Next Time, Take the Train

As part of going to San Francisco for the International LeatherSIR contest, I decided to travel by train rather than plane.  I have been to so many events where I have jetted in right before and jetted back out right after, without a chance to have an “experience” — or where the plane flight itself was an “experience”, in all the bad senses of the word — that I decided to swap things up for this one.

In the past few years, I have made a couple trips to Portland and back on the train (about 4 hours each way) and one trip in Ireland from Killarney all the way to Dublin (about 7 hours, I think), but the last long train trip I took was way back in 1991, San Jose to Portland for Westercon (although looking at the Westercon history page, that con is listed as July 1990, before I moved to California, and the next one was in 1995, after I got out of the con circuit [I think], so I’m confused), and before that I was maybe 10 years old, travelling the coast with my mother and sister to visit grandparents in southern California.

I had to be in San Francisco for a contestants meeting at 2:30 pm.  The train was scheduled to arrive in Oakland at 8:45 am, making it a perfectly good arrival time.  If I were to fly to the Bay Area to arrive by 10 am (to get to the hotel by noon), I would be leaving on an 8 am flight and thus getting up at 5:30 am to get to the airport in time.  Ugh.  Departure on the train from Seattle, though: a desirable 9:45 am the previous day.

That’s right, a 23-hour trip each way.  To many, that would be a killer, vs.  the two hours of flight (okay, 4 hours when you count getting to the airport).  But for an “experience” trip, that mostly meant taking two more days of vacation.  It also meant that all my packing and prep for the contest had to be complete 24 hours sooner, leaving me to just sit back and relax for the journey (in theory; or fret and worry).  And coming back, I would have a full day of “end of event” decompression without needing to jump right back into work the day after the huge emotional weekend.

For those who haven’t priced train prices, cost of travel was comparable to flying.  Base price was about $315 round trip, and I got a 10% discount for having AAA, bringing it to $286.  And that includes up to three 50-pound bags with no fee.  Since I was going to a leather contest and needed roughly 85 thousand pounds of leather and boots (okay, two suitcases over 45 pounds each), that would run me anywhere from $40 to over $100 each way, depending on the airline (Southwest excepted), making the train that much better of a deal.

(If I wanted a sleeper car, the price more doubled, although that’s for two beds, so not as bad for multiple people travelling.  Of course, once you add the amenities — meals included, picture window, two reclining seats, available on upper & lower levels of the train car, toilet & showers nearby in same train car, electrical outlets, climate control, individual reading lights, garment rack, fold-down table, fresh towels & bed linens, soap & shower amenities, personal service (turn-down, coffee, paper, make-up bed), bottled water, daily newspaper, and WiFi access — it becomes a better deal.)

The Trip Down

So how did it go?

Ruby picked me up at 8:30 in the morning to get me to the train.  President Obama was still in town, so we had some adventures getting me to the train station, dodging what traffic we could and eventually having me walk a block at the end.

First perk of the train vs.  the plane: no TSA.  They weighed my bags, but there was no nasty long line for security, no “take out everything from your pockets and stand like you are being robbed”, no 3 ounce limit on toiletries — no security checkpoint at all, in fact.

Waiting for boarding, I observed the other travelers.  Not much of a difference from airport passengers.  So who does take the train?  Some of the people were just going to Portland (or even closer destinations), but others were families travelling on vacation.  (I later found that kids under 12 get 50% off on the fare when travelling with an adult.) Others I can imagine travelling by train are those who can’t fly (fear, air pressure, claustrophobia, or even legal restrictions).  And as noted, the greater flexibility with luggage is an attractant.

On board, next perks of the train: seats are wider than on a plane.  Two or even three time the legroom.  Decent amount of recline.  Tray tables that you can use a laptop on even if the person in front of you is reclined.  Footrests.  Leg rests which sort of make the seat into a bed.  Electric plugs (two of them) at each row.  Huge windows.  Who else takes the train?  People who want more comfort than planes provide.

And getting on in Seattle, almost everyone could have a window seat, with no one in the aisle seat next to them.  In Tacoma, I got a seat mate, who got off in Portland, but I then got another one for the rest of the trip.  This wasn’t too bad, given the size of the seating area.  I could even get past him to the aisle without waking him up in the middle of the night, there was that much leg room.

(On the trip back, when announcing seating in the dining car, they repeatedly referenced the train being “completely full”.  I guess this referred to the sleeper cars, since nearly everyone in coach had a double to themselves.  Quite a change from the airplane use of the term!)

The train has both a sit-down restaurant (with “community” seating; you don’t get a table to yourself) and a café/snack bar.  I knew I was in kind of a captive state, so I had brought some snacks, but I decided to do the “experience” thing and had dinner in the restaurant — half a chicken, potatoes, veggies, for something like $12, not unreasonable at a regular restaurant.  The two guys I ate with were friendly, and when I mentioned writing blog posts on the trip, I ended up explaining some details about the contest weekend.  One had known a Mr. Las Vegas Leather at some point, so it wasn’t totally foreign to them.

Sunset came around Klamath Falls, near the Oregon border.  Southern Oregon had some great vistas, mountains and valleys with thick forests.

Much of the day and evening, I spent writing title blog posts, finally getting a few last things posted that I wanted to get out of my system, whether the judges got to read them or not.  I will have to go back to touch up formatting and add links later, since my editing capabilities on the iPad aren’t as easy as on a laptop (although I could do what I need there, I just decided to get more content instead of detailing done).

I also watched a few hours of TV on the iPad — episodes of Misfits, Smash, and Young Justice that I have had on hand for a while, not yet watched.  I brought some 18 hours of shows with me that way.  Almost all my TV watching is on the iPad these days, buying the shows I am interested in from iTunes and watching them when and where I want.

Sleep on Wednesday night was one of the big downsides to the trip.  The seats don’t recline quite enough to bed down in.  The train brings pillows by, but not blankets, so I used my coat as a cover.  I ended up in a fetal position and it kinked my lower back, which is always problematic on event trips for me anyway.  So I got a few hours of sleep, maybe 5 or 6, and not great sleep.  I had meant to bring a neck pillow but forgot about a light blanket.

The other downside was WiFi.  The Amtrak site indicated that the train has WiFi, and it does.  For those who have a sleeper car (which was a few hundred dollars more), WiFi is included (as are movies, meals, and so on).  For those in coach?  Nope.  Can’t even buy it for $10 or $15 for the trip.  WTF?  There’s an income stream being missed there, Amtrak!  (I checked their website and after going as couple levels deep, found that the info was there.  This is the only WiFi-enabled route with that restriction!)

Come morning, we got into Sacramento about 30 minutes early, so we waited there for a while, and eventually got into Oakland on time.  Amtrak used to have a reputation for huge delays — as much as 36 hours on cross-country trips, I’m told — but that wasn’t an issue here, fortunately.

I hadn’t read the schedules well enough to see that there was a BART connection from the Richmond stop and a bus connection to San Francisco from Emeryville or I would have travelled to one of those rather than schlepping my luggage 1/2 mile from the Oakland station to BART.  Live and learn, I’ve done those treks before and will again.

The Trip Back

The return train was scheduled for 9:45 pm, allowing me to sleep in, have breakfast with Dan, pack, check my bags at the hotel, and spend the afternoon cruising and shopping in the Castro.  Fruitless cruising, alas!  Bored, I headed back to the hotel early, had dinner and coffee, and then caught a cab to Civic Center BART and made my way back to the Amtrak station, getting there an hour early.

The train was late.  They projected arrival at 10:30 when I got there at 8:45, when then showed on the reader board as 11:07, but later peeled back to 10:50.  At 10:50, it got removed from the board, with no train.  We all headed out to the platform and it took another half hour to arrive.  Ugh.

This time, I had a double seat to myself.  Seattle passengers were all put in the last car.  With two seats to bed down in, sleep was much better (although I’m sure looking forward to my bed tonight and the chiropractor tomorrow!).  The train seemed to be wobbling a lot more going north, but that may be more pronounced away from the stabler middle of the train.

The last car also seemed to be much louder, squeaks and grinding noises.  I had noticed that the trip down was way quieter than plane travel, but coming back wasn’t as nice in that arena (although still pretty good overall).

