Creative Writings
Creative Writings & Keynotes
A boy's collar
by Vince Andrews (C) 2008
To notice them, you have to listen,
To touch them, you have to ask.
To love them only watch them,
To join them, offer your hand.
They are the boys in this lifestyle,
Bound to both service and cause
Their symbol is their collar,
Their cries impassion us all.
They proudly wait to serve you,
From behind and to the side
Never hesitating,
They are always along for the ride.
Some take their place on stage,
Others content by Sir’s side.
We honor all their sacrifices
Seeing their work, we take great pride.
Deep in their heart
A flame burns strong and bright.
We think lasts forever,
But of course, we know it will someday die.
Before their flame extinguishes,
They somehow give off sparks.
To light a path for others
Lost and searching in the dark.
Burned in our memory,
And branded into our hearts
Their service will not go forgotten,
Even though death keeps us apart.
These leather boys will forever last.
The Devil went down to Tulsa
Written as a fantasy first performed by Cowboy Paul in Tulsa at OML 2003. The Fantasy had myself and boy Terry Brown ABW boy 2004
The devil went down to Tulsa; he was looking for a soul to steal
He was in a bind 'cause he was way behind
he was willing to make a deal when he came across a young man blackin a boot and licking it hot
and The devil jumped up on a hickory stump
And said, "boy, let me tell you what
I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a boot black too
And if you care to take a dare
I'll make a bet with you
Now you lick pretty good boots, boy but give the devil his due
I'll bet a boot of gold against your soul
Cause I think I'm better than you."
Well, the boy said, "my name's johnny, and it might be a sin
But I'll take your bet you're gonna regret
Cause I'm the best, there's ever been"
Johnny blackin up your boot and lick that puppy hard
Cause hell's broke loose in Tulsa
And the devil deals the cards
And if you win, you'll get this shiny boot made of gold
But if you lose, the devil gets your soul
And he pulled that hose across the boot, it made an evil hiss
And a band of demons joined in, it sounded something like this
When the devil finished, johnny said, "well you're pretty good old son
But just sit down in that chair right there and let me show you how it's done"
fire in the toolbox, run, boys, run
The devil's in the house with the rising sun,
bottoms in the bedroom picking out toys,
Daddy does your boy bite, "no,boy, no"
The devil bowed his head because he knew that he'd been beat
And he laid that golden boot on the ground at johnny's feet
johnny said, "devil, just come on back if you ever want to try again
I done told you once, you son of a bitch, i'm the best there's ever been!"
He played fire in the toolbox, run, boys, run
The devil's in the house with the rising sun,
bottoms in the bedroom picking out toys,
Daddy does your boy bite, "no,boy, no"
he was willing to make a deal when he came across a young man blackin a boot and licking it hot
and The devil jumped up on a hickory stump
And said, "boy, let me tell you what
I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a boot black too
And if you care to take a dare
I'll make a bet with you
Now you lick pretty good boots, boy but give the devil his due
I'll bet a boot of gold against your soul
Cause I think I'm better than you."
Well, the boy said, "my name's johnny, and it might be a sin
But I'll take your bet you're gonna regret
Cause I'm the best, there's ever been"
Johnny blackin up your boot and lick that puppy hard
Cause hell's broke loose in Tulsa
And the devil deals the cards
And if you win, you'll get this shiny boot made of gold
But if you lose, the devil gets your soul
And he pulled that hose across the boot, it made an evil hiss
And a band of demons joined in, it sounded something like this
When the devil finished, johnny said, "well you're pretty good old son
But just sit down in that chair right there and let me show you how it's done"
fire in the toolbox, run, boys, run
The devil's in the house with the rising sun,
bottoms in the bedroom picking out toys,
Daddy does your boy bite, "no,boy, no"
The devil bowed his head because he knew that he'd been beat
And he laid that golden boot on the ground at johnny's feet
johnny said, "devil, just come on back if you ever want to try again
I done told you once, you son of a bitch, i'm the best there's ever been!"
He played fire in the toolbox, run, boys, run
The devil's in the house with the rising sun,
bottoms in the bedroom picking out toys,
Daddy does your boy bite, "no,boy, no"
The devil opened up his case, and said, "i'll start this show"
And fire flew from his finger tips as he blackind up his boot.
