The Fox Den

Zero to IML in Six Months

I was right. IML WAS different, but so fun in so many ways. It wasn't until after it was all over, though, that I realized the monumental accomplishment we had just finished. 

The whole process was a whirlwind. We arrived on Tuesday afternoon, unloaded the truck, and started setting up our booth (which became a process that we would work on for the next 3 days until we opened on Friday). We worked together, steadily, and in the end, we had a finished product that looked extremely professional. So many visitors had told us that they remembered us from last year...of course, we just opened in December!

I got the fastest crash course ever on leathercraft. The two weeks prior to IML, we mass produced all of the harnesses we would end up selling. That was a crazy busy two weeks of 18 hour days, but we learned how to work together and accomplish a mass production, together, as a team. That is a lesson that's invaluable.

We brought all of our harnesses in the final step of production. On purpose. Saturday was the busiest day we've ever had! I was fitting harnesses to people nonstop all day long. It was so fun!

I think I'll sum up my feelings for the whole weekend with my favorite story from Saturday of IML. 

We at Twin Cities Leather don't believe in selling our products in sizes "Small, Medium, or Large." People don't come in sizes. Kinky people are certainly no exception. All our harnesses are sized to fit your body, custom work, on the spot. And we can then guarantee you that you will be able to walk away from our booth or shop with a piece of gear that fits you like a glove and that will make you feel amazing.

Towards the end of the day on Saturday, an Asian bearish type guy walked in and started looking around. I finished fitting the harness I was working on, and asked, "Can I help you?"

He said he was interested in getting a harness. His eye was caught by all the custom fittings we were doing. "I've been looking all over the market all day and no one has a harness that fits me."

My heart sank for him. That's gotta be a rough feeling when you're shopping for something that you want so badly just to fit in and be yourself. But I was happy to help.

I showed him some different styles of X harnesses, bulldogs, and in a few different colors. I helped him pick out a black bulldog harness with white trim. As I tightened it down to his body, I realized how good it really looked on him. The white leather really popped against his Asian skin and darker hair/features. I think he realized it too. "Can I wrap it up for you?"

"Uh, yeah, sure..."

I smiled and took it off him. In about 10 minutes I had it riveted up and the excess cut, and put it back on him for the final fitting in the mirror. When he looked up at himself, I saw the first smile I'd seen him make.

It looked perfect on him. I was so proud we could help. But I was even prouder later that night when we saw him down in the hotel lobby, shirtless, wearing the harness....and with his chin held a little bit higher than before.

THAT'S the feeling that I long so hard to share with this community. I'm so happy to serve you all, and I'm so happy to do it with my best friends, brothers, and business partners, Karri Plowman and PupTrigger, as a team. 

If you had asked me six months ago if we would be where we are now, I would have said "No". But we did it. It's huge. I can't believe we really went from Zero to IML in six months.

First Leather Memories

I know that I frequently refer to myself as a Rubberboy, and that reputation has more or less stuck with me. So much so that many people don't know that I also have a really strong fetish for leather. I like to wear my rubber in the summer, when it's nice, but the look, the smell, and the feel of skintight leather has always been a huge turn on for me. 

Where did it start?

Terminator 2: Judgement Day was released in 1991, when I was 7 years old. I didn't see it until it was released on TV about five or so years later, when I was around 12. When that movie was released, Arnold was HOT. Muscles everywhere, thick, gruff accent, and quite, quite handsome. 

I remember seeing that movie on TV when I was about 12 years old, and thinking about how awesome all that leather looked. I can't find a picture of it anywhere, but I remember watching the scene when he first meets John Connor, walking down the hallway with the shotgun in the box of roses...I remember seeing the leather pants SO tight around his crotch....

I remember thinking that I didn't just want HIM, but rather, I wanted to BE him. 

Today, I'm certainly no Terminator...but at least I can dress like one.

Here's to 2013

2012 was good to me. To reflect on it all, I've been rereading some blog posts, Facebook posts, text messages, e-mails, and voice recordings.

I've traveled more this year than I ever have in my life. I met hundreds of college students while advertising with NACA. I've started two new careers, one as a public speaker and one as a business/leather shop owner.

In short, I've taken more risks and worked harder than I ever have.

This is the busiest time of my life yet. The days have become very long. But I've never had more fun in my life. I have a lot to be thankful for.

I can be particularly thankful for all of the really hot bondage scene, new friends from all over the country, and an awesome time at so many leather events.

Here's to 2013. Here's to leather, life, and love. Let's jump.

Thank you.

So in the meantime since I've posted last, a lot's gone on.

Quickly, I want to say Thank You to everyone who voted for me. I've won the 2012 Bondage Award for Best Bondage Advocate! Go see!

Also, Karri, Trigger, and I finally got Twin Cities Leather off the ground. The store is now open for business seven days per week! We have a webmaster working on a new site for us and we should have online sales up and running soon after the New Year. Thank you for all your support and for making our opening night a huge success! We look forward to serving you in the future.

But finally, I want to say thank you for the outpouring of messages after I posted my kinky coming out story.

The sheer amount and sincerity of e-mails, comments, text messages, and in-person thank-yous has been humbling, to say the least. When I posted the original message, and again when I posted the recording of the conversation, I had no idea that it would touch so many people in the ways that it has. I'm proud to have helped some of you out there, but more importantly, I need to thank you for teaching ME something.

On some level, I am just another spoiled, priviledged white kid that was born and raised in the suburbs. Part of me never grew out of that teenage phase of "everything sucks and my life is awful!" I realized that after I listened to the conversation a couple of times myself. Once with a friend, and again to edit out the personal names. Looking back, it really didn't go as terrible as it could have.

Yes, it would be nice if I had accepting, progressive parents who could be happy for me and my business ventures. It would be nice if I had parents who were direct and up front rather than passive aggressive. It's the e-mails and other messages you all sent me, however, that reminded me how lucky I am to have even come this far. They know I'm gay. They've met my partner. Now they know one of the deepest secrets in my life and somehow they managed not to lose their temper, or their patience, and held their shit together to NOT throw me out of the house or forever banish me as their child.

The e-mails and comments you all left reminded me that coming out to parents is still a struggle in some households. Lots of them, in fact. Thank you for your applause over being so brave to do this. It was difficult. I need to thank YOU more, however, for reminding me that it could have been much, much worse. Thank you for reminding me of the meaning of TRUE family.

At the end of the day, I still have my parents. I know I have my leather family. 

Maybe it's really time for ME to grow up.

The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done

Growing up kinky has its own challenges. I've outlined a few of them on this blog, but god, I wish I had had the It Gets Better Project around while I was growing up. It definitely would have made things a lot easier.

I generally was a pretty well behaved kid. I didn't act out a lot, and I stayed on my parents' good side. That's not to say I followed all the rules, either. Some teenagers sneak into their houses at night and have to worry about their parents catching them while they're still drunk from the party they had just come from. Me? I was sneaking into the house so they wouldn't catch me with rope burn all over my arms or tape residue on my face.

I was crafty. They never caught me. No joke.

Due to all the secrets I've had in my life, I've never really felt all that close to my parents. There's too much they don't want to hear about. I mean, they've met my partner a few times, but every time I bring up the word "marriage", they let the topic die or quickly change the subject. I know they don't support same-sex marriage. Given my mother's chosen brand of Christian faith, I'm sure she never will. 

When I came out to them in high school, it didn't go over well. Ten years later, we still don't see eye to eye on the subject. But now I'm faced with a bigger problem.

Thanks to all of you out there, my new career as a public speaker and sex educator is starting to gain some traction. I'm working on multiple contracts for shows in the Spring, I'm opening a leather shop on Saturday, and this website gets about 3,000 visitors per month from every inhabited continent on the planet (including some extremely dedicated readers from Australia - thanks boys!). I just got off the road after traveling for two months to try to promote myself. Hell, one of my upcoming shows is even going to be in Missouri.

This is too big of a part of my life. I can't hide this anymore.