Dawn came around Dunsmuir, south of the Oregon border, but I dozed for another hour or so until they announced seatings for breakfast in the dining car.  For breakfast, I again went to the dining car and ordered the Continental Breakfast: $8 for oatmeal, croissant, half a grapefruit, three big strawberries, half an orange, yogurt, orange juice, and two cups of coffee.  Total score on value for the dollar there!  I at breakfast with Will and his two young sons who were visiting from England (based on their accent), taking the train up to Canada as part of their big trip.

Although I’m still writing blog posts and reading and watching TV shows — Falling Skies, Awake, Grimm, Young Justice, and Planet Earth — I’m paying more attention to the scenery going north.  Beautiful weather, nice and calm, and a hint into what I’ll see when I ride the scooter to target="_blank">Folsom Street Fair in September.  Except for the twinges in my back — some from sleeping on the train, some from just forced posture during the contest weekend — just about exactly the sort of thing I was wanting.

Unknown how much time they made up over night.  Schedule says we are supposed to be in Eugene at 12:44 and it’s 12:39 as I wrote this, well south of there, so we were obviously still behind, I’m thinking by about 90 minutes, maybe two hours (ended up being one hour late).  Assuming the timing is viable, I will take the bus home from the station.

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Updated on August 3, 2012:

Touch-up edits and added links, pic, and video.

Camp Columbia (Richland, WA) • July 6–8

My friends Jan and Walt have a small compound (house, enclosed yard, bunkhouse) in Richland which they open up for fisting parties (dubbed “Camp Columbia”) a couple weekends each summer, inviting guys in from Seattle, Moses Lake, Spokane, Moscow, and other places around the Pacific Northwest (especially the Eastern Washington side).

This was my second trip over there, both times on the scooter.  As usual on these ride, I wore my title vest much like bike club colors.  It is about a 3.5 hour ride (about 200 miles), 4 hours with a food break in Ellensburg.  I cut out of work as early as I could, fed the cat and grabbed my bag, and was off.  Most of the trip was in daylight, dusk coming on just around Vantage (30 minutes past Ellensburg).  South of Vantage, at Mattawa on the Columbia River and just at twilight, about 14 million bugs decided to suicide on the front of the bike, and all over my helmet and my front (shirt, gloves, and title vest).  I had to stop at the next rest area to wash off the helmet face shield enough to see well.  If Ruin had an “ick” reaction to a bit of Crisco on my vest a few months ago, I can only imagine her reaction to a splatter of bug bits!

Since the last time I was at their place, Jan and Walt acquired the house next door, doubling the size of the compound and giving more sleeping space for guests (and a small shed for an extra, private sling space).  They are talking about how they could turn it into an actual clothing-optional resort, a là Palm Springs.  I think that would be very cool.  (Or hot, since it is summer!)

Cliff and Ken and Paul had also ridden over from Western Washington, which was a surprise since Cliff had said he wasn’t coming a couple days before; I think the temptation of a good motorcycle ride helped.  I played a couple times on Friday night before bed.  The next day, several of the guys from Eastern Washington headed home.  Since July 4th was mid-week this year, Camp Columbia actually spanned both weekends, and they had been there since at least the holiday.  This (and the split week in general) reduced the number of people, but I still got to play a few times, including with hottie Nick in the afternoon.

I had a difficult time bottoming this weekend, needing far more effort to take hands than usual.  It’s not the temperature (since I dealt with that in Palm Springs in June), so it was either just the long ride making my ass weary, or so much play in San Francisco the weekend before setting things off.  I had some difficulty earlier in the week, too, so I actually lean toward the latter, and I’ve had the problem once before, where for whatever reason, it’s like a switch was toggled in my ass, resetting my ability to relax properly back to where I was 3 or 4 years ago.  As with that time, my brain knew what to do but my body was rejecting it.  And as with the previous instance, I simply kept at it and things smoothed back to my regular state by the next weekend.  (I should remember to ask other fisting friends if they have encountered this effect.)

Sunday morning, with temperatures that day expected to crest 100, Cliff and Paul headed out about 9:30 on the route to Vantage I had come down on, and I took the alternate Yakima route around 10:00, and we met up for lunch in Ellensburg.  They then headed to Leavenworth and Stevens Pass (better end point for where they each live, north of Seattle), while I took Snoqualmie Pass.  I had a fine ride back, but they got caught in traffic down the pass (probably worse because of the semi-holiday weekend) and it took an extra 90 minutes or so.

View Larger Map

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Updated on August 1, 2012:

Touch-up edits and added links and map.

Northern Exposure 3.0 (Anchorage) • June 14–18

GUSH!

I guess I need to say more that that, huh?  Okay: I had a great time at Northern Exposure, exceeding my expectations!

Northwest region for International LeatherSIR has a huge territory to cover — Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, and Alaska — and much of it very sparsely populated.  There isn’t much that you could call a gay leather scene out of the Seattle-to-Portland corridor (no leather bars in Missoula, Montana, sorry to say), so it is difficult to really cover the region as a leather titleholder.  There are a couple small fisting weekends in Eastern Washington, though.  And a pansexual leather conference in Alaska.

I knew vaguely of Northern Exposure in Anchorage because of arrangements made for last year’s Northwest Community Bootblack Dylan to travel up to the event.  So when the call for presenters went out, I sent in five proposals: Play Party Etiquette, How to Throw a Play Party, Online Cruising, Engaging a Club and Its Board, and Fisting.  (Yes, all over the map.  Not knowing just what they were looking for — more sex or more organizational — I wanted to provide a variety of options for them to choose from.

It took a long, long time to get things settled.  I had communication that they wanted me to come, but it wasn’t until after all the other presenters’ bios and classes were posted online that we got my stuff settled.  (As the head organizer, Sarha’s time was stolen for the first part of the year getting ready to compete at IMsL.)  I don’t know if this was my lack of experience in being a traveling presenter (this was only my second such; I previously did a rubber workshop for KCLU (now defunct) in Kansas City) or added uncertainly on how to handle a gay presenter at a pan event, but it was frustrating.  Eventually all got dealt with, of course, and I had enough miles on Alaska Airlines to cover the ticket (which would be pretty expensive otherwise, even from Seattle).

Thursday

I flew in on Thursday, getting in about noon.  About the time I got to the Seattle airport, it occurred to me that this was one of the few trips I have taken in recent years to somewhere new, somewhere I haven’t been as an adult.  The last trip like that would have been to Madison in October 2010, and before that were overseas trips to New Zealand, Amsterdam/Copenhagen/Berlin, and Ireland.  Alaska is one of only a handful of states I had never visited before (with Hawai’i, Alabama, West Virginia, Delaware, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine), and there aren’t many metro areas in North America I haven’t been to at least once.

I met one of the other presenters at the airport — Dr. Clockwork, who sells violet wands.  While someone from Northern Exposure was supposed to meet us, no one was there.  I had rented a car, so I went off to get it and left my contact info with Doc in case he felt stranded.  I headed to downtown, but stopped off at Alaska Leather (a motorcycle leathers shop) and ate at Angeline’s Philippine Cuisine.

In town, I scoped out where the gay bars are — Mad Myrna’s, The Raven, and Kodiak — and then headed for the downtown tourist area.  That part of town is loaded with tourist shops, each of them having 80% the same stuff as all the others, of course.  I bought the requisite Alaska t-shirt (with a moose on it), a pair of bed shorts (red with mooses on them), and a necklace with a bear paw (not a moose!) carved on some Alaska mineral that looks like hematite.

I then headed out to the west end of town, to Earthquake Park.  Alaska suffered a major earthquake in 1964 which destroyed a couple major ports and severely damaged the Alaskan economy — and launched a tsumani which was seen in San Francisco and actually caused major damage in Crescent City, Oregon.  Earthquake Park overlooks part of the landscape which collapsed, dropping a bluff a couple hundred feet.

At The Raven, there was a “potlatch” — a small potluck in this case — and the welcome meet and greet for the weekend, with the introduction of most of the presenters.  The amount of food wasn’t quite enough for me, so I went next door to a hamburger place.  Later on, I was definitely fading, so I got directions to where the presenters were being housed, some cabins on Beech Lake, about 30 minutes north of Anchorage, and I head out there ahead of people.

