)



Updated on February 5, 2010
The calendar sold for $20 at GLPW’s Spanksgiving event on Thanksgiving night.  Frankly, it should have gone for almost double that; we need to find a way to boost attendance (and participation) at those events.
Updated on May 19, 2010

Monday, August 3, 2009

Europe 2009: Berlin (Sunday, August 2)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

Since there was another party I wanted to go to that night, I headed back to Schöneberg.  On the way, I passed by the gay sunbathing areas of Tiergarten.  Apparently nude sunbathing is permitted!  I also met a cute Italian boy, Kurt — no, he wasn’t naked at the time — dressed in A&F gear with his collar turned up.

Kurt gave me a heavy cruise in Tiergarten, so I sat down on a bench and got him to approach.  Cute, but in his A&F attire, I figured him for a bit of a twinkie.  (He says A&F is pretty much only worn by gay boys in Germany.  I told him that’s true in the States, too, even if those wearing it don’t quite realize it!)  I offered to invite him back to the hotel, but said he might be scared.  To the contrary, he said it was the red stripes on my shorts that he was attracted by.  And on that note, I had one of the best fisiting experiences of the trip, one that we had to cut short because he was meeting a friend at a local bar.  I would have happily skipped the party that night to play a few hours more with Kurt.

I took the U-Bann out to Prenzlauer Berg, to the bar Stahlrohr 2.0.  (2.0 because it had moved a few years back.)  Several of the guys from the Kellerloch party were there again.

The Stahlrohr party was, of course, a fisting party.  Walking from the U-Bann, I met and talked with Matthieu (I’m doing my best guess for the spelling of some of these guys’ names, you realize), who spotted my black and red leather wristband.  Joachen, who had invited me to Kellerloch, fisted me, although I don’t think he got all the way in.  My ass was getting tender!  I was making lots of animal noises, though, and a bunch of guys stuck their heads around the corner to see who this new guy was whose voice they didn’t recognize.  I then talked for a while with Sebastien, and Marcel and I had a rematch of the previous night, well, of the part with my hand up his ass.

One pleasant surprise I’ve had this trip is the simple willingness of Europeans to engage in safer sex behaviors.  In the States, you find way too many guys who not only like to bareback, they will only do so.  You find ones (often enough to not be rare!) who will call things off if you want a condom to be used (whether as top or bottom), and occasionally ones who will actually be angry with you for wanting safer sex.  (And this almost never has to do with latex allergies.)  Seemingly not so with the Europeans; only a couple even tried any barebacking (including one in a dark room in Amsterdam whom I pushed away, disgusted; he might not have been European, in retrospect), and not a one made a peep at pausing to put on a rubber.

Actually, though, I didn’t do a whole lot of pursuit of fucking, and much of that was in fisting party contexts, so maybe this is the mark of fisters more than general Europeans.  While many prefer to play without gloves (and I could go into the pros and cons of that), it was always a negotiated part of each play session, and none I played with would say no to using gloves or having the top use them.  As I think of it in the States, at the big parties I have been to in Seattle, DC, and Chicago, I do think that this is more a standard behavior of fisters worldwide, perhaps.  But I’ll still think positively of the Europeans in this light, regardless.



Updated on February 23, 2010

Updated on May 18, 2010

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Europe 2009: Berlin (Saturday, August 1)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

I cruised around the Schöneberg neighborhood, visiting the leather shops and such: Connection, RoB, Mr. B, and a couple others.  I bought some t-shirt gifts — a Mr. B shirt that glows in the dark for my boyfriend, a brown and gold Berlin shirt for Rusty (who is house/cat-sitting while I’m away), and two for me, a red Berlin shirt with the bears with entangled tongues and a black Kinky Tulip shirt.  I met a couple guys (Mario and Stefan) from Bavaria outside Mr. B, along with their friend Donovan.

(Just because I name check someone in the blog, doesn’t mean I had sex with them.  Might have wanted to, though…)

That evening, I went to a private party called Kellerloch, although I didn’t know that was the name of it at the time — an online buddy invited me without specifying the name of the party.  A couple people online had asked if I was going to Kellerloch, but I had told them no, because I didn’t know at the time.

