For the past few months, I've been encouraging guys, through this blog and online, to go to the Eagle for Gear night every 2nd Saturday. I've always thought to myself that guys need a "jumping off" point, so to speak, and this would be a great event. It's been busier and busier for the past couple of months, and I'm happy to see some more socialization return to the leather community in Minneapolis. (This past Saturday, of course, was no exception.) It's also brought me to consider my own involvement, and my own "jumping off", so to speak.
I've been being tied up since I was 18 years old. I guess I got started early, but living in the middle of nowhere in Missouri for college somewhat put a damper on my exploration. Now I'm 25, and when people ask me how long I've been into kink, I say seven years. Seven years can mean a lot, or it can mean only a little if its movement has been at a glacial pace. Has mine?
In means of practical, hands on experience, I would say "no". I think I can pull my own weight in that department (but that's for another post I'm working on). In terms of history, knowing who is who, reading the works of others, and my own socialization? I would say "yes", the pace has been rather glacial.
I am forever impressed at the amount of leather I learn about in the world around me. Just yesterday, while in Minneapolis, I picked up the latest issue of Lavender Magazine. One of the main articles featured on the front cover caught my eye: "Leather Life becomes Leather Bound". Upon further inspection, I found that apparently, the magazine has been running a column on leather lifestyles for the past 15 years. And in a triumphant move by the columnist, he's finally publishing highlights of it into a book. It looks promising, and like something I would actually read. But how could I not have known about this sooner? Seriously, 15 years??
Some days I feel I need to open up my eyes, look around, and dive more into the history of our community. Perhaps I should pick up a copy of the Leatherman's Handbook and read it, even if just for historical purposes. There's so much I feel I don't know which I should know if I'm going to continue to write all the time.
Anyone have any suggestions?
In other news....My catsuit ripped. Again.
But it was worth it. I've had the pleasure of getting to know RankInSF better, and had the opportunity to dive into some more hardcore rubber play. That's really not something that's easy to find, even on the coasts where the population may be more plush with rubberists. But I found it, right here in Minneapolis.
After a couple drinks, we started to loosen up. I was looking at some of his gear. It was no secret that either one of us was horny - clearly, I was there with a purpose that night. I can't remember if it was his suggestion or my own drunken horniness, but at one point, I lubed up and slipped into my catsuit. What came next is somewhat of a blur. And not because of the alcohol (completely). I don't quite remember what order things went on in, but I do know over a slow course of the next hour or so I was gradually placed into progressively more bondage than I have been in in a long time. The best part about it? Nearly all my restraints were made of rubber.
I've never been encased like that before in my life. It must have been about seven or eight layers without breaking a sweat. The hoods, the boots, the gags, the strips of latex, the cuffs, the binders...and all of this while somehow suspended to the ceiling? Seriously. A blur.
It hasn't been any secret to myself, or to others, that I love rubber. I fell in love with it the moment I ever first laid eyes on pics of it on a website. And to finally have all of this? I entered a new kind of subspace I haven't been to yet. It was a very "comfortable" place, to be sure. I remember whimpering quite a bit as he abused me in various ways, but never really a whimper to stop. Maybe out of.....gratuity? It was certainly different from the time I described when I got flogged, but still, very, very submissive.
And somewhere along the line, my catsuit ripped. Fortunately, RankinSF said he could fix it for me, for which I am ever thankful. Still, it may be cheesy and symbolic, but I think the scar from this repair will be one which I am not likely to forget.