The way of mess…

I recently saw someone’s photo on FetLife, being presented with their first pair of boots, and weeping . Among the comments was someone identified as a leatherboy saying “I remember the feeling!”. It made me realize I don’t. It’s not the boots. I’m wearing a pair right now and getting ready to use them to kick an adorable girl around my apartment. This happened because she saw me posting about using them on an adorable boy a couple of weeks ago. So really, I’m cool with boots. It’s the feeling of being on the “path of Leather” earning leathers, claiming a lineage in that community.

It’s not my way. Even as an intellectual, I’ve always been more attracted to the marginal types, the people who get left out of traditions rather than those who advance them. I’m not part of any particular leather family, although I have friends who are and who find great value in them.

After my last event, the weekend at the camp that included my trial before the Gnome Tribunal, it was clear that Ive been seeking out ordeals – A big part of what I like in bottoming is enduring, taking it. I want to be told that I “took it well”. After having clips whipped off of me and counting out two hundred and six strokes and then being tied to a cross and hit until my eyes glazed, I had to ask myself what was this ordeal for? Why subject my body to this?


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