I feel so fucking immature writing this all in the first place. I'm 28 goddamn years old. Why am I so afraid to tell this all to my parents? They're adults. I'm an adult. Can't we just all be adults about it? I'm in St. Louis right now. I sat down to dinner with them. I was as nervous as I've ever been in my life. I didn't accomplish a thing all day and I've been nauseated and shaking over what's about to happen. Finally, I let them finish eating and then I just went ahead and said it.

I told them about the shop I was opening, my blog, my career as a public speaker, and I broached the subject matter of what I discuss. I explained to them that alternative lifetsyles (and yes, they understood what that meant) were important to me. I told them that I know they didn't want to know all this. I know they'd just like to go on pretending it doesn't happen, and I know they'll never voluntarily talk about it with me.

When my parents found out I was gay, all they wanted to do was talk (i.e. yell) about it; in twenty eight years, I've never EVER seen my mother in a state of speechlessness. Until tonight.

She finally spoke with dread and pain in her voice. This isn't what she expected of her son. But she quietly admitted it was a reality she had to accept. She's stuck with it. Translation: I would change all of this if I could. Don't worry mom, the feeling is mutual. I'd have parents that don't just tolerate me, but accept and love me. That said, I know this would be a tough day for even the most progressive of parents.

My relationship with my parents will never be the same. No longer can I grasp at the straw that I'll ever have a strong, loving, open relationship with them. That ship is SAILED. I've pretty much sealed the deal on ever being able to be close to them again. They wish they didn't know. They want a different son. But they're going to take the one they have because...well, they're stuck with me. And they're not happy about it. In fact, they're currently feeling personally hurt that they've raised a human being who turned out this way. I doubt it's going to get any better. If, in ten years, my parents' can't come to terms with me being gay, they're NEVER going to be able to come to terms with this.

The hardest thing I've ever done is break my parents' hearts. I know I shouldn't care, because we're adults, and I shouldn't need them. But damnit...they're my parents. I'm really hurt by the rejection, but I knew it was coming. I was ready for it. I've made my peace, and I do NOT have their blessing. It's time for me to move on. 

Sometimes, it doesn't get better; you get stronger.

I Got Hit by a Girl

No really. I did.

(This blog is all about honesty, and true to that spirit, I'm going to tell this story as it happened. I know I'm not perfect so PLEASE don't jump down my throat for jumping to inappropriate conclusions. This post is an admission of guilt. Thank you.)

Last night was the first time I've ever stepped foot into Ground Zero Nightclub. It's the "pansexual" BDSM bar, dance club, and demo pit. I've lived in Minnesota for four years now and I've never been! It was just time to start a new adventure.

So I harrassed as many of my friends via text message as I could at the last second, pulled on my rubber chaps, and drove over there. Two problems arise: 1)The parking situation is terrible, so I had to walk the gauntlet with my ass hanging out across 4th Ave to get to the bar, and 2)Ground Zero is situated right betwen two other vanilla straight bars and a restaurant. So once I walked across the street, I then had to dive into a sea of vanilla people wearing cotton to get up to the door! *facepaw*

Ground Zero is a "pansexual" bar. I don't know what that means to you all as readers from other parts of the country and world, but in Minnesota? "Pansexual" means "straight men and women, oh yeah, and women who do it with women because that's hot". Gay men have their own leather/BDSM community - hell, we have our own bar. It's not surprising I felt kind of awkward going in there, but I suppose it's a nice gesture by the management to call the place "pansexual".

Straight bars in Minneapolis usually mix pretty crappy drinks; NOT Ground Zero. The drinks were STRONG! Perfect.

The bar is divided up into several different areas; there's a side bar, a dance floor, and then the performance space where there was a Pro-Domme (Mistress Mara) working over volunteers. There's a whole bunch of chairs set up in front of the stage for people to watch the various acts. So I'm puttering around a bit with my friends having a few drinks, watching the Domme perform on her subs. Most of them are women. Until the 2nd to last one.

Up walks to stage this buff guy with huge muscles, tanned skin, long hair, washboard abs, and a huge upside down triangle tattoo across his shoulders. He tips the Domme as his friends make fun of him (and awful tragedy which shouldn't be tolerated) and proceeds to get cuffed to the restraints hanging from the ceiling! Mistress Mara flogs him a few times and then scratches him some and does something else with an ice cube....

....and in my head, I fell into the slippery slope of discompassion. What I SHOULD have thought to myself was "Maybe it's his first time!" "Maybe he needs her to go light." "Maybe he injured himself already today!" There are any number of infinite possibilities that could explain why this Domme wasn't lashing out on those buldging muscles with every last ounce of her strength. All of them are probably legitamate too. But as I stood there watching, the rum in my drink took over my thoughts. My mind darted around all the other times I've been flogged. The only logical conclusion my tipsy mind could come to was simply that the guy was a PUSSY. I can do better than that.

Move over, Fabio.

I marched up to that stage and asked Mistress Mara what her rates were. I tipped her appropriately (side note: gay kinksters don't tip in our community. I THINK I tipped her appropriately, but I've never had to do that before. Hope she doesn't hate me now) and asked her, "Can you flog a gay-boy, Mistress?"

"Hell yes! How hard can you take it?"

I gritted my teeth, half expecting to regret saying it but also determined to show Fabio what a gay boy can take. "I've been flogged until I've bled before."

Mistress Mara just SMILED and secured my wrists to the shackles in the ceiling.

Being that it was the end of the night, it was a pretty fast flogging. But that doesn't mean she went light on me. It was tough to remember to yell "Thank you MISTRESS" as opposed to my usual "Thank you SIR" or "Thank you MASTER". It hurt, but like I said, I was determined to demonstrate what this gay boy is made of.

At a certain point I felt Mistress Mara slap a couple strips of duct tape against my back. "Just a little blood! No worries!" she said. 

I didn't break. I didn't care. That wasn't the point. Before I even knew it it was over. I said thank you to Mistress, and walked out of the bar, euphoric, and proud.

This morning I wake up, look in the mirror, and realized what happened last night. I let my ego overtake the rational components of my brain, and I thusly paid the price. By getting hit. By. A. Girl.

