Published on August 9th, 2012 | by Wild Gender1
Leather Daddy Let Down // Return of the Leader of the Pack
Okay, the ONLY way you respond to me tonight
is YES SIR and NO SIR.
I am serious about you coming. Call Dad about 8 pm and then
plan on coming right after that, Son.
Here are your orders:
Be clean inside, out, no cologne, no deodorant, FRESH
breath, very clean hole. NO cigg smoking. I have
all you need. Wear a tight white jock OR white
tighty whities if you don’t have either, Dad will supply
you with them. You will do as your told, and if you don’t like
it, or the scene you can leave, boy. Any questions?
1112 Larkin St. #602, white bldg at corner of
sutter/larkin, door code is pound 602, top floor, elevator
You strip inside the door boy. Any questions? call as
ordered and call when you are on your way, son.
I spent my early Friday morning and afternoon receiving my orders, after a week of work related parties I was ready to get back on my knees and ‘get spit on,’ so to speak. I had the day off and figured, why not?
Around 7 as ordered, I was on the bus about to call. I remember the door code and begin the trek up 6 floors to his door wearing a hoodie and loose grey dress pants. At the door I’m out of breath, I have a light sweat that is quickly becoming heavy and am greeted by a somewhat short Daddy in a harness, leather cap and jock.
“Are you alright?”
Oh just hot you know its really warm up here and all the stairs…
Before I take my backpack off he has made me a drink. And I am starting feel like this is going to be OK, but before I put the drink to my lips he softly says,
“So I think I’ll pass..”
Wait, what? On me?
My mouth goes dry. I instantly feel like a moldy troll. To be fair, I didn’t tell him in emails that I had a limp. I figured all my daddy for the night needed was a willing hole. I calmly and quickly exit, mumbling bits of self-hatred as I once again take on the stairs so soon after our introduction. Once outside, I call my one and only true boyfriend who I haven’t seen for 6 years, but talk to at least every 6 days.
“Hey, hey stay on the line. This story is ridiculous.”
He, thankfully, was alone and lazily watching the Opening Ceremony on TV. Through talking with him and texting my other bestie who I met in 2007, I realized that I am good enough. No jocks, dildos, or breath control gear will make me any more or less desirable, and while it would have been best for me to be open about my disability and clear the air, it had nothing to do with the goal of the night, thus, it was useless information. I feel like every “rule” can be used as a way to further assimilation and creates a culture of hate in our communities.
So after a total turn around in mood and energy, I was ready to face the hot musky world of the typical leather bar. I found myself right outside of Powerhouse. Oh Powerhouse! The site of many a Craiglist missed connection. The thing I like above all about that place is even if you don’t fit ‘the look’ someone will be into that alone.
On the way in, I was walking up the street and this guy in a Red Sox cap stopped me. His name was Chad.
“You look sad but you are really really cute. I wanna kiss you.”
Oh really? I asked. He was cute and tiny, classic, but clearly wasted.
He tries to unbutton my pants on the street and get me to touch his nipples. I’m not complaining, just it was fucking early. By now we are at the door or rather leather curtain.
“Wow I really like your shoes. Those are awesome,” says a cute guy at the threshold of the bar.
I smile. I was wearing a pair of red rubber Nikes that I’ve had for a few years but have held up well given my walking style.
“YEAH FUCK YOU, DADDY! He’s a fisting bottom and hes all mine,” said Chad, defensive and super trashed, by my side.
Whoa, let’s be cool. Let’s get it together. Let’s go in, I say.
Rarely am I the voice of reason. I could have just have easily fired off at what Chad said, hey your friend seems way cooler than you twinkly bitch, I thought.
This has become a perfect illustration of what I had just been working through and the own oppression I had dealt with an hour ago. Different though, because of the public space of the bar, it hits the ear differently. By now, I’m over Chad. I light a cigarette and get closer to the guys who like my shoes. As I walk closer the shorter one with a full beard, blue eyes and warm hands says, ‘oh my god it’s you!’
The moldy troll sensation comes back.
Oh my god who am I?! I say, loudly defending myself, much like Chad.