When I got there and got into the first cabin, I was dismayed: bare except for a couple cots and an unlit wood stove.  Fortunately, I found the main cabin, which had futons, heat, a bathroom, and a kitchen.  I found a couple blankets and snuggled under them, working on blog posts, and was just about to doze off when others arrived, including some of the Northern Exposure crew with bedding.  Suddenly things were much more tolerable!  about half of use stayed in the main cabin, and others got fires started and stayed in the smaller ones.

Friday

On Friday, I took a couple of the workshops, including Dr.  Clockwork’s on “Violet Wands: Basics & Beyond” and Big Bad Jim’s on “How to Beat the Crap Out of Someone”.  The latter of these gave me a few ideas to use during flogging and bondage scenes regarding hitting someone with body parts other than hands and feet.

I also did my first workshop, on “Play Parties: How to Go and How to Throw”.  I first did a version of this a year and a half ago for Tribal Instinct in Seattle, toning it up a little for this.  The first half of it is influenced by the book to teenagers called Prom and Party Etiquette, by Cindy Post Senning (daughter of Emily Post), twisting its content to kink party ends: what should you do and not do at a play party, should you bring a date, should you bring a (hostess) gift, can you see the guest list, etc.  The second half is about putting together your own play party — why you should do one, what you can manage, what you need to provide, who to invite, how to manage an invite list, how to deal with problems.

I didn’t stick around for the play party that night, going out to Mad Myrna’s instead.  I got to the bar to order and heard “Jim Drew, what are you doing here?!”  The bartender was former Seattle Empress Miss MeMe (albeit in boy mode for work).  Never assume you can go anywhere incognito.  I also met up with a guy I had been chatting with on Scruff.  After a couple drinks at Mad Myrna’s, we went to the Raven and made out a while there.  Unfortunately, neither of us had somewhere we could go to fuck (etc.), so we had to leave it at that.

Saturday

On Saturday, I took three workshops.  One was Snook’s “Bill of Rights for Bottoms”, which was a work-in-progress workshop, as much group discussion about the concepts as anything.  Second was Rule of Three’s “Depersonalization and Dehumanization”, which discussed things such as bondage and masking to focus on only part of a bottom (like tits or cock), and also about using a bottom as an object, such as a table or an ashtray.  Third was slave Elizabeth (and Master Todd)’s “Slave’s Guide to Screwing Up with Grace”, which was mostly about how their relationship works, including managing/balancing the BDSM side of things with professional life and children.  Slave Elizabeth also gave a great phrase to take with me, regarding when people treat their relationship protocol as the one everyone should follow: “Your protocol is your protocol.  Your protocol is your gift.”  (My addition: “Please keep it.  Regifting is tacky.”)

I did my second presentation (we were each scheduled for three, one per day), “Cruising Online: Getting Some Ass without Being One”.  This was heavily centered around gay male online cruising, but with looks into things like FetLife and OK Cupid, including the OK Cupid Enemies Tumblr blog, which showed that het cruising can be just as full as asses as gay cruising is (as witnessed by Douchebags of Grindr).  The workshop went through details of what goes into a good online profile, including photos, title, text, and keeping things fresh.  There was also some good discussion about concerns for het women (stalking, etc.) and people in smaller communities (where the description alone in a profile can be enough to identify someone, even without pictures).  But probably the best part of the session was walking through bad examples I had found online — no pics, no profile text, iPhones implanted in faces, and so on.  (You could probably do an entire hour giggle session just with bad profiles!)

I slept in the car instead of taking the last workshop session, very tired.  It was warm and humid, though, so I only dozed.

Rather than head out to the gay bars early tonight, I stayed for the evening play party and engaged in four flogging scenes.  Two of them were with women — Marie and Monique — both of whom were newer to things (I think it was Marie’s first flogging and Monique’s second one).  I also played with one of the few other gay men at the event, former Mr. Alaska Leather (and former Seattle resident, so we already knew each other a bit) Kurt Hillyer.  WIth Kurt, both because he is experienced with flogging and because we didn’t have either gender or orientation issues to get in the middle of things, I was able to work him over harder, and we did the scene in the round, without bracing, just him standing upright in the middle of the space as I worked him up one side and down the next.  The fourth scene was the standout for me, though, as Monique had set me up with a straight (presumably) bear of a guy named Will who wanted to really be laid into.  As with Kurt, I was really able to open up on Will, not just with the flogger but with a paddle and with my hands, including fist beating on his back and even spitting on his heated skin.

I eventually had to stop playing — had to cut short the fourth scene, with Monique — because of my wrist (which has been bothering me since March), before it started hurting too bad.  Monique gave me a great gray bandana with “ALASKA” and bear and moose printed on it, and I traded her my fairly standard gray bandana in return.

I went out to Mad Myrna’s again for a beer and met up with a Facebook friend David, who knows people I do in the Seattle Imperial Court.

Sunday

On Sunday, everyone at the cabins got a late start, waking up just a little bit before the car to take those of us who didn’t have our own in to Anchorage.  Since my workshop wasn’t until the afternoon, I hung out rather than rushing.

I made the second workshop, Snook’s on “Piercing for Bondage & Control”.  She used hooks in her girl’s chest and thighs and strung them under the table.  She used some needles in the arm with a ribbon lacing, and then used needles through the fingertips and toe tips… and then made the girl remove the needle piercings while tied down.  While it was a fascinating workshop, it also confirmed for me that needles aren’t something I want to pursue, either as top or bottom; the blood and pain issues don’t bother me, but there’s just nothing in it that flips a switch for me and makes me want to try it.  Which is fine: Not My Kink.

My third workshop was after lunch, titled “60 Minutes of Buttsex”.  Actually, the workshops were 90 minutes, so I edited that to “60 Minutes of Buttsex + 30 Minutes of Fisting”.  This was a formalization of the “100 Miles of Buttsex” car workshop I did with Ruin, Ryan, and Jean in March.  While my other two workshops had small attendance, maybe a half-dozen people each, I probably had 20 people here, which kind of surprised me.  I shouldn’t have been: anal sex has some taboos attached (making it that much more attractive) and is something a lot of pan folks have tried to a limited degree (and maybe not with great success), but generally not nearly as much as a gay guy has — we specialize in it, after all.  There were bits of great discussion during the workshop, especially from Cat, a lesbian from the Bay Area, who was able to help fill in some of the holes (intentional pun) I had regarding female bits.

After that, I sat in on Lady Pact’s “Erotic Wax Play” session, but I was so tired, I kept dozing off.  Eventually FoxFinder (Sarha’s husband/dom) nudged me and had me go lie down in the presenters’ room, where I dozed and got a little sleep.

When we arrived that morning, FoxFinder had told myself and Master Todd that we wouldn’t be staying at the cabins that evening, that we would need to go back out and retrieve our stuff, that other housing would be done that evening.  Due to my workshop right after lunch, we opted to go out between the workshops and dinner, when there was a long enough break.  When we (and slave Elizabeth) got out there, Otter (who was kind of our cabin Den Mom) was dealing with the people who were renting the cabins next.  Apparently not only were we not staying that night, we were supposed to be fully out before they got there at 5:00.  Oops.  We hastily cleared things out, trying to keep further friction at a minimum.

(The incoming people run a weekly camp for “special needs” kids.  Obviously, one thing that really helps “special needs” kids is consistency, the ability to do the same things the same way every time.  Perhaps less obviously, one thing that really helps people who work with “special needs” kids is also consistency.  The woman was pissy less because our stuff was still there than because it was disrupting her consistency and thus her ability to provide such to the kids.  I sympathize, but she came across as though some of the “special needs” had rubbed off onto her.)

Returning into Anchorage, we had a lengthy discussion about relationship protocols, how things differ between gay and straight kink worlds, leather contests, and in particular about hats and covers.  Finding that we were on the same page about the subject, they asked me to do a Covering Ceremony for Master Todd, which I was surprised yet honored to oblige for.  (I won’t go into details — it was just the three of us and the Alaska countryside, short, and less formal than ceremonies you will find written out [such as in John Weal’s controversial book], but the value in such is what those involved take away from it.)

Dinner was a multi-course affair back at the event site, everything home made, including bread, cream of mushroom soup, salad, salmon, bear meatloaf, and dessert.  In between the courses, the Last Frontier Drag Kings performed.  (And Sarha fluttered around, changing outfits every few minutes.)  They also brought each of the presenters on stage for a special thanks, and for me, that included an on-stage pinning by Kurt with a The Last Frontier Men’s Club (the local leather/bear club) pin — down on his knees, fishing in my fly to find the right place for the pin — and a few seconds that I spent licking all over FoxFinder’s fist (that’s what happens when you ask me to explain International Mr. Saliva, what can I say?).