Something New

So I've been a scootch bit busy lately, what with NACA conventions coming up in just one short month (AAAAHHH OMG!). But I want to keep you all engaged and present, so we're going to try something new! Here is a guest post, written by my best friend and leather brother, WillCo68 aka Karri Plowman.

~~~~~~~~~~

To quote Shakespeare, "Can one desire too much of a good thing?"

I’ve been thinking about this sentiment a lot lately, especially after my most recent experience with a new and curious kinkster. I started a conversation with Tynan and he encouraged me to write and submit a blog to him. Being Tynan Fox’s brother…you can imagine I’ve had my fair share of fun in the scene. For those of you that are curious…just read through his blogs regarding the Indigenous person (like this one). 

Let me set the context. This summer I started to think that I was having too much sex and playing in an unhealthy manner. Not "unsafe" mind you, but mentally I was doing more and more to push my limits and challenge myself. The dirtier, the kinkier, the odder, the better. Each time it was taking more and more to get me off or allow me to shift into the head space I wanted.

I’m a vers, and while I tend to bottom more than top - especially if it comes to fisting - I started creating scenario’s where I could top and/or dominate just to have a different experience. The one that ended it was when I allowed a cute non-kink guy to wear my leathers and gear in the bedroom after coming home from the bar, the whole time ignoring the fact that my room began to reek of cologne and hair gel, just so I can watch this non-kink boy in chaps. At that point I realized he was treating my gear as dress up and a joke.

I love my leather life, it saved me…and I’ve been lucky to live out and proud in leather for several years. But in that minute, my life became a punch line. Luckily I have great leather brothers in both Tynan Fox and Pup Trigger who recognized my confusion, and intervened with me. So I took the last two months off from having sex.

Now we come to the current situation and impetus for this blog. I just had vanilla sex!!

Yes, after two months more or less, I met a wonderful guy, spent a couple of days having great conversation(s) regarding leather, fashion, kink, you name it. Bear in mind, he is young and slightly inexperienced... and to be honest? I never intended to have sex with him at first. I’m always willing to help and offer advice to the new members of our community. It was just nice to meet a guy who was interested in our scene and shared some similar aesthetics as me.

But something happened and all directions indicated we would end up sleeping together. I won’t betray his trust regarding all the details, but I will say since he is new to our kink world we ended up having vanilla sex. No alcohol, no poppers, and no gear or toys. Just two men exploring one another.  

I don’t think I have been more turned on, and more excited, in MONTHS. To use a vulgar expression “I was so hard you would have needed a tire tool to put a condom on me.”

Did you ever have the circumstance where you overate something as a kid? Jello, chips, cookies, something that ended up making you sick? For me it was Capt’n Cruch Berry Cereal. I won’t go into the details, but if it’s red going in, it’s pink on the way out. Consequently, I can’t eat Capt’n Cruch to this day. Never will again. In some ways, I did the same thing with my physical life and I over indulged in the kink lifestyle. I had reached a point that it was so boring because I overindulged. Now this may sound like "wah-wah-woe-is-me" moment to some of the readers who don’t get to play as often as they would like. Yes, I get it. I’m complaining about having too much kink in my life. But if you haven’t put two and two together, not only is this my life, but kink is my profession with Twin Cities Leather. Sex is what I think about everyday as a job PLUS on my personal time. It can become overwhelming, and honestly it did.

I needed the intimacy one finds with a man. I needed to be revived. I needed to just laugh and remember the reason I love leather and kink - to remember that its base is in the love for men. Their smell, their feel, the heat and passion that we can generate. I also needed to remember that good old fashioned vanilla sex can sometimes be one of the most healing things in the world. Vanilla ice cream on a hot summer’s day is just as sweet as chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream on the couch in December. It doesn’t need all the extras, because in that one moment, it is wonderful. 

I don't know if this makes sense or will help anyone, but if I had to put a moral to the story, it's that too much of a good thing can be bad. If you need an epilogue, it's that all I can do is smile. I feel healthier and happier then I have in a long time.

We shall see what happens next with the guy. I’m not jinxing anything; I know at the least I just added another great friend to my life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These insights are precisely the reason why this man is my brother. ~Fox

(Anti-)Drama Patrol

Let's be honest; we have problems. I'm not talking about the community level; I'm talking about the individual level. Yes, there are community problems (for more information, see this example at Leatherati), but I think that most of the real problems that dishearten people and drive them away from kink, leather, or BDSM happen down closely at the personal level.

No one is immune from these problems. I'm certainly no exception. 

What causes all the fighting? And no, I'm not referring to the fighting of a board of directors or the organizing of a conference. I'm just talking about standard, normal, kinky people from the same local community. The conflict can be caused by a variety of reasons. 100% of people will not be able to get along 100% of the time.

I think one of the promulgating factors is the personality type of our community. I feel like we're filled with people who have the "Dolphin" personality type. These are the idealists;  The people having this type of personality tend to be giving, trusting, spiritual, and they are focused on personal journeys and human potentials. They are very enthusiastic, they trust their intuition, seek their true self, and dream of attaining wisdom. But they are also a very intelligent, yet very emotional people who can get defensive. If you ever do something wrong to a Dolphin, they will remember it.......forever.

The kink community is too small. We spend too much time together, and people get sick of each other. Tempers flare. True selves come out. It's pretty much unavoidable.

It won't ever stop. So I'm writing this because someone asked me, "How do you cope with the unending drama?" The answer is complex.

There's several factors that help me cope with the unending frustrations and interpersonal meltdowns around me. First, I'm an RN. I have training in mental health nursing, and working in critical care has made me develop a thick skin to a lot of different emotions. It's generally pretty easy for me to keep my temper in check because I've likely developed a stronger wall to stuff it all behind than most poeple. I've heard several of my friends mention to others, "Tynan is pretty tough to anger." I take pride in that. Anger and impulsivity rarely solve anyone's problems.

Second, I live in Rochester. Although that's not the end of the world, the gays in Minneapolis treat the city like it is. I get to run away to the middle of nowhere and escape it all. When I'm not exposed to it seven days a week, it's easier to deal with.

Finally, though, I've developed a poor coping mechanism. I jerk off. A lot. Sometimes I get so stressed out by some of my kinky friends that just the thought of sitting down to write about anything remotely related to fetish makes me want to puke. In those situations, I usually sit down at my desk, and intend to write....but then I end up looking at hot pics on Recon or Tumblr and end up jerking off. For HOURS. Clearly this is not so productive. It's a habit I'm trying to break.

Overall, I would say I just float along and go with the flow of the social situation. I don't, in general, let the fights get to me. I don't know how I ever reached this point in my life for certain, but I think it was sometime in college. One day I just woke up and thought to myself, "Why do I even care? It's not going to change anything, there's not much I can do about it, and it's not my job to police the entire world."

I've taken a personality test before. I'm not a Dolphin, so I'm guessing that also helps my coping skills. But here's my overall advice. These are based upon the ideals with which I try to live my own life:

1) Let it go. Really. When something dramatic happens or someone offends you, first, give them the benefit of the doubt that they didn't mean it or even know they were doing it (whatever "it" is). EVERY SINGLE TIME. Then, Let. It. Go. If you can develop the ability allow the petty shit to roll off your back, you may find that you'll be a more pleasant person overall.

2) If it doesn't concern you, STAY OUT OF IT. There's enough drama queens around. If your friends want to vent, fine, but consider just letting them vent. Not everyone needs advice. Consider the rammifications of your advice getting you involved in an unpleasant situation.

3) Remember that we don't all have to love each other, or hell, we don't even all have to LIKE each other or get along. However, the community is so small that we have an obligation TOLERATE one another. Anyone is capable of that, including you. Instead of bad-mouthing or fighting with that person at the bar that you don't like, consider just ignoring them and finding someone else to talk to or something else to talk about.

4) Never forget that anyone who's kinky should feel welcome in your local community. If actions are happening chronically from an individual that are making this less of a reality, it's your responsibility to speak up about it.

5) Find a productive coping mechanism/outlet for you to engage in when the drama-meter gets too high. That mechanism should NOT be to unload onto a different friend. Read, write, dance, pray, sing, work out, or fuck. Your mechanism should be done in a constructive and healthy manner. If the only way that you can cope with everyone else's drama is to spread it around by "venting" or unloading on others, you're only adding to the problem.