Leather Night before XXXMAS Parody
Written by Vince Andrews (C) 2012
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the bar,
We, creatures, were cruising, stoking cigars.
The jockstraps were hung on the bar wall with care,
In hopes that Daddy Nicholas soon would be there.
The leatherboys were nestled noses tucked in our pits,
While visions of IML tickled their pricks.
And Mama sipping her ‘Bloody Mary, and Daddy Ray in his chaps,
Had just settled their brains for a long nightcap.
When out in the street, there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from our barstools to see what was the matter.
Away to the windows, we flew like a flash,
Tore past the hustlers and tripping on our sash.
The moon on the breast of Mama did glow,
Giving the luster of mid-day to us at the window.
When what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a large black chariot, driven by men in gear.
With a massive old driver, so lively and quick,
We knew in a moment it must be Daddy Nick.
More rapid than the fog his coursers they came,
And he whipped, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now, Renslow! Now, Bannon! Now, Storer and Townsend!
On, Fraizer! On, Fritscher! On, Rhodes and Baldwin!
To the top of the hill! To the door of the bar!
Now dash away! Dash away! Before its last call!"
As thunder roared from their boots on the street,
they met with no obstacle, rhythmically stomping their feet.
So up to the hill-top, the human steeds flew,
With thunderous command, and the crack of his whip too.
And then, in a twinkling, we heard at the door
The command of halting and men were grunting like whores.
As we drew in our heads and were turning around,
Thrusting open the door, Daddy Nicholas came with abound.
He was dressed all in leather, from his head to his toes,
And his leather was all tarnished with the sweat of past foes.
A naughty boy he had flung over his back,
And he looked like a peddler with a living pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! His chest how furry!
His body wrapped in muscle, stoking his cigar cherry!
His devilish smile was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as snow.
The stump of his cigar he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a sculpted face and a large set of pecs,
That heaved when he laughed, like a mountain of flesh.
He was stocky and thick, a right hottie old guy,
And we groped ourselves tight, at the sadistic glare in his eyes!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave us to know we had something to dread.
He spoke not a word but went straight to the bar,
And refilled all the mugs and replenished our cigars.
And laying the boy on the bar stool, he rose,
And giving a nod, out the door he goes!
He sprang to his chariot, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all marched bound with blackened thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, have a hell of a night!"
The jockstraps were hung on the bar wall with care,
In hopes that Daddy Nicholas soon would be there.
The leatherboys were nestled noses tucked in our pits,
While visions of IML tickled their pricks.
And Mama sipping her ‘Bloody Mary, and Daddy Ray in his chaps,
Had just settled their brains for a long nightcap.
When out in the street, there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from our barstools to see what was the matter.
Away to the windows, we flew like a flash,
Tore past the hustlers and tripping on our sash.
The moon on the breast of Mama did glow,
Giving the luster of mid-day to us at the window.
When what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a large black chariot, driven by men in gear.
With a massive old driver, so lively and quick,
We knew in a moment it must be Daddy Nick.
More rapid than the fog his coursers they came,
And he whipped, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now, Renslow! Now, Bannon! Now, Storer and Townsend!
On, Fraizer! On, Fritscher! On, Rhodes and Baldwin!
To the top of the hill! To the door of the bar!
Now dash away! Dash away! Before its last call!"
As thunder roared from their boots on the street,
they met with no obstacle, rhythmically stomping their feet.
So up to the hill-top, the human steeds flew,
With thunderous command, and the crack of his whip too.
And then, in a twinkling, we heard at the door
The command of halting and men were grunting like whores.
As we drew in our heads and were turning around,
Thrusting open the door, Daddy Nicholas came with abound.
He was dressed all in leather, from his head to his toes,
And his leather was all tarnished with the sweat of past foes.
A naughty boy he had flung over his back,
And he looked like a peddler with a living pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! His chest how furry!
His body wrapped in muscle, stoking his cigar cherry!
His devilish smile was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as snow.
The stump of his cigar he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a sculpted face and a large set of pecs,
That heaved when he laughed, like a mountain of flesh.