Most of the presenters who had been at the cabin went out to the FoxDen near Wasilla for the night.  I decided I wanted to stay in town and hit the bars again, maybe get myself some man-on-man action.  (And ensure having a room, bed, and bathroom to myself.)  Online hotel sites had godawful expensive rates, but remembering the name of a motel near the bars, I got a decent enough rate to stay in the city.  The bars were pretty dead, but I did connect with a guy online for some suitable play.

Monday

On Monday, I packed out of the motel and headed to Gwennie’s Old Alaska Restaurant for the Survivor’s Brunch.  The info I had was off by an hour, though, so the rest of the crew wasn’t there.  I was about to leave to kill time at Starbucks when Kurt arrived, also way early, so we went off and had coffee together.

When we got back, a few of the crew and presenters were there, and more trickled in over the next 30 minutes or so.  Food portions were huge, and I couldn’t finish mine.  As things would down, I handed out zip ties (zipper pulls on leather things, akin to a bolo tie) to several of the people there whom I had a really great time with over the weekend. 

(These zip ties are something I remember from my early days in the San Francisco leather community — you sometimes still see versions of them now without a zipper pull, with one of the cords in a fancy knot around the other — and I re-created them for my booth the last time I vended at IML.  They are a great subtle way of showing your leather to others as well as keeping a little with you even when not wearing hides.  And they can also serve as a handy collar, cuffs, or tie for CBT or other needs; I have even used one as temporary back lacing in a pair of chaps!)

FoxFinder pulled me aside at one point for a special thanks and palmed me a genuine bear claw.  Very cool.

After the brunch — including some picture taking with the Edmonton Away Team on the reindeer sculptures out front — I drove down the Seward Highway along the Turnagain Arm to Girdwood (about an hour south of Anchorage).  I took some photos and videos of the incredible scenery, had a fireweed & honey ice cream cone, and headed back to the airport for my return flight to Seattle.

Aftermath

GUSH!  (Oh, I said that already.)

I had a lot more fun at Northern Exposure than I expected to.  The largest part of that, of course, was being the sole gay presenter at an otherwise (kinky) straight event.  You never know how you will be received — embraced, accepted as just another presenter, or kind of danced around.  It was pretty much the second of those for me, which is really what you want: treat my like a person first, then deal with the gay angle only if you need to.

Despite some of the communication issues I had going into the event, it really ran exceptionally well.  (I have always believed that most events will: set things up to succeed, start the boulder rolling, and it will make it to the bottom of the hill, in part because others want it to succeed and will help.)  While I’m sure there were adventures and small panics behind the scenes — certainly with the music for one of the Drag Kings on Sunday — the only thing of significance that I noted which needs to be improved was having a large printout of the schedule.  They only had a small printout taped to a white board at first, and then we started writing in big letters what the next workshops were, but a 24x36 or so pre-printed one would be a good thing to have for next year.

I loved loved loved getting to know Master Todd and slave Elizabeth, getting great insight into a model for how a master/slave relationship can actually work, especially with Elizabeth being more of an equal partner in the relationship in many areas than the fantasy nature of such relationships would have you believe (and that much more real as a result).  I wish them the best if they choose to run for one of the regional M/s titles, as they said they may.

Almost my entire life has been on the West Coast, in view of mountains — real mountains, with craggy tops and snow, not the big rolling hills they call mountains back East (grin).  You learn to tell your location and directions by where they are, and to navigate by them.  From where I am sitting now, I can see the Cascades, four distances away (nearby Seattle, Mercer Island in Lake Washington, the Issaquah highlands beyond that, and then the mountains).  They are real, but they are a ways away — 60 to 90 minutes drive.  In Alaska, though, the mountains are IN YOUR FACE!  They are only two distances away, almost close enough to touch, looking 15 minutes drive away, maybe.  It was really amazing.

There’s an old joke that the Alaska state bird is the mosquito, and they were certainly out a Earthquake Park and at Beech Lake where the cabins were.  For whatever reason, though, I only came away with one scratchy bite.  I sure brushed enough of them away.

Northern Exposure was just days before summer solstice.  Alaska is the “Land of the Midnight Sun”, and while I knew what this meant academically, you just aren’t prepared for it until you experience it.  On Friday night, I got back to the cabin at 2:30 am, and it looked like the sun had just set.  (Fortunately, I didn’t have trouble sleeping with the odd light levels.)

I did not get to see the Northern Lights.  I don’t know if they are even visible from Anchorage at that time of year, but that’s something to look for on a future trip.  There was a cool art installation at the Anchorage airport emulating the Northern Lights on the ceiling of one of the corridors, though.  That rivaled “Flying Fish” (the stream of fish embedded in the floor of Concourse C at SeaTac airport) and “Desert Wildlife” (the half-sunk desert animals at the Las Vegas airport) for cool airport art.

I got several compliments on my speaking style and presentation for my workshops.  The biggest part of that, I’m sure, is that I’ve taught dance workshops for a decade.  But I think a chunk of the credit has to go to my father, who was a Methodist minister.  Even though I didn’t like having to sit through sermons (and often read a book in the back pew instead of paying attention), a lot of how he did what he did must have rubbed off.

I also got kudos from people for doing my presentations from a gay viewpoint.  While I did go through them and make sure that pronouns and focus weren’t completely male oriented, I didn’t try to “straighten” things up any more than I had to, presenting things as “This is the way I do it or I think it should go” and trusting that those attending the workshops were adults, able to adapt what I was presenting into their own reference frame.  (This was especially true with the Buttsex & Fisting workshop, where a couple times I had to come back around to the fact that I don’t know the details of female anatomy, so I could only generalize about things like vaginal fisting.)

At one point during the weekend, I thought “Wow, this sort of event would be great aimed just at gay guys — workshops on all sort of subjects and play parties at night.”  A few minutes later, I thought “That would never work.”  What I meant by that is that on multiple levels, gay leathermen wouldn’t be interested.  First, there’s simply the matter of number of attendees — take a leather bar with 100 guys in it, and frankly only 20% (if that) are actually players of a sufficient level to be interested in the concept, and only half of those might attend any way; the rest of your leather bar patrons are interested in leather as a fashion accessory or leathersex as a condiment rather than the main dish (and that’s fine!).  Second, gay leathermen like to think we already know everything, or at least that we can figure out whatever we need to know — we don’t want a 90-minute workshop on wax play, covering beginning steps, safety, more advanced topics, and some demo; we want 5 minutes of basics, 5 minutes of safety, 5 minutes of next stages, and then 75 minutes of hands-on demo/guided play, with the belief that we can figure out what things to try or avoid.  (We’re rebels, you know!)  Third, half of the workshops (some of mine included) were less about play and more about making relationships work and managing your leather lifestyle and such; gay leathermen again generally are not interested in that stuff (at least on the surface, and there are exceptions) — we want the sex, damn it!

If they invite me back again next year, will I go?  I would sure like to — do more exploring of the geography, and I have several other workshops I could do which would go over better for that crowd, now that I know them better.  But I would also heartily recommend that other gay leathermen (and women) apply to be presenters — to get the experience of both the weekend and of Alaska, and to bring their own spin on things to the event — and if it were a choice between me and someone else with good stuff to present, I would definitely tell Northern Exposure to go for the other gay leather presenter, to “expose” themselves further!

See pics from the trip.

Pics from Anchorage (June 14–18)

Here are pics from my Anchorage trip.

The Kenai Peninsula, seen across Turnagain Arm, 30 minutes drive from Anchorage

Alameda County Leather Contest • June 28–July 2

Back in the late 1990s, when I lived in San Mateo, CA, I started reaching out to have more than the haphazard leather community I had as a commuter into San Francisco (30 minutes each way).  There was no leather community in San Mateo county, so I ventured across the Bay to Hayward, where the Alameda County Leather Corps was based.

When I saw the call for contestants for this year’s ACLC contest earlier this year, I sent them an e-mail and offered to come down to be a judge for the contest.  My membership class included Andrew “Bootdog” Johnson (International Mr. Bootblack 2008) and Joan Norry (American Leatherwoman 2008), so there’s certainly something to be said for ACLC in the late 90s; I’m hoping to make it the latest big title for the class and the club.