6) When someone asks you, "What's going on with (person x)?" Practice, and become comfortable with the response, "Why don't you go ask (person x) about it?" Triangulation is the heart of most drama and fights. This isn't high school. We're all adults, and we should ask one another directly about our problems.

7) Find peace with the fact that the drama won't stop, because it won't. Accept it. Acknowledge that it's not your job to fix it or stop it. There are steps you can take to reduce its impact, but it won't EVER go away. Find the courage to listen, smile, laugh, and move on. These things really do resolve themselves time after time.

8) Swallow your pride and admit if you've done something wrong. No one is perfect. When you're confronted about a mistake you've made, own it, offer an apology, and try to fix it. Don't make excuses for yourself or make up explanations that don't make sense.

9) Kink isn't a therapy session. We're all brothers by the fetish that we have, but if you find that you spend more of your time in kink communities discussing your own problems, it's really not helpful to the sexual culture that we live and share. This is why they make therapists, psychiatrists, social workers, and other mental health professionals. Seek them out, or check the Kink-Aware Professionals Directory if you want a therapist who specifically knows about kinky issues.

10) Open your heart. Remember that compassion will go a lot farther than hate, grudges, or disdain. Think about the philosophy of compassion in every form for every human being. Remember, you may think you know what life is like through everyone else's eyes, but you don't. You can't. And you never, ever will.

Savage Podcast

Guess what!

I had the honor of assisting Dan Savage in answering a kinky question on his weekly Savage Podcast! See how I helped answer a question for a straight, kinky girl who wanted to know how to get over the kink-shame she's felt for years!

Link to the podcast: here!

Self Play - My Personal Plea

I know I'm behind the fringe in reporting on this so late. Most of you are probably alredy aware, but we lost another one of our own last week. 

Sitting in the car on the drive back from IML is when I found out. Kink Engineering, a Toronto-based company that sells vac beds and other kinky wears, reports that one of their founders, designers, builders, and engineers has sadly lost his life due to playing alone. I didn't ever know Matt "Mad_Scientist", but I'd heard of him in various contexts and I had definitely browsed the website of Kink Engineering. I'm devastated. Again.

I only know what I've read about his death. Apparently, Matt had decided to get into and use a vac-bed while he was alone with no one else to keep an eye on him. He had set up several safeguards, but those he had set up depended on him being awake. The pressure on his neck caused by the vac-bed resulted in a carotid sinus reflex death. This is due mostly because the bed he was using had a neck-opening that was too small for his neck. The additional pressure on the carotid sinus triggered his heart rate to slow and eventually stop.

Here's the part that frustrates me most: if someone had been there to help him release the pressure on his neck, the neuronal reflex would have stopped, and his heart rate would have come back up, and he would have lived. But instead, he decided to do it alone. And now, at age 35, his life is over.

My heart goes out to Archean, Kink Engineering, and all of his family and friends.

I wish I could say this didn't happen routinely. In the previous couple of years, however, I feel like we've heard this story more and more frequently. It's unsettling. On a personal level, I know it's tough to wonder "what if". I lived for years in situations where there was no one anywhere near me to get kinky with. The lure of self-play is extremely difficult to ward off. I'm guilty of it myself, and given stories like this one, I consider myself lucky to be alive today.

But today is when we need to step up as kinksters and take responsibility. I cringe everytime I see videos on XTube or other sites of people engaging in risky play by themselves. Whenever I see a video of a guy doing breath play by himself, and pushing himself harder and harder to the edge, and there's no one around to rescue him, I die a little bit inside.

What kind of message are we sending to younger generations? Why are we trying to tell them that this kind of risk is acceptable?

That said, I'm a pragmatist. I know that there are guys out there who are going to be engaging in self-play come hell or high water, consequences be dammed. And when you're by yourself, you feel trapped, and like no one else in the world is going to understand you.....you just do it because you don't care anymore. Possibly because you saw videos of other guys doing it, and they were fine.

We shouldn't be throwing fuel on the fire, though. This has to end.

So here it is, my personal plea:

1) Please don't engage in risky self-play including breath control, vac bed use, etc. You never know what can or will go wrong. I'm sure Matt wasn't expecting things to go that way either.

2) STOP posting videos online of risky self-play. The message this sends is that it's safe, when it isn't. It's our responsibility to get this message out that it's not okay. If you already have videos posted of yourself doing risky self-play, please take them down.

3) Intervene with those who engage in risky self-play. Speak to them directly. Let them know how you feel about it, make sure they know their life is valuable, and volunteer your time (?) to monitor them so they're not playing alone.

Life is so valuable to every one of us. You can't ever get to those hot scenes you fantasize about if you're not alive to be a part of them. Let's work together to make sure we're all around to live out our kinks.

Jump

Well, another IML has come and gone. Today is Thursday and I finally feel ready to write about it. Yes, I returned to Minnesota on Tuesday. It's been 36 hours and I'm finally ready to write about it.

The event was everything it has ever been to me the previous two times I've been there. It was fun, thrilling, intoxicating, satisfying, depressing, painful, and chaotic. But most of all, it was an eye-opening experience just as it usually is.

Despite the weekend being one big leather/sex fest with a random beauty pagent/contest thrown into the works, I have learned something major about myself every year I've gone and subjected myself to the torment that is IML. I'm pretty sure the weekend was not set out to be an educational session at a university. It never was. But the amount of growth that has occurred in my personal journey year after year has been astounding.

But to keep myself from getting too deep, I'll stop to interject that I also had lots and lots of kinky sex. ;)

It's an exhausting experience. I don't even know how it managed to happen, but I woke up by 10am each day we were there. I spent a decent amount of time working for Leatherati, which is something I never mind doing. I know that people are reading the posts on Leatherati Live so that gives me great motivation to keep going. I know that not everyone can be there with us.

Exhausting. By the time Tuesday morning arrives, the last thing I want to do is pack up, clean, or load the car. This year, there were twelve guys staying in our suite so we had quite a bit of packing and cleaning to do. We all go through each and every piece of gear laying around in the suite and make sure it all ends up in the right bag. We listen to music and recap the weekend while we do this, together, slowly packing away another new chapter in each of our lives. Once the entire room is clean and packed, we take one final moment to pour one last drink (usually mimosas) and toast to our brotherhood and another successful weekend at IML together.

We ate lunch, and then comes the long 6 hour drive back to Minnesota. That drive can be kind of relaxing in a lot of ways. We discuss what we liked, what we didn't like, ways we could change things for next year, and of course, what we learned.

Pup Trigger, my best friend and eternal partner in crime, has driven with me every year so far. This is good for two reasons: one, we cram so much gear into my Tahoe that we almost need a crowbar to fit it all in, and two, the conversation leads us to realize what we learned.

We dropped off the two guys who rode down along with us at around 9:30 or 10 at night. It's quiet in the car. It's just me and my brother and the silence and the moonlight and our exhausted bodies. The car was stopped. It's time to get out and unpack or something...but neither one of us could. We sat there. Frozen. Opening the car door and getting out would mean it's all over for another year, and neither one of us wanted to let that go.

We both agreed that this IML was one in which we each made incredible discoveries about leather, about kink, about contests, and about ourselves. But where are we now?

I told him that I felt like we were at a point in life where we were standing at the edge of a cliff. Turning back isn't an option now. We can only move forward; we have to find a way to get across the chasm and continue the journey on the other side. The distance between the cliffs is just barely barely close enough so that a huge jump across has a probability of success, but includes the possibility of failure. But the rock face is also scalable.

So what are the options at this point? Well, one option is to climb down the side of the cliff, walk across the bottom of the chasm, and find a way to scale up the other side. The other option, of course, is to get a running start, jump hard, and pray that you get close enough to the other side to grab on for dear life and pull yourself up.

We're on the edge of something big here in Minnesota. There's an opportunity before us at this time which may never present itself again. Therein lies the most important lesson of IML this year; this is our decision. No one is ever going to make it for us. If we take the time to scale the rock face, by the time we get to the other side, it will be too late.

No more excuses. We'll figure it all out. The decision is already made. We both know it. And to get the boost that we need, we're going to look to the same place we always have when we need it.

I look across to my brother, and yes, I do it with a tear in my eye. "Let's jump," I said. "Together."

 

We're on to something big here. More details soon. Thank you to everyone for an amazing IML.