He was stocky and thick, a right hottie old guy,
And we groped ourselves tight, at the sadistic glare in his eyes!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave us to know we had something to dread.
He spoke not a word but went straight to the bar,
And refilled all the mugs and replenished our cigars.
And laying the boy on the bar stool, he rose,
And giving a nod, out the door he goes!
He sprang to his chariot, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all marched bound with blackened thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, have a hell of a night!"
Reststop Whore
by Vince Andrews (C) 2012
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious graffiti of forgotten lore,
While I waited, eagerly jacking, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping on the stall door.
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at the stall door;
Only this, and nothing more."
Over many a quaint and curious graffiti of forgotten lore,
While I waited, eagerly jacking, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping on the stall door.
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at the stall door;
Only this, and nothing more."
And the heater wrought its ghost echoing upon the walls.
Eagerly I wished for flesh; vainly I had sought to borrow
From the scribbling surcease of desire, desire from the lack of whores,
For the rare and radiant men whom the angels name a whore
Nameless here forevermore.
Eagerly I wished for flesh; vainly I had sought to borrow
From the scribbling surcease of desire, desire from the lack of whores,
For the rare and radiant men whom the angels name a whore
Nameless here forevermore.
And their denim sad uncertain rustling of each pair of jeans
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I sat repeating to myself,
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my stall door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my stall door.
This it is, and hopefully more."
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I sat repeating to myself,
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my stall door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my stall door.
This it is, and hopefully more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "oh Sir, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was jacking, and so gently you came tapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my stall door,
That I scarce was sure, I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---
Darkness there, and nothing more.
"Sir," said I, "oh Sir, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was jacking, and so gently you came tapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my stall door,
That I scarce was sure, I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no Christian should ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
Whore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Whore!" Merely this, and nothing more.
Doubting, dreaming dreams no Christian should ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
Whore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Whore!" Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the stall leaning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my stall.
Let me see, then, what threat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
" 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my stall.
Let me see, then, what threat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
" 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."
Open here I flung the door, when, with a shuffle of boots,
In there stepped a stately man, there stood a handsome moor.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of predator, standing before my stall door.
Standing beside a carved phallus, just upon my stall door,
Standing, and stared, and nothing more.
In there stepped a stately man, there stood a handsome moor.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of predator, standing before my stall door.
Standing beside a carved phallus, just upon my stall door,
Standing, and stared, and nothing more.
Then this ebony man beguiling my scared fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore,
"Though thy chest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Handsome, strong, and sensual moor, wandering from the nightly road.
Tell me what your name is on this night's silent rest stop."
Quoth the man, "Rest Stop Whore."
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore,
"Though thy chest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Handsome, strong, and sensual moor, wandering from the nightly road.
Tell me what your name is on this night's silent rest stop."
Quoth the man, "Rest Stop Whore."
Much I marveled this strong guy to hear discourse so plainly,
Though his answer of sexual meaning, much relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that any human being
Ever yet was blessed so well hung before my stall door,
Man or beast standing there at my stall door,
With such name as "Rest Stop Whore."
Though his answer of sexual meaning, much relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that any human being
Ever yet was blessed so well hung before my stall door,
Man or beast standing there at my stall door,
With such name as "Rest Stop Whore."
But the moor, standing lonely and partly flaccid, spoke only
Those three words, as if his soul in that phrase he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a movement then he shifted;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other men have shown before;
In the night will you have me, as so many have done before."
Then the man said, "Rest Stop Whore."
Those three words, as if his soul in that phrase he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a movement then he shifted;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other men have shown before;
In the night will you have me, as so many have done before."
Then the man said, "Rest Stop Whore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what you utter is only stock and store,
Fantasies from some horny traveler, whose unmerciful desire
Followed fast and followed faster, till your thoughts one burden bore,---
Till the desire of your hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Rest---rest stop whore."
"Doubtless," said I, "what you utter is only stock and store,
Fantasies from some horny traveler, whose unmerciful desire
Followed fast and followed faster, till your thoughts one burden bore,---
Till the desire of your hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Rest---rest stop whore."