Kellerloch (“cellar hole”, per Babelfish) is, yes, another fisting party, held at the south end of Schöneberg in a basement.  There were probably 20 guys there.  I got fisted by Klaus, and then returned the favor.  Then by Marcel from the Netherlands, and again returned the favor, getting each of may hands in about 4" past the wrist, the deepest I’ve ever fisted someone.  And then fisted Marco from Zurich, to a similar depth, and then he fisted me on all fours.  And one point, he sat on my lower back (shades of Brüno!) and fisted me from above.

Back at the hotel, I thought I should cum, since I really hadn’t done that for a couple days.  Got out the sling, put in the Fist Pack video, lubed up the inflatable dildo and pumped it larger than I have before and went at myself.  But to no avail.  I pissed like crazy, splattering myself good, but couldn’t manage to cum.  Too worked up and worked over!



Updated on March 1, 2010.

Updated on March 2, 2010.
This article claims that “cellar door” is one of the most beautiful phrases in the English language.  Can we make a parallel claim that “kellerloch” is one of the kinkiest in the German language?

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Europe 2009: Copenhagen to Berlin (Friday, July 31)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

At the Men’s Shop — “adult novelties”, if you will — I used my certificate from the contest for a video (Fist Pack 20).  I had to spend another 25 DKK — $5 — above the certificate price, but no problem.  (Having since watched chunks of the video, I recommend most any other edition in the FP series.  The first scene goes for like 20 minutes before getting to any digital insertions, which was kind of the purpose of getting the video.  I haven’t watched all the scenes yet, though, so others may be quite a bit better.)

I went back to the hotel for some e-mail (free WiFi) and blog time.  Finally made contact with Ole from X-Rated Leather, then traveled to his shop for measurements.  What sort of a custom piece to get, though.  I want a piece that is special and notable — why have it otherwise? — but it also needs to be mainstream enough that I actually can and will wear it.  (As stated, why have it otherwise?  I have a couple pieces like that, actually, that I can only wear once per city per year, and sometimes not even that often.)  Obviously, he prefers to do a couple actual fittings for his custom pieces, which would not be possible (Denmark being a bit far to go for a fitting).

The idea I had was to get a custom-made vest, with lightning bolts across the back which exactly match the pattern of my lightning bolt tattoos, but with color — yellow bolts with a bright blue “shadow”, to echo Lightning Lad’s costume iconography that they are drawn from.  Per Ole, the vest will be lined inside with leather (rather than having one side raw as is usual in the States, which tends to leave suede crumblies on your shirt, and sometimes even dye stains), with a pair of zippered pockets on the inside.  He’ll also put some yellow and blue piping on the front to echo the colors on the back.  I will send him the computer files from the tattoos so that he can use the exact shape to match.

Is this a €500 (US$750) value?  Probably not, technically, but if you think of the prize as intended to be “a custom piece of leather clothing, value up to” the amount.  And given the physical distance between his shop and my home, I’m satisfied with the result; I think it’s an adequate solution, given time and location and desired uses.

The master’s cap arrived by post this afternoon from the Anco, before I had to leave.  Thankfully!

The hotel in Berlin is quite a trip.  This is a leather-themed hotel/bed & breakfast, with semi-themed rooms supplied with kink play equipment.  (The most well known of these is the Black Tulip in Amsterdam, an obvious antecedent in the name department; Seattle once had the Gypsy Arms, too.)  The hallway was lined with a dog cage, mannequins with straight jackets, a display case with assorted electric gear, and so on.  The room had a sling, a vertical bondage rack, and an adjustable fuck bench, plus a selection of medical furniture.  (And a closet, TV with DVD player, and sink, and a single bed that was originally a medical bed of some sort.)

After a quick nap, I went out to Mutschmanns, then to Scheune (as I had been directed; the crowd shifts from one to the other around 2:00 am).  There I met Pieter (from Berlin) and Graeme (from Los Angeles), and we all eventually went to New Action (where the crowd shifts to after 4:00 am).  Pieter was dealing with a friend of his who was suffering from lung cancer who had essentially moved in with him for the duration.

Graeme was a good piss boy and drained me a couple times.