Image

When I was in the 7th grade, my family got a dial-up internet connection to our home PC. I was pretty tech savvy as a kid and until college, I always envisioned myself in some sort of computer career. I built my own PC when I was 13 years old. Just for fun. Dammit, I was a nerd. It wasn't long after we got that dial up connection that I figured out how to manipulate/delete browsing histories from Internet Explorer. 

I spent a little bit (okay, a lot of time) looking around at different kink and bondage websites on-line over the years. Most of them didn't appeal to me; my fetish is surprisingly specific. I remember the early days of CapturedGuys and Bound&Gagged. Those were probably two of my favorites. What I also remember, however, is tinkering around on some sites that sold porn videos. Back in those days, the thought of downloading a whole movie via a dial up connection was unfathomable; I spent my time just reading the descriptions and looking over the covers of the boxes.

Very few of these professional films actually appealed to me. I was looking for bondage and kidnappings, being done by guys with whom I could associate myself. What I found was slings, whips, older guys with lots of body hair and beards and mustaches wearing harnesses, and lots and lots of fucking. I found myself reviewing lots of vintage porn which lead me to believe that this is what "leather" meant. I thought that that meant I didn't belong then, and probably would never belong (I really didn't have much taste for that much body hair or all that crazy leather equipment).

This experience led me to believe that in order to have the kinky experiences I wanted, one of two things had to happen; Either I would need to modify my body to look like all those other people, or else once I jumped in and started, I would eventually grow up to become/look just like one of them. Flaming red hair and all. It isn't something I wanted to become. So you see, I never felt alone because I was kinky. My loneliness came from just being different and not wanting to conform to the stereotype which I had learned.

Was this an unrealistic belief for a 13-18 year old who didn't know any better? Particularly, one in St. Louis, where face-to-face education is slim? Particularly for youth?

These days, I kinda feel ashamed of the stereotype I labeled the leathermen with at that point in my life. It's a stereotype that prevented me from exploring the community at large for many years, until I was out of college for some time, in fact. It was a rather judgemental period of my life, and now I regret it. You see, it wasn't just that I didn't want to become one of them. I forgot they were people. And for a long time, I didn't even want to have anything to do with them.

Then, a few years ago, it donned upon me; I'm giving them the precise treatment they were providing to me. I didn't like that treatment at all. I felt like I was just being labeled as "not one of us" by them and rather dehumanized. I don't even remember what the moment was that caused it, but it was like someone just set a mirror in front of me to stare into for a while. I realized that I can't ever be accepted into this community if I myself remember that those leathermen are actually people too.

I'm really glad I realized that. 

I'm still realizing how much I have to learn, though. Saturday night was "Studio 54" night at The Saloon. They went above and beyond to retrofit the bar to a classic 70s style, even going to far as to paint walls, put the arcade games into storage, and bring in a water-bed and beanbags for the lounge area. Dressing up in all 70s fashion/style got you in for no cover charge. And one final nail in the coffin: they openly asked for the city's kinksters to dress in their best 70s leather look. *sigh* Twist my arm a little harder, why don't you?

So I reached back through my brain on Saturday trying to think of the style and fashion from all those porn video covers and I did my very best to recreate it. When I saw the end result, I realized how little I really know about vintage leather. I looked at myself in the mirror, and the image I saw prompted me to coin a new term:

Decade confusion (noun) - mistaking a pop-culture reference from one distinct decade for another. Example: In a sad case of decade confusion, my attempt at a 70s leather look ended up more like either 80s punk-rock, or The Terminator.

History

There's been this battle going on over on Leatherati Voices. Someone named John D Wheal wrote a book about leather life as it was in the 1940s and 1950s. Read Guy Baldwin's or Jeffery Payne's review of the book. And be sure to read John D Wheal's rebuttal. For those of you who don't know him, Guy Baldwin and Jeffery Payne are former International Mr. Leathers and very well respected members of the leather community. At least, as far as I've been told.

The debate has been fascinating to follow, although I've been somewhat at a loss for words on what to say about the issue. I don't know John Wheal, Guy Baldwin, or Jeffrey Payne personally. I've never met any of them. I don't know who's right or who's wrong about anything related to this book at all. Did leather "councils" exist? Were there rules? What was protocol really like? Who's a rubber boy to believe anyway? And does it even make any difference now?

While I've been pondering all of this, I've also been trudging along with my life. Besides work at the hospital, I've spent a good amount of time in Minneapolis, being a big part of the Mr. and Ms. Twin Cities Leather contests. I was a judge this year. It was an interesting perspective on the whole process. The contestants gave it their all, and I could tell. We were able to sash our very first Ms. Twin Cities Leather, SJ. She's well connected and has high hopes for the leather scene in Minneapolis. Our winner of the Mr. Twin Cities Leather contest is Jared. This was the controversial one we picked. He's new to the Twin Cities, but moreover, he's heterosexual. This has caused a little bit of uproar from the community, but then again, maybe I just haven't heard the full extent of it between working and being out of town.

Whatever the case is, I'm willing to take any amount of heat that anyone wants to dish out. Seriously. If anyone has a problem with a straight man being Mr. TCL, then you should take it out on me. Not him. Don't forget that he was chosen to fill this role by a group of five people, myself included. We didn't have to pick him, yet we did. So if you have something to say, let's hear it. This wasn't a decision that I, or the entire judges panel came to lightly. It'll probably be something I'll be remembered for.

Will it? Is this the history I'm writing?

Later that week, I went out to Denver to spend an amazing weekend with a group of really awesome guys. It was the first time in my life I'd ever been to Denver. I didn't really see a whole lot of it, but then again, we weren't exactly there to enjoy the scenery, either. This was a private party...and it was nice to see the boys from Florida and my Denver crew again and spend some quality time with my kink brothers/family. For anyone who's followed this blog, you know that "leather family" isn't a term that I've used much here. It's never felt right to me, but then again, maybe it's just a word I never really understood.

The weekend in Denver was an absolute blast. It almost felt like IML. We kept the energy high, I got to dom AND sub and do some really awesome scenes on both sides. The play was essentially non-stop, but for the times we went out to eat and the few hours we slept. Good times were had by all, but the thing that I'll remember most is the sense of family that we developed and shared during those four long days we all spent together. A family I couldn't ever imagine having, but now so grateful for.

Sitting at dinner with everyone, I looked down the table of 25 and thought to myself - is this how the old guard came together and became a family? Is the realization that I'm having now any different than the ones they had back then? Did they share meals like this too? How will I ever know? I probably never will.

And what about me? How will I be remembered? Fifty or sixty years from now, provided the world still exists, how is MY generation of kink going to be interpreted? Are we going to be thought of as the rebels? The sex fiends? Are people going to marvel at the LACK of technology that we had available to us? Are people going to wonder how we found one another? Or are people going to assume we had our own councils making those decisions for us? Then again, people might think of my generation as a lousy Recon hookup, with nothing more to show for it than a used condom in the trash can.

I know this blog isn't going to last forever and ever and ever. I expect that one day, I'm going to run out of steam, or else people are going to stop listening to what I have to say. But unless I write enough that the Leather Archives & Museum will find it worthy of permanent preservation and archival as a historical text, there's a good chance that this community and I will become the new "old guard" that people are left to only wonder about. But what do I really want left for future generations to remember about us?

I guess I would want people to know that judging Mr. Twin Cities Leather was an amazing experience. It was one I'm honored to have been selected to be a part of at just age 27, and I'm happy that the winner is heterosexual. How can we ask straight people to embrace our homosexual communities if we don't accept and support them as well? And yes, I could go on and write plenty of porn about the scenes I had in Denver, like the kidnapping when the Floridanians arrived or the double mummification or the 90 minute suspension in a zentai that I went through or any other number of scenes. All of these milestones in my life are building me into the kinkster I am today, but I see something more important beneath the surface.

We won't ever know what the FIRST guard of leather was really like; all I can say is that I know that I'm very grateful for them and whatever it was they did. I wouldn't be here today without the dreams they had. Today, in our times of chaos and uncertainty, we press on together in creating our own history. As a family. Now. In the Twin Cities, Denver, Florida, at a dinner table, in a dungeon, at a party, and in a parade.