But the man still beguiling all my scared soul into smiling,
Spreading my legs on my seat in front of him, and stall and door;
Then, upon the porcelain sinking, I betook myself to comfort
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous man of moor --
What this handsome, hung, huge and ominous man of moor
Meant in croaking "Rest stop whore."
Spreading my legs on my seat in front of him, and stall and door;
Then, upon the porcelain sinking, I betook myself to comfort
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous man of moor --
What this handsome, hung, huge and ominous man of moor
Meant in croaking "Rest stop whore."
Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the man, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the porcelain tiled wall that the halogen light gloated o'er,
But whose porcelain tile with the halogen light gloating o'er
Others have pressed, ah, rest stop whore!
To the man, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the porcelain tiled wall that the halogen light gloated o'er,
But whose porcelain tile with the halogen light gloating o'er
Others have pressed, ah, rest stop whore!
Then, me thought, the air grew denser, perfumed sweat as I became his prisoner
Swung my legs high while footfalls tapped on the tiled floor.
"Sir," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite---respite and pheromone from thy memories of a Whore!
Quaff, O quaff my sweet flesh, and forget this lost Whore!"
Quoth the moor, "Rest stop whore!"
Swung my legs high while footfalls tapped on the tiled floor.
"Sir," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite---respite and pheromone from thy memories of a Whore!
Quaff, O quaff my sweet flesh, and forget this lost Whore!"
Quoth the moor, "Rest stop whore!"
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if man or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here off road,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert stop enchanted--
On this rest stop by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead for my hole?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the moor, "Rest stop whore."
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here off road,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert stop enchanted--
On this rest stop by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead for my hole?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the moor, "Rest stop whore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if man or devil!
By the way that you climb above us--by this act we both adore--
Tell this soul with excitement laden, if, within the distant night,
It shall clasp a strapping man, whom the devils name Whore---
Clasp a rare and radiant man, whom the devils name Whore?
Quoth the moor, "Rest stop whore."
By the way that you climb above us--by this act we both adore--
Tell this soul with excitement laden, if, within the distant night,
It shall clasp a strapping man, whom the devils name Whore---
Clasp a rare and radiant man, whom the devils name Whore?
Quoth the moor, "Rest stop whore."
"Be that phrase our sign of parting, man or fiend!" I reminded during departing
"Get thee back into the truck and the night's long road!
Leave no black plume as a token of this act thy soul hath taken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the lingering at my stall door!
Take thy cock from out my holes, and take thy form from off my stall door!"
Quoth the moor, "Rest stop whore."
"Get thee back into the truck and the night's long road!
Leave no black plume as a token of this act thy soul hath taken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the lingering at my stall door!
Take thy cock from out my holes, and take thy form from off my stall door!"
Quoth the moor, "Rest stop whore."
And the man, never flinching, still is standing, still is lingering
Half flaccid now spent his phallus just before my stall door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the halogen light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the tiled floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the tiled floor
Shall be again lifted---for I am a rest stop whore!
Half flaccid now spent his phallus just before my stall door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the halogen light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the tiled floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the tiled floor
Shall be again lifted---for I am a rest stop whore!
Misfit's Day
Speech made at the Misfits Anniversary Brunch (c) 2013 Vince Andrews
What's he that wishes so?
My fellow Misfit? No, my brethren;
If we are marked to fail, we are enough
To do our past brothers’ loss honor; and if to survive,
The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for glory,
Nor care I who doth feast upon my words;
It yearns me not if men our garments wear;
Such outward things make not brethren of them.
But if it be a sin to covet our past,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my brethren, wish not another man.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honor
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, brother, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And a cover for convoy put onto his head;
We would not stand in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to stand with us.
This moment is call'd the feast of repletion.
He that outlives this day, and stood ground,
Will stand a tip-toe when this moment is named,
And rouse him at the word of repletion.
He that shall share this moment, and see old age,
Will forever on the mention feast his neighbors,
And say 'I stood with my brethren'
Then will he strip his chest and bare his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had from that time.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What stance he took that moment. Then shall their names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Club brother, bedfellow and lover,
Be in their flowing draws freshly remembered.