Pieter gave me a piece of candy, which I later realized was probably Ecstasy, although if it was, I don’t know what effect it had on me, if any.  We also shared a cigarette laced with hash (I think), but again, no effect that I really can identify.  We ended up back at my hotel room, but he left soon after.  He tried to lay a trip on me about not being interested in him and just wanting him as a handy dick or fist, but he was feeling depressed about his buddy with cancer and that was more of the issue, I’m sure.   And maybe some drug effects as well.



Updated on February 26, 2010

Updated on May 17, 2010

Friday, July 31, 2009

Europe 2009: Copenhagen (Thursday, July 30)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

This was my day for really focusing on the competitions.  So after the usual breakfast and puttering with the blog posts, I got everything set for the Physical part of the leather contest, laying out all my outfit pieces and putting them on (except for the boots).  I had mostly set this up in Seattle, but made a last minute change to use the other harness, and of course I now had to use the cowboy hat rather than the master’s cap (since the cap had been left in Amsterdam).

Then I did likewise with the Presentation part, running through the routine a couple times, watching myself in the bathroom mirror.  I also turned the netbook on its side and propped it up on a high shelf and used its webcam as a second sort of mirror.  I had to figure out how to do the costume change part within the very limited time frame; I ended up settling for layering two t-shirts, and slipping off the braces and rolling one shirt over my head to show the second one.  (More later.)

Then I headed over to the K3 nightclub for the afternoon practice.  Because of schedules, the other two Americans were not there for practice until later in the afternoon, and the Canadian had pulled out due to a schedule change for a conference meeting he was attending.  I did get to scope out the European competition, though — Erik from Denmark and Walther, the current Mr. Leather Norway — and got to see them do their presentations (fantasies).  Mine is storytelling, Erik’s is a standard-style leather contest fantasy, and Walther’s is a solo dance routine preceded by a speech about HIV; quite the range, and we’ll see what the other two add to the mix.  It was very difficult to design a fantasy that I could do by myself and would carry to an audience mostly European.

After that, I practiced for my line dance competition and then did the competition, winning two golds and a silver, plus overall for my division.  They finally did the awards and finished them just after 10:00, so I had to grab my clothes and really hurry to K3.

Of course, for all my hurry, it was halfway unwarranted.  I scrambled over to K3 and got upstairs to start changing.  By the time I got changed, the entertainment went on, a leather song medley from Ask Helga (Copenhagen’s camp drag troupe, real singers), called “Nights in Black Leather”.  I only paid a little attention to it, between changing and fanning myself from being very sweaty, and holding my head from where I kept banging it on the rafters in our changing area.  (I’m 6 foot, the ceiling was 6 foot, the rafters were 5 foot 10, and they seemed to be over the places we could stand to change rather than over the benches and table.  Bang bang bang, ow ow ow.)

For the Physical part of the contest, I came out in chaps, red-stripe t-bar (so my ass and tattoos showed), red-piped muscle police shirt, and cowboy hat.  On stage, I stripped off the shirt to show my red and ring harness underneath; good crowd reaction.  The question to me was about the most masculine moves done in country-western dance.  I told them that they didn’t let us do some of those for competition, as I faked a jack-off action, so then I showed dipping a partner lower… lower… lower… all the way to the floor, and then I would drop him and walk away (with a big finger snap).  The crowd really liked that: it played with the cowboy hat, it showed strength and good body form, and it was funny and a little mean, just right for a leather competition.

For the Presentation (Fantasy), I told the story of Leather Pinocchio.  Gepetto, the leather daddy woodcutter made himself a new sex toy, a leatherboy. Pinocchio wanted to be a REAL leatherboy, and the Red Fairy (who gives fists rather than wishes) told him how: become a donkey (pony play!), find Monstro (Girth and Mirth!), and compete in a leather competition in Copenhagen (the crowd liked that joke).  Unfortunately, when Pinocchio became a REAL leatherboy (this was when I showed the second shirt, which said “Leatherboy”), he lost his “woody”.  But he learned if he still told lies — “You’ve got a biiig dick!” — his dick would still grow.  His rubber inflatable dick.  “I am a top!  I am a top!  I am a top” as I pulled the inflated dick out of the shorts, all the way.