The thing that I want remembered most can't ever be put in an archive or a museum. In my eyes, the most valuable part of my generation of leather is the unending feeling of optimism - the faith that future generations are going to have even stronger community bonds than ours because of the history we're making today. 

Social vs. "Social"

Something must have bitten me.

There hasn't been much of 2012 lately, but for whatever reason, I've been playing a LOT so far in 2012. I've already used my dungeon/attic more this year than I did last year (don't laugh). Maybe it's the full moon tonight?

Or maybe it's just that I'm learning to navigate being social, vs. being "social". It seems like whenever I get together with a group of kinky friends, be it in Minneapolis or at an event like MAL, I don't want to miss out on seeing all the great friends I rarely see. But then when that happens, I usually just end up being social (read "drinking") with them, and screwing around gets thrown to the wayside. 

It's about finding the proper amount of balance in life. Seeing friends is great, yeah, but to maintain health as a kinkster, one needs to settle those cravings. And yet, I've felt completely satisfied being social with my kinky friends.

Maybe I'm just moving up to a new level? I've gotten used to being social and I feel like I know my friends and who they are. Maybe I'm ready to depart those times a little bit more often now that I've had them enough and explore some new territory I haven't yet explored. 

Moderation in all things. Including moderation. Can't wait to see what else 2012 holds...

It's Working

For those of you who have only recently joined this blog and/or may have not read every single word dating back two and a half years ago, let me rehash why I started writing in the first place. 

I was looking at Recon profiles and blogs for years, and reading about all the hot experiences guys have, wishing it were me. They all seemed to be from guys who either lived in the Northeast or the West coasts. Years of looking at all these profiles and seeing things that I didn't have, yet wanting so badly resulted in giving me a complex of feeling powerless to change anything about my kinky life. And I thought to myself, yes, I've played, but not like that....

.....but I've played. I thought about it more and more, and I realized; I've been doing bondage since I was 18. Despite living in the middle of nowhere in college, I played a LOT. I found guys out there on sites and went for more weekend excursions than I remember (fortunately, most of them had photographic evidence). Maybe the pictures weren't as hot as the ones I've seen by other guys and maybe I didn't have a whole room full of gear and a dungeon of my own, but for being 25 years old, I have a pretty fucking kinky life! There's no reason I shouldn't be proud of it.

Moreover, there's no reason that anyone else can't have it. Maybe if I wrote about my own life, others won't feel so inhibited to get out there and play while they're younger. Grab your kinky life by the balls, kinkster, because you're not the only college boy dying to break into this. 

I've been pouring my life out to you all through this site in the hope that someone, somewhere is reading it and feeling like they're not alone. I track my stats a little bit so I know I have plenty of readers, but being that the blog really isn't that old (only 2ish years), I'm sure there's an impact yet to be made. 

But it's working. 

This weekend, MPLSGuy invited me up to help entertain a couple boys visiting him from Florida. FLABound and FlyBoyFL came up for their first big kinky excursion. It was an absolutely perfect weekend. There was a LOT of play, a tour of Minneapolis dungeons (thanks to MPLSGuy, b1point5, and Pterodactyl), good food, great laughs, EPIC bondage scenes (thanks to all our hosts and my partner in crime, PupTrigger), awesome nights at the bar, and a wonderful feeling of family with two really hot, young guys. As I sit here and write this on Monday evening, I feel a little bit like IML just ended. I'm kind of on cloud nine from these guys. 

On top of it all, the boys couldn't stop gushing over how excited they were to meet me. It was almost embarrassing how much they treated me like some kind of celebrity all weekend. I hadn't really talked to them on Recon or anything before meeting them this weekend, but they both told me how long they've been reading my blog for and how inspiring it was to them. Without the words and experiences I've written about here, they both told me that they would never have had the courage to dive in deeper or to go fly off to visit a dom for a kinky weekend. They were both too nervous to ever chat with me before, but they both said, "Reading your words gave us hope, and courage."

I'm not telling all of this just to blow my own horn. Fuck the fame, the fortune, the power, or the glory. That's not what this blog is about. I'm just so proud that I'm already somehow meeting the greatest goal that I ever set out for myself in this little spot on the web. I'm not here to be a celebrity. I'm just a regular guy! But I'm so, so proud that the words I've written are already having an impact on lives, somewhere.

But it's not just my words. More and more blogs, tumblrs, and twitters have been popping up from kinky, younger guys all over the country. People like TallGlassOfOJ, KinkyBoiNick, AlphaPupAlpine, BenInLeatherLand, JohnnyGear, VagaBondageBoy, PupSkoll, LeatherBondageLove, AllAmericanKinkster and RubberFreak are all pouring their kinky hearts, souls, and lives out for all the world to understand. These are all pivotal for our entire community. The more we share our own lives, the less isolated we'll feel, the more kinksters will come out, the stronger our community will be, and the more family we have.

To FLABound and FlyBoyFL, thanks for an awesome weekend, thanks for reading, and thanks for having the courage to take a leap of faith.

And to all the other blogging, tweeting, and tumblring kinksters out there,
Keep playing.
Keep traveling.
Keep photographing.
Keep writing.
Keep reading.
Keep living. 
Keep loving.

We're reaching them. It's working. 

Make a Kinky Resolution

BLUF made a statement yesterday, and it's already been published on Leatherati's and Dan Savage's blogs. I think it's absolutely perfect. It's everything I've ever fought for as a kinkster through this blog. Read their whole statement here.

Their point is to get kinksters off their computers/smartphones, put their gear on, and get out to the leather bars in their communities. So many of our favorite, most cherished of places have been closing down in recent years. The Chicago Eagle, Detroit Eagle, and now the SF Eagle are the latest of the casualties. Please, consider making the 12x12 resolution. Visit your local leather bar 12 times in the 12 months of 2012. Without patrons, these bars will close. Let's stop this downward spiral. Let's remember that leather (or rubber or whatever your kink is) is something to be celebrated, embraced, and worn proudly; it's not just something you wear at home, alone, behind closed doors while you cruise Recon or Scruff.

In Minneapolis, we make the resolution pretty easy to meet. Gear/dresscode night is once a month, every month on the 2nd Saturday at The Minneapolis Eagle, and they're always a blast. But I would encourage the regulars at MPLS Gear Night to double down on this resolution. Keep going to gear night, but gear up, and go out at least one other time during the month that it's NOT a gear night. I try to wear leather or latex whenever I go to the Eagle, which is pretty frequently. If more guys bring back that energy to the bar, just imagine - maybe dresscode night wouldn't just be once a month? Maybe it would be every day?

If you live in one of the following cities, you still have an Eagle you can, and should, support:

• Denver
• Los Angeles
• San Diego
• Washington D.C.
• Atlanta
• Indianapolis
• Baltimore
• New Orleans
• Minneapolis
• New York
• Portland
• Providence
• Dallas
• Seattle
• Tulsa
• Toronto
• Calgary
• Vienna
• Stuttgart
• Madrid
• London
• Manchester

But the list doesn't stop there. There are many leather bars in the US and elsewhere that don't use the name "Eagle". I'm emphasizing these only because the name "Eagle" is an iconic name for a leather bar, and it's always heartbreaking to hear of another one closing (and also because my googleing skills aren't good enough to find every leather bar in the USA). Whatever the name of your leather bar in your city is, get out there and support them! These leather business owners deserve our support. It's not easy being an entrepreneur in this economy, and being a leather entrepreneur has its own set of drama to go with it. Without these brave individuals, there would be no leather bars in the first place. And personally, I think MY life has gotten better since I started going to the MPLS Eagle....

If you DON'T live in or near a city that has a leather or other similar alternative bar, don't be discouraged. Living in Rochester, MN, Kirksville, MO, Iowa City, IA, Marquette, MI, Springfield, MO, Jackson, MI, Appleton, WI, Buffalo, NY, and other smaller, remote places can be a real challenge for leather people. We don't always get to choose where we live, but no matter where you are, you're probably not alone. If you can safely, consider being the voice for the community in your hometown. Consider starting a leather group, organization, or even just speak to your local gay bar (or the most liberal of straight bars you can find) about having a leather night once a month. These events and clubs just don't come from nowhere. If you need help or advice on these smaller communities/areas, e-mail me. I can give you a little advice on those smaller communities.

If you can find the strength inside of you to lead a community in a small town, then you will have everything you will ever need to face the world.

Check out the Facebook Page for the 12x12 campaign here. Post their badge on your blog, your website, your tumblr or your twitter. Spread the word. We can stop the closing of our most sacred of places. We can revitalize this community, and remind ourselves that leather isn't just something you wear to get off. We were first a community, a brotherhood. We can still have that. And when we find it, we won't ever have to see another Eagle or other leather bar or shop shut down again.

Stand strong, kinksters!

Kick your Heels Up