This story shall the Leatherman teach his boy;
And no other moment shall ne'er go by,
From this time to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his impassioned thoughts with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This moment shall gentle his condition;
And those men in leather now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they stood not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles future generation speaks
That stood with us upon this moment in time.
My fellow Misfit? No, my brethren;
If we are marked to fail, we are enough
To do our past brothers’ loss honor; and if to survive,
The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for glory,
Nor care I who doth feast upon my words;
It yearns me not if men our garments wear;
Such outward things make not brethren of them.
But if it be a sin to covet our past,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my brethren, wish not another man.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honor
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, brother, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And a cover for convoy put onto his head;
We would not stand in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to stand with us.
This moment is call'd the feast of repletion.
He that outlives this day, and stood ground,
Will stand a tip-toe when this moment is named,
And rouse him at the word of repletion.
He that shall share this moment, and see old age,
Will forever on the mention feast his neighbors,
And say 'I stood with my brethren'
Then will he strip his chest and bare his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had from that time.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What stance he took that moment. Then shall their names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Club brother, bedfellow and lover,
Be in their flowing draws freshly remembered.
This story shall the Leatherman teach his boy;
And no other moment shall ne'er go by,
From this time to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his impassioned thoughts with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This moment shall gentle his condition;
And those men in leather now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they stood not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles future generation speaks
That stood with us upon this moment in time.
Ye Ol' Guard
By Vince Andrews (C) 2012
To include, or not to include: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of inclusiveness,
Or to take arms against a sea of self prophets,
And by opposing end them? To disagree: to agree;
No more; and by agree to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural debates
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a conversation
Devoutly to be wished. To disagree, to agree;
To agree: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that agreement of Leather what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the truths and lies of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The plots of despised brethren, the delay of justice,
The insolence of title and status
That patient merit of the unpopular takes,
When he himself might his position make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To argue and debate under a weary life,
But that the dread of exclusiveness,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Then take agreement with others that we know not of?
Thus inclusion does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their exploits turn awry,
And lose the name of action. – take heed now!
The fair New Guard! Nymph, in thy inclusiveness
Be all your sins remembered
Thoughts of the 'Torn Guard' Keynote for BVXXI 2011
I will be honest; I wrote more than one draft of this document. It wasn’t because I couldn’t think of what to say; rather, it was because I couldn’t decide which topic was most important. That’s a hard thing to decide when you see so many things going on at once. The year 2011 may seem like it will go down in the history of our culture as a very pivotal time for us, but it’s really not. This idea, of course, is being pressured by others in a position to take advantage of the larger stage and begin planting the seeds to our concerns. I don’t think this was intentionally reckless; I just wish they would have had a better game plan than what was shown. The truth is, the temperature has been rising for all of us on a social level for many years and has only just recently been coming to a head. I will not mislead you; we have only just begun to discuss openly the very serious issues that plague our Leather culture.
It is not just a few issues either; there are many of them. So many that you really can’t give each issue the time it deserves in a Keynote. A fact I think some people forget. These days, our society expects to have everything given to them instantly and clearly; however, it is just not that simple when it comes to culture and social issues. Some of what I am about to say will determine my future. Not the future, just mine. I have seen many keynotes over the years give passion and breed anger. I assure you I have no intentions of either. However, I intend to give you my thoughts in brief on some of the things we as a Leather culture are struggling with today.
So let’s just get to the point, shall we?
History…You know there is a saying about history: “To the victors go the spoils.” Well, in our case, it’s the survivors that the spoils go to. Allow me to explain.
There are tons of people running around this lifestyle preaching, writing, and being hand-fed honors just because they are over the age of 50- most of them creating their own history and circulating their own ideas for their own agendas, forcing us to consider that it is time to start looking at leather years not living years; and I mean the documented ones. It is a proven fact that the bigger the lie, the more people will believe it, and in the short time I have been a part of this Leather Culture, I have heard more lies than truths. I had witnessed people teaching history classes on hanky codes when I personally only just a year prior explained to this same individual what the colored strips meant on leather vests and pants. I have witnessed writers publish books of history based on the settings of fictional jerk-off novels of the gay leather culture’s past, or worse, their own personal jerk-off fantasies and tales. I have observed adoration given to new strangers with farfetched stories and recognition rewards given to those that dismiss accountability. I have witnessed greed driving the passion of some and political pressure placed on those that question the actions of others.