As with IMsL in March/April, I flew down on Thursday and stayed until Monday, to work from the San Francisco office (and get reimbursement for some of the costs for the weekend).  With the contest in the East Bay (Hayward for the Meet & Greet, Oakland for the contest), I looked to stay in Oakland and checked out places close to both BART and walking distance to the contest site, ending up at the Washington Inn, right across from the Oakland Convention Center at about $90 pert night (including tax); easily $30 or more cheaper than staying in San Francisco would have been.

Meet & Greet

I took BART to Hayward and walked the few blocks to the World Famous Turf Club.  The Turf Club has changed locations in the past decade and Hayward has grown up so much in that part of town that I recognized nothing.  The Meet & Greet included dinner (salad, steak, potato, strawberry pie).  After introductions of the contestants (Christy Ford and Jay Williams) and the judges (myself, American Leatherwoman 2011 Trinity, Ms. World Leather 2001 Annie Romano, Ms. San Francisco Leather 2012 Miss Bethie Bee, and the first Mr. Alameda County Leather 1992(?) Mark McKee) and staff (tallymaster Mark Ingham, judges boy American Leatherboy 2011 Tyler Fong), we went upstairs for the judging.

Keeping with the sexplay focus of the LeatherSIR title, and having recently been the gay presenter at a pansexual leather conference, my first question was what they would teach at such a conference.  This was intended to make them think mostly about what they feel they are knowledgeable enough to teach, plus to put in play that potential unknown factor of teaching to a kinky straight audience.  The second question was what BDSM activities they did that would be “scary” enough to do at a perceived high-end queer play party, given that some people are reluctant to attend such because they don’t feel “scary” enough.

Contest

Saturday night, the walk to the contest venue (Humanist Hall) turned out to be longer than I expected, so I had to catch a taxi to be there in time… to hang around and wait.  After about an hour, the judges and some of the staff headed out to dinner at an Italian restaurant called Milano.  Once back at the venue, the contest flowed pretty well, although with only two contestants, there was an added break needed for a costume change.

There was also a decent sized silent auction.  San Francisco Leather Daddy 2009 Gauge Strongarm and I kept outbidding each other on a motorcycle jacket and riding gloves.  We eventually talked during a break and realized that he was more after the jacket and I was more after the gloves, so we made a deal to stop outbidding each other and split the win ($50 for the jacket, $30 for the gloves — Harley Davidson riding gloves with zip-off cuffs (can’t find an image online) for varying times of year).

The contest proceeded just fine.  The standout piece was Jay WIlliams’ fantasy, where a puppy with a cigar in his mouth led onto the stage trailing chains, followed by Jay in a major genderfuck leather outfit that looked like it was snatched from (leather Empress) Snatch’s closet: corset, long leather skirt open at the front, high heels (putting him at like 7'2"), and a high collar piece.  He lit the pup’s cigar, then took it for himself.  Very hot, and borderline disturbing.

Weekend Play

Fuck yes, I got some.

Friday afternoon, I played with a 24 year-old Australian surfer boy with small hands and a nice sized cock, which both fit quite nicely at the same time.  (A first for him.)

Friday night was a bust in two directions.  Foremost was the guy Alan I connected with off AssPig.  He talked a good story but when we got back to his place, he was incredibly scattered and unable to focus on actually getting down to play, so I eventually had him take me back to my hotel.  In the process, I had to turn down Bob, who has wanted to play with me for a while, and that offended him a bit.

Bob,

I’m sorry we didn’t get to play, but don’t go calling me a flake for standing you up.  An exchange of a few messages on Bear411 two months before the trip (and none since, and no other direct contact info for in between) where we say that yes, playing during the weekend would be a good thing does not constitute a date.  If we had set a specific night of the weekend, maybe — I was there for four nights, even if you were only available for one — but we didn’t set things that well.  Sorry, but I was neither an ass nor a flake.

Saturday afternoon, I ventured into San Francisco to play with Philippe, a furry bear from Paris.  We only had about 90 minutes to play before I had to head back to Oakland and him to the airport, but that bear had a hungry hole, eating up hands and cock.

After the contest, I had hoped to get into the City for the FistCity party, but by the time I walked back to the hotel and got ready, it was 11 pm.  Fortunately, I had a backup option: Sergio and José, whom I had played with back in March.  This time, I brought my own lube, remembering their penchant for using water-based hot lube(!).  I still didn’t take Sergio’s fucking huge hand, but José set a new depth record and made it past the second sphincter!  I slept at their place until about 7 am, when I could catch MUNI and BART back to Oakland, where I caught another 3 hours sleep and then had a mediocre dim sum buffet brunch.

Saturday afternoon, I went over to the home of Brad (whom I had played with at FistFest) and Gary (whom I had played with in April), to play with them and a fourth guy whose name I don’t recall now.  Brad and I started off with some hood play and mild CBT, and then into fisting.  After a while, we switched and Gary and I fucked and fisted.

Played out, I made it back to the hotel and collapsed into bed.  Worked the next day from the San Francisco office and made it home (with no plane delay this time)!

Pics from Palm Springs (June 7–10)

Here are pics from my Palm Springs trip.   I’m trying to get better at taking and posting pics.

The base station for the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway

And a video of the tram ride:

FistFest (Palm Springs, CA) • June 7–10

There are two major weekend-long non-leather kink events taking place in Palm Springs each year: Wet ’n Hot and FistFest.

Wet ’n Hot is primarily for watersports (piss) play.  I got into watersports play in the late 1990s, and went to the second or third Wet ’n Hot event in 2000, when it was primarily occurring at Cathedral City Boys Club.  My interest in the event waned over time as attendance dropped and non-watersports “pig play” became much more prominent at it.  (I also found it increasingly difficult to incorporate watersports play into play scenes, especially after the Puget Sound Pissers Society [PSPS] folded.  In large part, this is because while everyone has to piss at some point, it’s only at a group party where there’s always someone who has to piss now.  You can rarely make piss play the centerpoint of an extended play session with one other person, needing to make it a small portion of a larger scene instead.)  A couple years ago, I revisited Wet ’n Hot and found that attendance and energy and piss content had picked up, but my own interests had shifted more to fisting.  So after attending the 2011 event and spending more effort angling for fisting scenes than piss scenes, I decided to move on/over to FistFest.

I had heard of FistFest before, but I had some trepidation.  Was I good enough to fist with the “big dogs”?  Let’s see: I play an average of at least weekly, I both top and bottom, I’ve been to fisting play parties in several other cities, I host regular parties in Seattle with 20+ guys at each one, I’m making regular advancement in my skills in entry time and depth and width, I have been experimenting with lube formulas…  Fuck yes, I’m good enough!

Bill U. from Seattle (who has managed the local fisting parties in years gone by) invited me to room share with him, and advised me to come Thursday and leave Sunday (vs. my original plan, to arrive Friday and leave Monday).  He arranged to borrow an additional sling stand from a buddy in Palm Springs, so that we would have two available; I just needed to bring a sling and hanging stuff.

Thursday was marred slightly by heavy traffic going east.  (I flew into LAX.  It’s right now about $50 more to fly into Ontario [halfway to Palm Springs] than the Los Angeles airports, and about $70 more than that to fly direct to Palm Springs, so if you also have to rent a car in Palm Springs, $120 more vs. a couple hours driving and gas in each direction can be a hard sell.)  I was expecting to arrive about 4 pm, but it was closer to 5:30 when I finally got there.

Not that such stopped me from playing that night.  After a couple trips to the store for play supplies and some food — breakfast, especially — I prepped for play, and played four times that night.  (I remember Bill from Philadelphia and Ton from Palm Springs, but other names escape me.)

The title vest was on display in my room all weekend, hanging from the sling frame and visible from the window, and I was wearing it on Friday and Saturday nights.  I also met last year’s California Leatherboy, Mike, at the event, although we didn’t get a chance to play.

On Friday afternoon, Bill U. and I took off to take the Aerial Tramway up Mt. San Jacinto.  Cliff and I tried to do this in December, but found a 2+ hours wait and no cell signal at the base.  Now on the edge of summer, we got on the first tram after about 10 minutes wait.  Up top, we took some photos and Bill had some lunch, and then we walked down to the valley floor on the other side to hike around there for a short bit before catching the tram down.  I got some video of the tram ride down, which takes about 10 minutes with the tram rotating full around 2.5 times.  It’s actually a pretty cool ride, and the entire trip was worth the $23 or so that it cost.