The question I've been asked over and over again at these NACA Trade Shows I've been attending is, "What exactly are your speeches about?" This question is usually asked by the college student or adviser with the crinkled forehead and unsure smile, half curious, and half afraid of my answer. Which brings me to the point; why am I here doing this at all?

At the root of the question is the reason why people who are kinky, regardless of their gender or sexual orientation, feel as though they can't explore that side of themselves. This is a subject which I refer to as "kink shame". I'm lucky enough to have been born and lived without ever feeling the guilt or shame associated with being turned on by something a bit alternative in the bedroom; my friends never fail to remind me that not everyone is lucky enough to have lived this way. Before someone can explore this whole side of themselves, they have to be able to accept and affirm it for themselves first. In this way, becoming kinky or practicing kink requires a process similar to coming out. This leads me to my philosophy on kink in general - being kinky is as much a part of someone's sexual identity as their orientation is.

So you have to come out to yourself as kinky, yeah? It's a kind of second coming out to those of us who are gay or lesbian. When I think about the world of BDSM, leather, rubber, etc. I truly believe that by total volume, there are more straight kinky people in the world than there are gay kinky people, but among those separate orientations, the proportion of kinky straight people, by percentage, is probably SMALLER than kinky gay people. Kink is a much bigger part of gay culture than it is of being straight. Why?

Because we don't have to leap that far.

Gay men have always had a sort of fun and airy attitude toward sex than straight people, in large part because for us, having sex, even vanilla sex, is a true rebellion against the societal norm we are constantly judged against. It's exactly the thing that we are oppressed over and the thing that the haters hate us for. In the words of Margaret Cho, "If you're oppressed over who you fuck, you're gonna kick up your heels and FUCK!" Making things even easier for us is the fact that gay men already came out once. To do so again, over our kinks, isn't as far of a leap to jump in most cases.

Straight people don't have this luxury afforded to them. They aren't oppressed over who they fuck, it's just over HOW they fuck. Missionary position is still the expectation among most straight people. Anything different makes you (supposedly) deviant, wrong, and mentally ill. Coming to terms with being kinky is the first time a straight person will likely struggle with this kind of conflict in his/her life. This oppression, the oppression that a gay man has already overcome, is enough to make a straight person retreat back into the kinky closet and attempt to ignore that part of him/herself for a few more years. Out, gay men have the foresight to know that ignoring it won't make it go away. Couple this with a lack of prevalent resources (there is nothing as prominent for straight kinksters as Recon, Gearfetish, or Manhunt are for gay men), and it's easy to see why the proportion of kinky gays is bigger than the proportion of kinky straights.

So why am I trying to do these speeches?

Sometimes the biggest contributing factor to someone's comfort level with themselves is seeing precisely that quality in others around them. Living with a quality that you think makes you think you're mentally ill is an unhealthy way to lead your life. No one should have to carry that burden, and no longer should we have to carry that burden ourselves. Remember when that lawyer got fired in New York a few weeks ago? The only way unfair treatment like that will stop is for all kinksters in the world to stand up and say, "STOP, this is wrong." The kinkster who's in the closet won't do that. The one who feels empowered and belongs to a community is not only leading a fulfilling, joyous life, but will also feel empowered enough in themselves to stand up along with us as we chant, "STOP, this is wrong." And one day, we'll be able to live in a world where we don't have to use fake names and we don't have to be scared of losing our jobs because of what we do behind closed doors.

Instilling confidence in those who feel powerless helps individuals, groups, as well as the kinky community as a whole. The way to do it is to teach people that it's okay to love yourself, enjoy and express your kinks, and not to fear dancing to the rhythm of your life.

Because if there's one thing I know how to do well, it's kick up my heels.

Feet and Sneakers

I'm asked about these all the time.  Why in god's name would I enjoy being tied up with a sneakers strapped to my face?  I think it all started with this picture:

.

...........yeah.  I can see how that would take a bit of explanation.

Feet are complicated for me.  Sort of.  Some guys get turned on just LOOKING at feet.  These are the ones who spend their whole summer on the beach (and you know who you are).  I'm not that type.  They way feet LOOK has never done anything for me.

One inherent truth about me is that I'm attracted to MEN.  I'm definitely a man's man.  I like a big, beefy, muscular, handsome, tall, athletic MAN.  My partner definitely fits the bill.  I love it when I wrap my arms around him and inhale and smell...him.  

And what smells more like a man to me than a man?  A man who just got done working out at the gym. I think the smell of gym bags, locker rooms, sweaty workout shorts, and shoes turn me on because that scent is the epitome of the scent of a MAN.  Breathe that in, and you feel like you're absolutely covered in him, even to the point where he's filled your lungs.

I know that not every guy feels this way.  Even my own partner doesn't feel this way.  He doesn't understand my fetish with that scent.  To make matters worse, he takes showers that are about 2 minutes long, tops.  So when he comes home from the gym, I've gotta MOVE because I dont' have much time to work!  

He hates being dirty so he immediately drops his gym bag and goes upstairs to shower.  He pops his shoes off in the hall, and they're usually soaked with his sweat.  Once he's in the shower, I've got about two whole minutes to enjoy them before he hops out and catches me, but I've gotten so good at this that I can always put them right back in exactly the position that he left them so that he doesn't notice. 

And I don't even care.  I guess it's just my little guilty indulgence.  Like candy to me.

Stronger Than Myself

To those of you who wrote in with your kind words about this blog, thank you. You made me stop and think further about what I'm writing for. I didn't know that my crazy little life was so inspirational to you out there. I'll work harder to remember that you don't expect perfection from me. Everything I publish doesn't have to be the most beautiful piece of art I've ever written. It's just an imperfect blog about an imperfect life, like all of us.

I still hold myself to higher standards, and when I fail, I take it really, really hard on myself. I do this in every facet of my life, including my relationship to my husband, my kinky friends, my work, my problem with ADHD, my speaking career, my cooking....pretty much everything I do. I was always held to really high standards as a child (one of my weekly household chores was to do the dusting of all the furniature; I remember once getting punished for not dusting the top of the fucking refridgerator in our kitchen). I didn't even know I was doing it to myself.

Flogging is not something I often do, but there are definitely times where I'm feeling some emotions and I just need to let it all out.  I tend to wall up my emotions and just let them build up, in order to maintain a good public image.  The summer was kind of crazy for me, and particularly the past week (for a very, very personal reason I won't be blogging about).  I couldn't sort out my emotions in my head, but I thought being flogged might help, for emotional AND sexual reasons.

I went to Inferno with the Chicago Hellfire Club this weekend, and made an appointment for a session. I stepped up onto the St. Andrew's cross, and I got shackled with my arms in the air on either side. Being flogged is an emotional catharsis. The first few swats don't really hurt much, but then they start to hurt.  Yet you don't ask for them to stop. You get flogged and flogged until you get "broken" and you break down, emotionally, and just let it out and start to cry. For me, that's where the scene typically ends. But I didn't do that this time.

When I got to the point where I wanted to cry and we usually stop, I gritted my teeth and strained against my restraints.  Without even thinking about it, I fought it back. It was tough to hide the tears from my dom and look like I could still keep going. But I fought HARD. It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life to fight those tears back.  I cleared my throat before I spoke to tell him, "I'm fine, Sir." And on he went, throwing those thuds against my back with his various floggers.

My mind raced.  Why in the world did I just do that?  I pulled hard against my restraints and braced myself for more pain.

It happened again after a few minutes.  Even though I really, really just wanted to cry, let it all out, collapse, and be done, some headstrong determination surfaced and took over my body.  I mouthed to myself, "You're stronger than this," as I braced myself against the wood of the cross and once again, forced those tears back into my head.  I was hurting like hell, more than I have ever hurt in my entire life, but I felt like I wasn't done yet.  I was looking for something I hadn't found yet in this beating.

By this point, my back was red, puffy, the muscles were loosely hanging off my scapulae, and just the slightest breeze made it sting.  And that was just a breeze... Sir asked, "Alright boy?" And again I cleared my throat and tried hard to mask the sounds of my crying.  "Yes Sir.  Don't stop yet."  I wanted to hurt more than I'd ever had before.  I wanted this to be a real punishment for the things I've done that seemed so wrong in my eyes.

He switched his tools again and returned to my back.  I was starting to yell though; each time he hit me, I screamed.  Some louder than others.  As my screams escalated and my back stung so bad I thought my arms were getting ripped off, Sir just picked up his pace and smacked at my back faster and faster. Tears were just streaming silently from my eyes into my blindfold as I screamed.  It had been about an hour of flogging at this point.  When I wasn't yelling, I was mouthing to myself, "Stronger than this," over and over again, telling myself that I can keep on going and not to stop.  