You know, what drives me more insane isn’t that these people are doing this; it’s that we as members of this Leather Culture actually accept it. We all read books written on relationships by authors with no background in psychology or sociology. Anyone can get a Ph.D. on any subject that earns them the right to place DR. at the forefront of their name; however, that doesn’t mean they have a background in mental health. Yet we shell out the money for the material and never once consider the credentials of that person who wrote it. We should start asking questions about their credentials people. Sure my father had lots of wisdom on marriage to share, that didn’t mean it was healthy. We all buy books authors write on history, thinking that the “OLD GUARD” secrets will be found in its pages. Most of these books are not written by educated historians; they are not written by men or women with degrees in sociology or anthropology. At the very least, these authors are not even giving us the expected academic respect of providing REFERENCES! We all went to high school; we all know you can’t site fact without reference.
There are existing publications that contain the reality of our histories. Don’t be swayed by false prophets of secrecy; even the Freemasons have a documented history. We must start requiring references and show these individuals we have more self-respect for our history, beliefs, and ourselves than they do. It's one thing when a person writes about their own personal lives, they call them “Memoirs” or an “Autobiography”- both are academically expected to be slighted toward the author’s own views. It’s another thing to consider their personal accounts as overall social history. Societies that have followed this pattern in our past have always been misguided to sometimes socially destructive means. I see us going down that road, and I cringe at the idea. Truthfully these authors and presenters should be ashamed, but the taste of popularity is so sweet, they can’t walk away. The money and perks are just too much to give up, yet we all agree knowledge should be passed freely. It is our responsibility to cut them off before they begin to taste the pleasure of their false works.
If we as a society want insight into the gay leather culture, then read the writings of people like Geoff Mains, an anthropologist that wrote Urban Aboriginals; A man that defined Leather as “an affectation of the soul.” We should not be looking toward the famous jerk-off novel, “The Leatherman’s Handbook,” by Larry Townsend. This is a man that was looked down upon for printing this book by the previous generation of Leathermen to himself. While Larry’s history is far more exciting than writing erotic stories, it saddens me that all we remember of his work is one book. The man’s work in the late ’60s and early ’70s with H.E.L.P is hardly spoken of and should not go dismissed. But yet, we focus on his erotica for history- something that was surely never intended.
We fly the colorful flag of our Culture at every event, both Gay and Straight. Yet, most of you don’t even consider the ideas of the man that created it concerning coming Generations of our youth. We forget he was a man that understood the rising youth of the mid-1980s that surely applies today as much as it did in his time. Tony once wrote, “The Older elements must recognize that today’s youth is, by and large, more experienced and knowledgeable than similarly aged leathermen were 20, 10 and 5 years ago. Similarly, the enthusiastic young must recognize that no matter how much experience they now have, they still have a hell of a lot to learn! No matter what age, none of us know it all.” Drummer issue 130 Simply put, don’t underestimate our youth and never overlook the input of elders. Each of us is responsible to ourselves uphold this value and ensure its balance.
As for history, if we want to learn our Leather history, then we must be prepared to research and strive to meet the academic standard. The first step is to understand that there are TWO types of Leather cultural histories at play. To understand Gay Leather Culture, we must appreciate Gay history as a whole. The Gay Culture over the 1900s was traumatic and very emotionally deep. Their desire to socialize as a collective group faced by most of the population’s ideals of morality was a factor. The male sexual appetite of men as beings and their natural predatory instinct was a factor. The male emotional hunger for a fraternal bond was a factor. Later, this Culture manifested a new society driven by its very sexual nature to take risks in the hope to live without fear in the future. In the pages of all this history, you will find the slow progressive seeds that created the Gay Leather Culture.