(Back at the host resort, we missed a fisting workshop and a door prize raffle, and the chance at afternoon play.  Oh well, I’m sure I’ll get plenty of hand-to-ass exposure during the weekend!)

Friday night, more play (of course): Carl and Sparky (I’ve played with Carl before, at HellHole in San Francisco), Richard (who was told by Ton to keep an eye out for me; love those pig-to-pig recommendations!), and a couple others I am forgetting.

Saturday afternoon, I played for a couple hours with Brad.  Great guy and he made me actually shoot three or four times in the session; assgasms are one thing, but ejaculation is a bit rarer.  We could have kept playing a while longer, but he had dinner plans with buddies.  (We later realized why we each looked a little familiar to one another: I had played with his other half when I was in San Francisco in April.  We briefly met twice that afternoon, once in the playroom and once in the kitchen, but didn’t play that day.  He’s setting up a four-some for the three of us and another guy when I’m in San Francisco again the weekend before July 4th.)

I went out to catch the room lottery for next year (since there’s more demand than rooms at the host resort, they do a lottery, which is a bit fairer and rewards those who attend one year with a chance at a room the next), run by the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.  Ran into my past Palm Springs play buddy John, in Sister face; he seemed to think I knew he was a Sister, but I don’t recall it (doesn’t matter, though).  They also had a ticket raffle, with prizes ranging from lube and gift cards to a portable sling.  I bought $20 of tickets and really recouped my money with a Square Peg toy (the Worm) donated by Gear leather and fetish shop and a gift certificate for a stay in the Master Suite at the Canyon Club (made even better by the certificate being able to be used on weekends rather than just weekdays, as is often the case, although not on event weekends).  Hmm, need to wrangle another trip to Palm Springs in the next year, and not during an event or holiday…

Saturday night led off playing with Marty, whom I had met the night before but now found him on the resort lawn with two guys slobbering over his “larger than average manhood” (it was a good 9 inches… a very good 9 inches!).  After I had a go at swallowing his cock, we packed up from there back to the sling in my room where he fucked me a bit and then fisted me.  Yummy!  Following that, Brad and I tag-teamed Gwynn.  I then got to play with Ken, a leather buddy I’ve known and been hot after for 15 years or more, but never got the chance to play with until tonight.  I hope it won’t be another 15 years, because Ken set a new depth record for me!  The night closed with one last session with Gwynn.  Again, I think there’s another name in the mix that I’m forgetting.

I cruised around some later Sunday morning before I had to drive back to Los Angeles, this time to Burbank airport, but not much was going on.  No further fisting, anyway.  The trip back was on Delta, with a plane change in Salt Lake City.  And what do you know, but just like two weeks before with the trip to New Orleans, there was a plane issue and an added delay.  They almost cancelled the flight, but got us on another plane instead, and we fortunately made it back to Seattle in time for me to not have to cab it home this time.

When travelling, I try to not hit the same restaurant twice (Starbucks and other coffee shops excepted).  For a fisting party (or full weekend), I eat light.  Thursday night was tacos at El Pollo Loco, Friday night was a pulled pork sandwich at Big Mama’s Soul Food, and Saturday was a quesadilla and a taco at Santana’s.

Bill has a room reservation set for next year’s event, apparently on the third floor where there’s a balcony with room for several slings outside.  I’m looking forward to it already!

IAGLCWDC (New Orleans) • May 24–28

One of the downsides to being involved in more than just the leather community is that the other activities you are involved in all also have weekend-long events that you have to attend.

In this case, it was the annual convention of the International Association of Gay/Lesbian Country Western Dance Clubs.  Usually held over Memorial Day Weekend, this was the 19th annual convention, held in New Orleans.  It was also my 18th of these conventions; I missed the first, in Louisville in 1994, only because I didn’t know it was happening.  (Next year’s is the 20th annual, and we will be holding it in Seattle.  I’m one of the co-chairs.  We are already hip-deep in planning.)

People ask me if a trip like this is Business or Pleasure.  I answer “Professional Obligation”.  Over the years, my duties and activities at these events have grown to take up so much time that I hardly get any dancing in.  This year, I taught one line dance workshop,  had a 2-hour meeting of the Dance Competition Committee, took part of one dance workshop, served as club delegate for a 3-hour meeting, DJ’ed a couple hours of line dancing, practiced for dance competitions, competed in one couples dance and five line dances, DJ’ed a couple more hours of line dancing, and served as the primary spokesperson for advertising our hoedown convention for next year.  (I also spent abundant time in the weeks before the convention prepping banners and postcards and websites and registration forms for next year’s event, and competition music for this one, to have them ready in time.)

I didn’t even get into the main ballroom for dancing either night.  Oh, I could have, but I went out to the leather bars instead.  In this case, I’m fine with that limited dancing.  I have been dealing with a sprained wrist for over two months and an injured ankle for one month, to the point that my actual dancing needed to be curtailed if I was finally going to heal.  And of course, one of the things mentioned in my International contest application is liking to travel around the country and getting out to the local leather venues to see how different communities operate and what I can learn from them to bring back to my own.

(Writing this a few weeks later, my ankle is doing a lot better.  My wrist… well, it was improving until dealing with luggage on two trips and four flogging sessions at an event.  Sigh.)

This was not my first time in New Orleans, having been there for a weekend mini-hoedown back in May 2004.  That one was much freer for sightseeing, thankfully, since this time, I barely saw anything outside in the daylight.

Rawhide 2010

On Thursday, after about an hour of line dancing on Bourbon Street (literally on the street, in front of Napoleon’s Itch), I took my sweaty self a couple blocks over to Rawhide 2010.

Curiously for late on a Thursday, they were charging a door cover despite there not being any event going on.  Rawhide 2010 has a darkened area around its putative pool table which serves as a pseudo-backroom, where a very blind eye is turned to furtive cocksucking.  My best guess is that the cover to ensure income from guys who really only want to come for the dark area.  Since Rawhide 2010 is only a couple blocks from Bourbon Street, they may get a lot of slosh over from that of guys who, if allowed, would just slip in to get their rocks off, nothing more.  (I recall that the gay bars in Amsterdam had a one-drink-minimum policy, for exactly that reason.)

Phoenix/New Orleans Eagle

On Friday, I walked to the Phoenix, all the way into the Garden District (our hotel was on Canal Street at the foot of Bourbon Street), about a 30 minute walk.  I got myself one street over from Bourbon so I could actually make good time without dodging drunk crowds.

When I was in New Orleans a few years ago, the Phoenix was a block or so from Cowpokes, the country bar.  My memory (which may be faulty) is that Cowpokes went under due to damage from Hurricane Katrina and the Phoenix was also damaged.  Apparently it rose from the ashes.  (Come on, you knew a line like that was coming, with a bar with this name!)

No cover at the Phoenix.  It’s not near enough to Bourbon Street to deal with slosh over from there, so it’s a destination rather than a crawl stop.  But like Rawhide 2010, it does have a backroom area, in this case the “New Orleans Eagle”, the second, extremely dimly lit bar upstairs.  (I assume it’s just a different name for the second space, not a separate business in the same space.)

At the Phoenix, I joined a conversation between D., an older leatherman than me (and if he is really 60 as he claimed, he’s got a damn fine body for his age!), and T., a young newbie.  The conversation started because T. was wearing a harness under his t-shirt, too shy to take the shirt off.

Mostly, I let D. talk, so I could see where he was coming from, what his leather past had been and how it differed from mine (my leather upbringing having been West Coast based).  I was also keeping an eye on T., to be sure I could provide a counterpoint to anything that D. said which I didn’t agree with.  (The most interesting quirky thing from D. was talking about a hierarchy of leather roles, listing Master and then higher on the pecking order than that, a “Dungeon Master”.  New one on me.  Regional, maybe regional from an era before me?  Hard to say.)

Vibes from D. were that he was putting the make on T., but with D.’s boy running around (upstairs to the backroom) and D. saying the guy had never been fucked “covered” (ie, bareback only), I wanted to make sure T. was aware of what might be going on.  Indeed, there was an open-ended invite for T. to come over, and for me to fist D. and fuck his boy on Saturday, which I declined due to the barebacking.