“I saw you on the street one day and I wanted to yell I LOVE your Style but I seriously thought you were just some straight cute punk,” he says. “It’s you totally you.”
Wow, I say are you angling for an aggressive dick grab? Because you just got yourself a lifetime supply, I say as I do exactly that and aggressively reach for his dick. He flinches to the side and says, “hey, hey I’m shy. I just wanna talk to you”
UM HOLY SHIT, I think.
After having a digital roundtable of sorts with my boos–my brothers in arms–where we all agreed that we are good enough (like the Goonies) a this boy shows up. I can hardly believe it as he wants to talk. I force myself to not rely on my sexual wheelhouse of acting coy and acting like a total slut and falling down a slippery slope. Sex was discussed in every way possible but when I would flirt or touch he would just give me a deep crushing hug or a deep look from his watery, grey-blue eyes.
John was exactly what I needed at that moment in time and everything about it was perfect. I didn’t leave our post by the stage for a minute and he went to the bathroom three times. Apparently, he had a meet-up date (unbeknownst to me) that I busted up by being there and talking with him so much that he didn’t pay attention at all to his buddy. We also could have broken and parted ways when a cute shirtless guy went down on me, reaching for my belt buckle as a hello. I just kept thinking and saying, I’m gonna hang in. I gotta hang in. I just wanna talk with you why wouldn’t I?
I’ve had moments like this before, where 5 hours of my life is more memorable and precious to me then the last five years of me life. And yes, those moments may have all happened in the exact same bar on the exact same street. (My Friend ED’s note refer to OH OH Yeah issue #4 ghosts of bathhouses past.) Even then though, I felt like I was playing a role and I was out to get something.
With john, it just flowed and didn’t stop til 3 in the morning. He walked me home and while he didn’t poke and prod me with questions about my ability to walk home after 3 drinks, he simply said, “you can hold me however you need to”
By now, I feel like im holding on for everything. I feel like he is going to walk away and turn into dust get in his truck and drive off a cliff like the leader of the pack. I tell him my fears, leading to a break down, which just leads to more hugs and rambles about how the universe is listening and how I NEED YOU in my life! It is around 2:30 a.m. now (we left the bar early because he has very sensitive ears and the noise wasn’t doing him any good) by now, our cosmic meeting is being watched and interrupted by homeless men with their harmonics and women missing weaves demanding to know why their weed isn’t in their purse.
We cross the street and say I could stay here with you until 6 in morning, a true statement, but I feel so tired. A week of birthdays had proceeded this meet-up of chance and he said, “yes go get warm,” and gave me, I think, the first of three full-body hugs.
I say, OK I’m gonna go inside. I really am. And he starts to inch away as well and it is here that I wish I had walked with him, gone to this truck, I had heard so much about and stayed with him.
Instead, I went upstairs to the second floor, opened the door to darkness and fielded the question “Are you the brother?” asked by someone sleeping on the couch.
I should also say that amid the late night street walkers my brother and sister in-law who I live with got out of a cab with two other people that I did not know. We exchanged hellos albeit awkward but it was all very sweet. I had completely forgotten about the others.
John has my number I have his work number for a job he doesn’t have any more but still checks his messages. He has a cell number but his phone was dead and the charger was fucked up. I wrote my number on his hand and on a copy of The New Yorker Magazine that had a piece on forensic linguistics that I thought he would enjoy, given his passion for words and sounds ,and I just so happen to have the issue still in the bottom of my bag.
I don’t see how this can sustain itself given the weak contact info he gave me. He assured me that I would see his eyes in the daylight, though so there is that. I tried to focus on what happened and not what is going to happen.
JUST BE THANKFUL just be proud that someone let me be my true self with actual no judgment
So a few hours later is my voice completely gone? YES Will I haunt the streets of Folsom looking for my lost bestie, the third needed to complete the set? MAYBE. Wandering the streets like a mother looking for her lost rent boy is nothing new. Above all, I will remember it all as best I can. His corduroy jacket, his beard, his word choice, we had a forty-five minute conversation about the words someone chooses as saying more about them then what they actually say. Even if I never see him again, even if he did turn to dust as he walked up 16th, He will keep coming back.