I know that all people are gifted with the ability to recognize what is rational and logical. It is the society that people live in that allows them to exploit or repress this activity. Don’t you all notice people keep going back to the same question basic questions? “When did it start?”, “Why do we say this all started with WWII?” and “What happened between that time and the Vietnam generation?” “Why didn’t it start with WWI, or the Spanish American War, or even the civil war? What was so special about the end of WWII?” There is an answer to that question, and I am going to make you find it yourself. It is no coincidence that the Gay Leather Culture was strongest in the port cities of our nation. I will give you a hint: not everyone was able to go home heroes. Some were given the “slip.”
I am focused on this right now because I have had enough of hearing a distorted version of our history, especially when people can’t even recognize the contributions of each social group within the many generations that formed the Leather Culture we know today. Are you giving credit to the Veterans? Well, which ones? Which wars are you talking about? Are you giving credit to the Beatniks? Are you giving credit to those who rioted the streets for civil equality and marched on the capitols of our cities? Maybe you’re crediting the men that were just party animals enjoying the freedom of the ride on America’s highways that were still new and ready to be explored. Are you recognizing the social impact of the lost Gay Leathermen that was massacred by AIDS?
Well, who? Who are we talking about?
The Leather culture embodies two orientations on the majority these days: Gay and Heterosexual- two worlds joined together by one generation's actions. This is a generation that wanted to march on the world and demand rights and equality for all. This generation saw a chance to merge two Cultural worlds together to create a larger voice and expand their legislative power. A generation that took great strides to create organizations that would house this mighty voting power. This is a generation that still makes up the older members of our Leather culture today. They are the baby boomers: both Gay and Straight. The Gay Leather Culture of our past underestimated, I think, the sheer numbers they invited to this merging of cultures in the mid 1980s. They never considered the imbalance in numbers. You would think that the Generation that always preached 10% would have the smarts to run the numbers. Suppose 10% of the population is considered to be gay. In that case, I theorize only 3% are kinky within that number, and 1% are into SM. You equate that same type of mathematics to the Heterosexual community, and you got a shit load more people. You have to admit the ambitious idea was a good one politically at the time; just too bad they never actually had a game plan beyond their initial desire for legislative change.
How do you keep from getting swallowed up by the numbers coming through the door?
We are taught to blame the Internet for this mass movement of entry when the truth is the Gay Baby Boomers had already set the foundation many years prior. I don’t think the Gay Leather men and women ever considered that socially the Gay and Straight Communities were incompatible. Our social pasts are not the same and will never be the same. Who we fuck does matter; that Generation of Gay Men and Women were just focused on the way we fucked. I mean, come on, folks, what is the principal reason that binds us together? What the hell are you buying in that vendor room? It isn’t bibles; it's gear, hardware, and sex toys. The Boomer Generation of Gay men and women forgot that sex, in general, was a political issue for them; this was not and still is not the case for heterosexuals. I go to the events, and I hear the gay men and women all bitching about how the Heterosexuals are taking over. How Gays are losing their space and demanding the space back. Well, don’t bitch at the Heterosexuals; point your anger at the people that publicized and opened the doors of our world and events. Ask them why.
You can bitch about the heterosexuals, but you can’t blame them; it was strictly an invitation that brought them. The gay men and women of our Leather Culture were the ones that did it, whether for coin or activism; the fact remains that they invited this integration and advocated for it. These Gay Leather men and women gave keynotes and speeches as titleholders and leaders. They pushed bylaw changes and created the organizations to host this new cultural mix. They altered contest rules and forced the agenda with what they felt was the right agenda. And they made sure to pass these principles on to the next generation. My Generation, the X Generation. I stand in agreement with their overall idea, but not the unstable environment it created.
Here’s an interesting thought for you all: Anyone wonders why those Gay men and women that were activist during the late 1980s on SM are the same that now give keynotes on reversing their own work on our cultural integration? What’s the matter, they didn’t like the result, so now they want to take it back? I don’t think so! You reap what you sew. These Gay men and women demanded the doors be open, and they made this cultural mess; now they can help clean it up. Take responsibility for their actions and decisions and stop riding the popular wave to retain their credibility. I’m not saying this Generation of Gay men and women were bad people, but they are trying to ignore or, more seriously, erase their own major contribution. One, I theorize, they were warned about by the older generation and would never have pulled off had AIDS not impacted and removed so many Gay male voices. When faced with tragedy and opportunity, they sprinted to the gates of freedom.