The crowd reaction was small at first, partly because the volume wasn’t up loud and the first two lines were lost.  (I recorded the Pinocchio, Narrator, and Red Fairy voices myself on my iPhone, artificially lowering the Red Fairy voice with another program, and edited it all together with Garage Band.  Impressive job, if I say so myself!)  By halfway through, though, the audience was getting it and laughing at the funny bits.  If I ever get to do it again, I’ll use the 3:39 length original version, which has a couple more jokes and a little more breathing room in it; might even pad a couple more seconds for the costume change and add a few at the start.

In the end, I got 38 out of 40 points — which means I probably got 20 of 20 for the Physical part — and ended up as 1st Runner-Up (and another Silver medal).  I’m happy with that, as I got two prizes: a €40 gift certificate and a €500 custom leather item.  Erik from Denmark won first place; his fantasy was definitely top notch (better than mine), he deserved it for that.

Afterward, I hastened back to the hotel with all my gear, showered and changed, and then came back to K3, dressed in my 501 shorts and the chainmail harness.  Originally a gay disco, K3 is now a straight club but it turned back into a gay club for the night.  Three or four floors, two different DJs — the one upstairs was pretty good, and that’s special coming from me, since I don’t like club music much.  They had dark rooms set up and everything, and they even ran out of beer so the guys from SLM had to go raid beer from their clubhouse.  Very successful party, I think.  I ran into both Jeffrey and Ho & Jens again.

Ho sucked my dick while we sat in one of the lounge areas, and we got some very approving looks.  (Or were they jealous?)  He offered to fist me there, too, but I declined.  I would have liked to, and I would have really gotten off on the public display, but even the dick sucking was beyond the level I saw anyone else doing, so I didn’t want to push the envelope all the way into confetti!

Out in the courtyard, as it started to sprinkle, I met Peter and he went down on me, really ramming my cock down his throat, PA and all.  (My cock is pretty thick and longer than average, so this was impressive.)  He did this right in the middle of the crowd, and again, there was very little similar activity from anyone else, but lots of fun looks.  He did this for some time, as the crowd dispersed and the party ended. We then headed back to his place, where I hoped for his fist.

But no such luck.  Instead, it was me on my knees (and etc.) for the next couple hours, and with major tit clamps on my already sore nipples.  And lots of really good poppers!  Never got his fist or even his dick in my ass, but it was a really good time anyway.  I had to call it quits when I suddenly started seeing huge snowflakes that glowed blue and yellow and pink — too much poppers and endorphins, I guess; very trippy and out of my head.  Got back to my hotel at 5:15 am.  Yawn!



Updated on February 25, 2010

Updated on May 14, 2010

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Europe 2009: Copenhagen (Wednesday, July 29)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

Tuesday night was the Naked Party at the SLM clubhouse.  I got fisted by two guys (a couple; Ho and Jens).  Jens had pretty big hands so he only got in once before his other half took over, then he got in again a few times later.  Briefly fucked a guy from Paris later, and then had my ass played with (but not fisted) by Jeffrey from New Orleans (who had neither a Southern nor Cajun accent).



Updated on February 24, 2010

Updated on May 12, 2010

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Europe 2009: Amsterdam and Copenhagen (Tuesday, July 28)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

Tuesday evening was a party at the SLM clubhouse.  It was a fisting party.  I have a goal of a fist a day while in Europe, you know.  I fisted two guys (Allen was one, although I’ve likely misspelled his name), got fisted myself (Pascal from Paris), fucked and fisted another guy (got 98% of the way in him, missed his fist cherry by millimeters; bet the next guy will get him done), and then got almost (95%?) fisted again while standing up and blew a load all over him.

Cleanout was a bit easier here than in Amsterdam, because the hose head will fit over the shower head in the bathroom here.  Got a lot of air bubbles, but I didn’t have to strain as much.

One “problem” I have when getting fisted is that when the fist comes out, I piss.  Happens nearly every time, and the more liquid I’ve had in me (orally, that is), the more volume I piss.  I can usually keep that confined to the pad we have under the sling at home, but at the SLM clubhouse, that would end up on the concrete floor and be more of an issue (could be slippery for others).  Solution: I put a condom on my cock while I was being fisted, so I could piss to my heart’s content (bladder’s content?) and not worry, so long as the condom itself didn’t come off.  Worked very well tonight.