Eventually, D. and his boy wandered off or left, and T. and I talked a while longer, made out a bit, and he ended up giving me a ride back to my hotel.

Phoenix Redux

Saturday night, I headed back to the Phoenix again (this time by cab).  No D. this time, but T. was there again, and this time he quite willingly took his shirt off.  (Progress!)

We got to talk about a variety of leather-related subjects that night, and eventually headed upstairs to the Eagle, where we also go into a nice cocksucking session, and a touch of spanking (a first for him).  (And he did a very good job, especially given the 2 gauge PA.)

Later, he again gave me a ride back to the hotel.  I made sure that he had my contact info and the open invite to call or email anytime he needs to, especially if he needs a long-distance sounding board or mentoring.

T. strikes as a newbie leatherboy with a lot of good potential.  Good head on his shoulders, good instincts, just needs some experience to round him out and set him on the road to finding himself a good place in the New Orleans leather community.  (I should dig up a bit of contact info for him, for some guys who can maybe help be local mentors.)

Returning Home

Alas, New Orleans this year was horrifically expensive to get to.  Not being a hub city makes it bad enough, but this year was exceptionally bad, as bad as getting to the Montréal convention in 2003 was.  I even looked into flying into Shreveport or Baton Rouge and driving (like I did a couple years ago for a hoedown in Austin, going into Dallas instead), but I realized that even without considering my time for driving, car+gas+parking would mean I would need to save $200 or so on the airfare to make that viable (and savings with other airports weren’t even close to that much).  I did eventually get a flight for under $500 on Southwest, going through Phoenix with a plane-change and then Houston, and Nashville and Chicago (with a plane change) coming back.  And I only got that price because I flew back on Sunday, having to leave the hoedown right after the brunch and thus missing even more dancing opportunities.  Ugh.

I got a further reminder why I dislike flights with plane changes in the middle: we were late leaving Phoenix because of a plane issue, turning my 90 minute layover into 5 hours.  And we were late leaving Chicago coming back as well, turning that 1 hour into 2.5 hours.  I did get a $100 voucher in compensation for the Phoenix delay, at least.

This then also got me back to Seattle after the last light rail train, giving me three choices at 1:30 am: bus, Shuttle Express, or taxi.  (Or I could have slept in the airport floor until the train ran again at 5 am.  Not gonna happen.)  Bus would require two bus change, with 30 minutes or more between each one, and a 6 block walk at the end, getting me home around 4:30 am.  Shuttle Express ($37+tip) had about a half-dozen people waiting, so I asked how long I could expect to have to wait.  Well, they won’t go until they have at least a half-full van going to your part of town, and there was no one queued up for my zip code.  So 20 minutes, an hour, longer?  She couldn’t say, that depends on what dispatch gets in.  (Note that we were the last flight due in that night, so no one else would be getting in the Shuttle Express outbound queue for quite a while.)  Which tells me at least an hour, and could be God knows how long.

So I half-cussed at her and caught a cab about 30 feet away, and we were gone in under a minute.  At that time of night, I was going to pay whatever, just get me the fuck home.  We ended up taking a slightly longer but faster route (which probably cost me a couple dollars more), for $42+tip.  While that was hugely over the $2.50+walking the train would have cost, this was very useful info for the future: the difference between Shuttle Express and taxi to my house is roughly $5.  While I will still take light rail as my preference, I will never again in my life take Shuttle Express to/from my house.  $5 extra is soooo worth the convenience of “now”.

One of the advantages of getting home even at 2 am on a holiday weekend is that I had Monday free, and so I had set up a play date with Larry for Memorial Day afternoon.  Well rested by sleeping late, we fucked and fisted and pissed the entire afternoon away.  Delightful.

LURE (Portland) • April 28–29

I’ve increasingly been dreading this spring and summer, as I’ve looked ahead at my schedule for the year and seen almost every weekend booked.  In fact, from the end of March to early September, I will be attending/will have attended three leather contests, two rubber events, two country-western dance events, one bear event, five fisting parties, two Pride celebrations, two other leather weekends, and my international contest.  (And I’m not just attending these things: I’m judging one of those contests, presenting at one of the leather weekends, competing at one of the country-western dance weekends, host for three of the fisting parties, and on the organizing committee for four of the weekend events.)  Add in the weekend before the international contest for a contest walkthrough and my free Saturdays across 5-1/2 months become… April 28, May 12, and June 2.

So when Northwest Leatherboy Dan asked me to come down to Portland for the April LURE, I naturally said “Sure”.

(I’m writing this on May 27, which means I’m now down to one free Saturday until the end of summer.  Ugh.)

There…

While the ride up to Vancouver three weeks before had been a little too chilly, a few more weeks of spring made it a dandy ride down.  I left about 1 pm, rode I-5 all the way down, and got to the hotel (Courtyard by Marriott on Wasco; one of our former Northwest Leatherboy titleholders works there) which Dan had arranged in good time.  After a short nap, we went out to a nearby restaurant for dinner, came back and changed to go out to the Portland Eagle. LURE (Leather Uniform Rubber Etc.) is the Eagle’s 4th Friday leather event, typically hosted by the current Mr. Oregon State Leather (Tarsus, in this case).  They usually have themes attached, and this was the annual Battle of the Village People night, which included a Village People costume contest.  Andy Mangels started this Village People event during his title year, as I recall.

What to wear for the contest?  Hmm.  Ah, of course: Western attire as the cowboy — brown cowboy boots, brown chaps, brown vest, bandana around the neck, and brown cowboy hat.  The brown vest is actually my Mr. Northwest Cub vest from last year, which meant I didn’t wear my current title vest out to the event, although I did wear it as motorcycle colors on the trip down.

(Hmm, as I write this, International Mr. Leather has probably just finished.  Looks like Washington State Mr. Leather was in the top 20, and Oregon State Bootblack Nick won the International Mr. Bootblack competition.  You go, Nick!  I wasn’t at IML because the International Association of Gay/Lesbian Country Western Dance Clubs convention was in New Orleans this weekend.  More on that in a future post.) 

I ended up winning the costume contest, and the prize was a small original oil painting by Tarsus, of a harnessed leatherman.  A very nice prize, and just the right size to fit in the bike trunk. 

After the contest, I connected with a couple guys from Beaverton (a Portland suburb) for a play session, getting back to the hotel late.

And Back Again

Dan and I went out to breakfast at The Roxy Diner in the morning, before I left for home.  We had the chance to talk about ideas for the contest fantasy and demo, although I had bad info about the demo and have since had to start replanning it.  Sigh. 

On the trip north, I decided to take the (longer) scenic route: first out to the town of St. Helens and across the Columbia at Longview, and later leaving I-5 north of Centralia and going around the east side of Olympia, Joint Base Lewis/McChord, and Tacoma, coming up through Spanaway and up 167 to the south end of Seattle.  I ended up with absolutely killer gas mileage doing this — 58 or so going down, but over 74 mpg coming back!
Unfortunately, “killer” has its downside, I guess.  I was either too tired from the night before or spent too long on the bike in not quite warm enough weather, and when I got home, I had a major case of the chills.  I turned up the heat in the house and literally sat on the heater vent for 15 minutes. 

Of course I knew what this meant: my bronchitis was going to come back.  (Or “bronchitis”, anyway.  One doctor didn’t think it was actually that, but some other recurring bacterial lung infection.  Close enough.)  I used to get this one to four times a year since the early 1990s, usually when I got stupid: tired and overheated and dealt with weather too cool for what I was wearing — usually brought on in spring or fall by leaving the dance bar in a heavy sweat, or sleeping with the window open and having a temperature drop over night. 

Sure enough, in the next few days, I started to cough and hack up phlegm and all the stuff you don’t want to read about here.  After two rounds of my homemade antibiotics (onion-infused honey, nasty stuff but it works as well as a Z-Pak), it seems to have finally cleared in the last few days.  Wasn’t as hard of a cough as I’ve had before — only felt like being hit in the chest by a plastic baseball bat, not a wooden one — but a bummer because this was my first bout of it in maybe two years.  I was beginning to think maybe I had cleared it from my system.  Apparently not, although I’ll point to the scooter as likely reducing it in general by improving my posture and exposing me better to outdoor temperatures year round.