Most importantly, we as Gay men and women will have to learn to live with the decision of our past leaders that made the choices to put this all in motion. Yes, that includes me. What they did was no small achievement regardless of how we or I feel about the outcome. On the other spectrum, Heterosexuals as a collective must admit they truly will never be able to understand what Gay Leather culture is like. The truth is, we as Gay men and women should not blame them for their inability to understand. Heterosexuals are the majority, and it’s impossible to truly sympathize with a minority. As Gay Leather men and women, we should, however, admire their desire to identify with some of the challenges facing our community and take that into consideration before passing swift judgment.
Blame it on all sides, and the fact is: we are where we are, and we need to figure out how to move forward. We need to respect each other’s space and accept our differences. In our culture, integration of orientation should be used to advance our sexual freedom; otherwise, segregation of our orientation is a healthy, logical, and rational way to live.I am not leaving my Heterosexual friends, but I do want to ride with my brethren! The largest thing that concerns us as Gay men and women in our time is: “Why a culture that could never truly lived and walked in our shoes would want to adapt or co-opt our cultural traditions and beliefs?” There is a reason why heterosexuals’s on Fetlife debate the simple idea of “What is Leather?” They’re all trying to view it in gay eyes and apply it to themselves. It doesn’t work; they’re not gay.
Yet all the foundations that they all throw out there for a definition come from both the Gay leather culture and Gay history. The Heterosexual Culture has a sexual history of their own. They need to start working on putting together that rich resource of information. They must start preserving their own history. The Heterosexual publication history is far more accessible than the Gay culture’s. Their artwork of erotica is far more extensive. The Heterosexual pioneers out there outnumber our Gay Leather pioneers, and they do not just encompass the Marque De Sade. I think there are many overwhelming reasons that they don’t take on this project. One of them is their obsession with understanding the Gay Leather Culture. I think they are searching for themselves within our history. Truth is, their culture laid the legislative groundwork for the Gay Leather Culture to exist. They broke the legislative strangle on publication, and distribution a major factor in Gay Leather's needs.
Sadly over the years, they have lost their knowledge of their own roots. They must act and act now to preserve it because Gay men and women are not going to. Realize that by continuing to co-opt our gay leather culture, Heterosexuals are setting the stage to obliterate any potential for heterosexual leather to have its own identity. We have reached the point that if the heterosexual leather culture doesn’t claim its own identity, it will forever be considered a stepchild of the Gay Leather community through chronicling and documentation. The future is not print publication. Books are being thrown away, and I don’t think the publication companies are going to find the books on Heterosexual deviant sexual history and convert them all into digital! These companies will decide what to salvage, and the Heterosexual Leather Community is the minority within their own Heterosexual world. It will go to the trash. To just ignore their own history as Heterosexuals is criminal. They should take the initiative to learn their own culture and stop living in the fantasy books and fictional writings of both Gay and Heterosexual erotic authors. Fictional authors are paid to make stuff up! The truth is far more romantic and rewarding. If we have to expand the LA&M, we will!
I was once asked what “Leather” meant at an NLA meeting. Well, to me, it meant sex. Now you have people taking that word and defining it to the breaking point. Some say it's spiritual, a journey, tradition, brotherhood, values, ethics, protocols, and the list just goes on and on. The thing to remember is that these are the Genesis of Gay leather culture, not the definition of the word used to define the men and women within it. I have to agree with Guy on this one- it was sexy; however, I would say that it came about because of the visual connectivity of the outerwear to the sexual activity of the persons wearing it. Yes, things are just that damn simple.
Regardless, it was still SEX!
We have serious issues that are weighing on our overall Leather culture, and we have to start putting the focus on resolution, not division. There will come a day when we will need to rejoin our numbers, and burning this bridge is a mistake. Yes, it’s going to take time and effort to get where we need to be. It is going to require people to take stands, be accountable and stop worrying about the political repercussions of our statements or actions. We are the Torn Guard; torn by myth and reality, torn by orientation and heritage, torn by loyalty and exploration, we are the X Generation, the next keepers of our history. Oh, I almost forgot, as for scene names…Seriously?!…With all this in mind, who really gives a shit?
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