Updated on February 23, 2010

Updated on May 12, 2010

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Europe 2009: Amsterdam (Monday, July 27)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

I bought myself a new nose ring at a piercing place.  It’s a staple with rectangular edges and points, like an inverted trident without the middle tine.  Kind of cool.

I ran into Dael and Kev again at the Argos.  I sucked and got fucked in the dark room, But not by Dael and Kev this time.

Checked for the missing nose ring at the Eagle’s lost-n-found, but no luck.



Updated on February 9, 2010
I proceeded to lose the new nose staple in Denver in September, either during play at the Denver Eagle or during wild sex in the hotel room.  We couldn’t find it later, so probably at the Eagle.
Updated on May 12, 2010

Monday, July 27, 2009

Europe 2009: Amsterdam (Sunday, July 26)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

Wandered around a while, then trekked 30 minutes southwest of the Centrum to a fisting party I had been invited to, at a bar called Sameplace

I was wearing one of my kilts, the tan canvas and black leather one from MacLeo.  It got a number of looks, but I trained myself long ago not to make eye contact back on those.  Just let them pass by.  Unfortunately, the heavy canvas rubbing against my PA apparently unscrewed the ball and then worked the entire ring out; it was gone by the time I got to the party.  I think I remember hearing a “ding” noise which may have been the ring falling out, and I felt a jab of one of the kilt snap backs at one point which was probably shortly after the ring fell out.  (Bad things come in threes, eh: three piercing rings gone in a week!  Fortunately I have a couple smaller spares with me.  I didn’t plan on new jewelry being a main souvenir on this trip, but it looks like I’ll go shopping on Monday at the leather shops and a piercing place on Warmoesstraat.)

I met a couple guys at the party — Patrick and Chris, expat Brits — and went out to dinner with them to a pizzeria called Paprika (they tell me most of the Italian places in Amsterdam are Turkish owned) where we talked politics and same-sex marriage and sex stuff, and then went back to their apartment.  I had fucked and fisted Patrick at the party, and then fisted Chris (after finding out they were partners); I almost got both hands in Chris.  Back at their place, Patrick fisted me.  Met their cats, Desmond (Abyssinian, but he doesn’t look much like it to me) and Molly (Desmond’s daughter, half Somali).

I was told that the big gay social networking (hookup) site in the Netherlands (and maybe the rest of Europe?) these days is GayRomeo.com (at least for leather; anything listing fisting as one of the top-level search options is a plus), along with Recon.  Stuff with a big presence in the States like Manhunt and AssPig have almost no membership here; Manhunt doesn’t even have Europe as an option!  Bear411 is still a presence here.

Later that evening, I caught a cab and visited an online buddy from GayRomeo.com, Mauricio, ironically within blocks of where the party had been.  He fucked me until I came, then fisted me with each hand, came, and fisted me some more until I came again.  (pig)  Walked back to the Centrum late at night (1:30 am); beautiful weather in the high 60s, me in shorts and tank top.

For clean out, I have been using a portable shower head, intended for attaching to the sink or tub faucet when a shower isn’t available.  (European and American pipe sizes or threading differ, so I didn’t bring my shower shot.)  This doesn’t work quite as well as a shower hose, and in Amsterdam, the sink was about an inch too high to deal with comfortably, so I have had to perch with one foot on a chair and one foot tiptoed on the floor to get my ass over the sink to evacuate.  Fun fun.  (Stretch and strain.)



Updated on February 8, 2010

Updated on May 3, 2010

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Europe 2009: Amsterdam (Saturday, July 25)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

Went to the Argus, Dirty Dick’s, and the Eagle.  Met up with Robert, a guy from Haarlem I had been chatting with online.  He tells me that the religious government is cracking down on things in Amsterdam, that it isn’t as wild as it once was.  Plenty wild to my inexperienced eyes, but I take his point.  He also said Dirty Dick’s is likely to close soon, because the building foundation is rotten.  Always a shame, but that bar was quite empty for a Saturday night(to my eye), so maybe not a huge loss.

I sucked dick upstairs at the Web in the afternoon; I got off but he didn’t.  Sucked dick in the dark room at Dirty Dick’s; we both got off.



Updated on February 5, 2010