Northwest Sash Bash 2012 • March 2–4

The first weekend in March, Northwest Community Bootblack Ruin, Seattle Leather Daddy Ryan, and past Seattle Daddy’s Boy Jean drove down to Portland for Northwest Sash Bash.  This was the eighth year for the event, started in 2005 by Andy Mangels and Darklady during their year as Mr. and Ms. Oregon State Leather.  I have attended each year.

Northwest Sash Bash was created a a no-contest event weekend, aimed at getting leather titleholders from around the country to come to the Northwest and have a leather weekend where they have no duties, whether they can relax with their peers, and where they and the local community can actually interact.

For a few years, the event was traded back and forth between Portland and Seattle (to both share the wealth and to avoid burnout), but last year, Blackout Leather Productions took it back for the long term.

Before the Bash

Between being a current regional titleholder, having been to all the past Sash Bash weekends, and having been involved with organizing the event in years past, I did my best to wrangle the Seattle and Vancouver titleholders into coming.  Washington State Ms. Leather Miss Kat and Mr. West Coast Rubber Reid were out of town, Seattle Daddy’s Boy Damien had just returned from or was just about to leave on a trip, Seattle Grand Dad Jeff was unable to get away from work, and Northwest Leatherboy Danny had recently resigned from the title.  So it was Ruin, Ryan, myself, and Washington State Mr. Leather James able to attend, plus Oregon titleholders.  American Leatherwoman Trinity was listed as attending, but I did not meet her.

We had a lengthy back-and-forth in terms of room shares and hotel room, but that all got settled with Jean and Ruin being housed with Portland folks and Ryan and I sharing a hotel room near the airport.  I also rented a car to take Ruin, Ryan, and Jean down (James come down by himself), because my own is in need of cooling system repairs.

Friday: Herding Cats

Jean met me at light rail and we went down to the airport to pick up the car, then headed downtown where Ruin was meeting us after catching the bus.  I was also picking up the title sash from Gene to transport to our new Northwest Leatherboy, Dan.  Then we headed to the Cuff Complex and Doghouse Leathers , where I had to drop CDs off for Keith to use at Cuff Country that weekend and to pick up Ryan and Dan’s title vest.  And then, because you always forget something, we had to go back to my house (which was south, at least) to pick up stuff for the fantasy on Saturday night.

After that, it was simply a miserable slog until we were through Tacoma.  I had targeted picking Ryan up at 3 pm to be in Portland at 6 pm.  It was about 3:45 by the time we left my house, and then rain an traffic took us an hour longer than usual to get south of Tacoma; we should have been there about 4 and it was after 5 instead.  And thus the goal of getting to the Leather and Cigar Social at the Eagle Portland shifted from 7:30 to closing in on 9:00.  Ruin didn’t get to where she was staying until after the social, when Oregon Bootblack Nick gave her a ride (since he lived nearby).

Saturday: Your Mouth Would Look Good with Duct Tape Covering It

Saturday morning, Ryan and I picked up Ruin and met Dan at The Roxy for brunch.  Because I was coming from the far side of town, it took quite a while to get there and Dan ended up waiting and waiting and waiting.  Sorry boy!

After that, we went to Embers Avenue where Karen Yew did two workshops: one on basic rope bondage and one on duct tape fist mitts and hoods.  The first one was okay — a little new stuff for me, but not much — but I really liked the second one.  I hope to make use of the technique at a play party this coming weekend, and again two weeks after that at Rubbout.

Unfortunately, the workshops were pretty low attendance, just the four of us and four others for the first one, and only four total for the second one.  I’ve seen this happen with workshops and demos (and vendor markets) attached to bigger events before: all the advertising goes out with “Hey, there’s this big event happening (and by the way, there will be a workshop or two)”, leaving people to catch that from the ad and go to the website to find out more.  Really, there’s a need for multi-pronged advertising: “Hey, there’s this big event happening (and by the way, there will be a workshop or two)” and “We’ve got a couple great workshops (tied in with this big event)”.  You have a much better chance of reaching the right people that way, which increases your event attendance, increases your even income, and give you the chance to convert people from attending pieces of the event to the entire thing (or to attending next year).

After the workshops, Oregon State Ms. Leather Miss Tracey took about eight of us on a walk down to the Portland Saturday Market, a weekly outdoor market of vending booths.  Dan and I bought catnip toys for our cats, Ruin and I caught our dinners there, and a bunch of us bought fancy cupcakes to eat later.  On the way back to Embers, we walked past Voodoo Doughnuts, only to find a line out the door and down the block.

Ryan was already back at the hotel when I got there (he and James had gone in search of military surplus stuff after the first workshop).  A quick shower and change and we back on the road.  We stopped at a store midway back to Embers for coffee and Klondike Bars (because I was going to redo my stage fantasy from the contest as part of the evening’s show).  The rest of the jaunt to Embers should have taken maybe 15 minutes and took double that; due to something going on at the Rose Quarter and an accident on the freeway, traffic was a nightmare.  We planned to be there at 6:50, got there at 7:10.  Ugh.

The Black Show and Live Auction — referred to as an “erotica show” in years past — went ahead at a decent clip.  Attendance was lower than it has been, and the show was heavy on drag acts (which may be good, but aren’t stage fantasies and other hot stuff!); again, I think there’s advertising improvement focus that could be done.  The Klondike Bar fantasy went off well (and messy), and the addition of chocolate syrup pushed the edgy nature a level further.

(I haven’t yet posted the pics from the contest fantasy, have I?  Will solve that soon.)

Among the auction items was an original framed drawing by Oregon State Mr. Leather Tarsus.  Cliff had bought one of his pieces a couple years ago, and his figure work has improved since then.  Dan wasn’t especially happy that I bought it, because he was bidding on it, too.  Sorry again, boy!

After the show, Ryan, Ruin, and I went to the Sindicate space to check out the play party.  As expected, it was mostly women and pan (kinky het) play, not much to interest me.  So I left them there and headed to the hotel for a costume change, then came back to pick them up.  They had got in some bondage and flogging play while I was gone.

We dropped Ruin off at her hosts’ house and then Ryan and I headed to the Eagle for a bit.  We left there and went back to the hotel, and then I came back into town to check out Hawk’s PDX, the new sex club.  (Dan had won a couple passes in the raffle at the show and passed them to me.)  I’ve been to the Hawk’s Gym in Las Vegas, so I was interested in checking this out.  Low population that night (at least by when I got there) and more brightly lit than just about any sex club I’ve been to, but I did play with one guy and was able to leave satisfied.  Also got to talk to Andy Mangels, who was working the desk that night.

Sunday: 100 Miles of Butt Sex

Sunday morning saw a leather potluck brunch at the home of the leather couple Ruin was staying at.  In many ways, this was the best part of the weekend: good food, good conversation, etc.  Brent from the Sash Bash committee took the chance to chat with us about what had gone well or less well during the weekend, to help with planning for next year.

Ryan, Jean, and I headed out to the car, and then waited for Ruin to say her goodbyes.  And waited and waited.  (Okay, maybe 5 minutes, not that long.)  Finally, we each sent her a text at the same time.  We also joked about taking pics of her making faces at icky comments I made during the weekend, and packaging them into a calendar.  (Favorite phrases of the weekend: “execratory functions” and [artificially low voice] “larger than average manhood”.)

Driving back north was far more enjoyable than the trip south had been on Friday – nice weather and not even the standard slow down in Centralia.  Ruin had a question, though.  (It’s her standard line, “I have a question!”)  For the first 100 miles (roughly Portland to Olympia), we went through an entire workshop on butt sex and how to make it easier and more pleasurable: me driving, Ruin in the back seat with questions, Ryan and Jean piping in as needed.  We covered lube and stretching and relaxing and toys and douching (Ruin makes a face here) and even the edge of fisting.  She was tickled by the whole thing and said she’s going to see about having me do a butt sex workshop for Seattle girls of Leather: “Help me, Obi-Jim!  You’re my last hope!”

(Yes, it sounds bizarre to me as well.)

Favorite comment of the trip back, noting how it it sometimes difficult to remove a cock from the ass after butt fucking, I said that was because the cock likes it there, it’s found a new home and wants to stay.  “Are you saying my Sir’s dick is a hermit crab?”  “Yes, and that makes your ass the discarded shell.”  <insert facial expression from Ruin here>