Why?  My mind was racing around.  Why is my body doing exactly what my brain says I shouldn't be doing?

Two exceptionally hard cracks and I nearly collapsed down from the cross, if it weren't for the restraints holding me up.  I clambered back up, fighting with all the strength I had left in my soul to keep on going.  I wasn't able to prevent my crying from being so obvious, but I was trying.  

I held my breath waiting for another strike, but it never came.  Instead I felt Sir in front of me, on the other side of the cross.  "Stop fighting it so hard," he said.  I started to cry harder.  I felt a liquid dripping down my back.  Weird, I thought.  After I realized I was bleeding, my mind finally quieted itself, and there, in that darkest, most painful, bloodiest, tearfilled moment, I felt on the outside how I did on the inside.  In that quiet peace that resulted, I looked to my own heart and found the strength to forgive.......myself.

"Thank you, Sir," I bawled as he held me.  I just cried and cried as I stood there, frozen, bleeding.

There's no reason for me to be so tough on myself. Sometimes I screw up, sometimes multiple people screw up and something goes wrong, or something hurts. That doesn't always make it my fault. Moreover, imperfection does not equal failure, and I don't need to constantly beat myself up over that. I'm worth more, and I can stop this endless cycle of self-depreciation.  I know I can.

Because after all...

Dry Spell?

Where've I been lately?  Why the delays in writing?

I'll be the first to admit that I've lost some motivation to write, but hear me out.  I don't think this is necessarily a bad thing. 

This blog started out as a look into the kinky life of a 20-something from the Midwest.  I had lived in Minnesota for just a little bit over a year.  It took a lot of focus to throw myself into my work and become comfortable with that facet of my life.  I hadn’t invested a lot of time or energy into a new community until I found myself on my feet as a nurse.  There was work to be done to find the kink in Minnesota.  There were friends yet to be made, bars yet to be explored, clothes yet to be bought, play yet to be had, etc.  And through the journey, I brought you with me through the magic of the internet. 

This blog turns two years old last month, and as I look back and reflect on what I’ve written thus far, I realize that something more has been going on here.  I can’t say I was born proud at all; there was a day in college where I didn’t like the Showtime series Queer As Folk because it promoted promiscuity (don’t laugh).  Becoming the proud, gay boy was a journey.  When I started writing for you, I hadn’t dreamed of the day I’d feel comfortable enough to run down Hennepin Ave and try to hail a taxi while wearing nothing but latex.  In order to find the kink in Minnesota and the Midwest, I first had to find the kink in myself. 

I never dreamed of the day I would feel so empowered that I would even attempt a run at a contest, and certainly not MIR.  The day I decided to start writing for this blog, I owned two (2) articles of latex gear/clothing. 

I’ve written enough sappy posts about how amazing my life has become and how much I value my kink brothers and the life I’ve grown into, and I don’t want to bore you with yet another.  Therein lies the point; my kinky life has become such an integral part of my everyday routine that it’s not even a separate part of my life.  I don’t have any friends who are vanilla; I can talk about kink with any one of them, even if they’re not as kinky to me.  I go to kink bars, I go to play parties, I go to events all over the nation, and I have friends in all corners of the USA and beyond.  I even go to vanilla bars in full latex and I feel completely comfortable.  And I do it often enough that it’s not such a novelty.  I don’t get as excited about leather or rubber events because I go to them all the time.

I’m no longer striving to become a Minnesotan kinkster.  I am one.  The journey has ended, and thus, my motivation to write.

With the death of one journey, a new path must be taken.  You can see that I’ve added a “hire me!” link above some months ago, and I’m proud to say that in the coming months, I’ll be attending trade shows to try to sell myself to colleges and universities throughout the country, to provide lectures and speeches on kinky life, BDSM, rubber, leather, and so forth.  I’m sure that will bring plenty to write about.

But what, my readers, do you want to hear about?  You are, after all, the ones who keep me motivated, and the reasons why this blog exists.  I began writing because I thought there was something someone somewhere could learn by seeing life through my eyes.  I can’t tell you all enough how much it means to me when someone comes up to me at an event or while I’m out of town and tells me they read my blog, and that it speaks to them.  I’ve met several other 20somethings from various parts of the country who have told me that they never would have taken the plunge to dive into this community if they hadn’t first read about it here.  Those people are so happy they took that leap, and that is what this blog is all about. 

In the process of placing myself under your scrutiny, I’ve learned so much about myself.

So is it fun to read about what I now consider to be a mundane, everyday kinky life?  Do you want to hear about it when I play with others?  Just the events?  Are you still interested in when Gear Night at the Eagle will be, and do you want to read a follow up post every month about how it went and what I did there?  Are you only interested in pictures of what I think is hot?  Should I reserve my ramblings for topics that really inspire me?  Do people go back and read my back posts from the last two and a half years, or is it acceptable to write about the same subject multiple times?

What should I do with this space?  I’m not very inclined to post picture after picture after video after picture of things I think that are hot.  Ruff’s Stuff and the All-American Kinkster do that, and do it well.  I spend enough of my own time on those sites.  I write a blog because I enjoy writing.  It’s the only thing that I feel I have even the smallest amount of talent for, and it’s something I enjoy doing.  But only if I know what you want to read.  Maybe it’s just too hard for me to grip the fact that my kinky life, though mundane it has become to me, is inspiring to others.

Please, leave some comments on this post, or send me an e-mail (Tynan@TynanFox.com).  Tell me what it is you like to read about in this space.  And thank you thank you THANK YOU for being a part of this blog for the last two years. 

By the way, I turn 27 next week…..

The Bondage

I've been asked by a couple readers who think they don't necessarily understand my fetish to further explain.  What exactly is it that makes me tick, and what is it about boys into bondage?  It's a complicated question.

I've always said and will continue to say that my main fetish is bondage.  Anything beyond that may turn me on, sure, but this is where it all started for me.  I know I'm not alone either - but as I've grown older,
 I've learned/discovered that the TRUE bondage enthusiasts among us are fewer and farther between than I originally thought.  When I was exploring the kinky sites and learning more, I thought EVERYONE was into bondage....and that may be the case, a little, but the "specialists" are less frequent.

I think on a certain level, either you get it or you don't.  The best way to illustrate this is to start from the beginning.  I first remember being turned on by the idea of bondage when I was 4 years old.  Yes, four.  I know you're all going to squirm as you read this, and I'm squirming pretty hard as I'm typing it myself, but I can't deny it.  I remember sitting in the back of my parent's station wagon on a family vacation.  I was doing a coloring book to pass the time.  I flipped though it, and the last page was a picture of three cowboys, all tied back with their backs to a pole, all of them gagged with these huge bandannas covering their mouths.  Even at that age, I was inexplicably drawn to that picture; I remember being turned on by it.  Even at 4 years old.

I think most of the people who are into bondage understand this.  But what is it specifically that turns me on about it?  It's a culmination of a lot of factors.  It's the feeling of the rope.  It's straining against said rope and stretching your body out.  It's the feeling of helplessness, knowing that you can't stop what's happening to you.  Add a gag, blindfold, and ear plugs, and it's sensory deprivation to the max.  That's why a lot of times, bondage enthusiasts like mummification so much.  But what's so sexy about that?

Think about it this way.  You can't speak.  You can't see.  You can't hear what's going on very well, you can't move at all, and you definitely can't get out of the bondage by yourself.  The only thing you CAN feel is your dick.  Think about all the other sensory inputs in your body being shut off, and the only thing you can feel and focus your mind on is that incredible sexual arousal.  I never really thought of it this specifically before, but it's definitely a mind trip. 

But honestly, I can't say I have much of an appeal to professional bondage(sites like www.boundgods.com, www.boundinpublic.com, etc.) and/or professional porn.  The realism is very important to me, and it's far too obvious that the guys in those sites and others like it really only enjoy the bondage as an adjunct to the sex.  Sure, they may look pretty, and they're looking to get fucked by a pretty guy, but they're not *really* into it.  It's painfully obvious to me that the guys in the porn wouldn't be having sex with bondage if they weren't being paid to.  To me, a guy who really gets into bondage gets hard when he's tied up, regardless of whether or not he's getting fucked.  That realism is very important to me; and honestly?  Unless a guy understands that, my motivation to play with him decreases significantly.  I mean, I love to see a hot, muscled, sexy guy bound in rope as much as the next guy; but unless you can convince me that it's at least a *little* bit real, I'm not that interested.

That's why I/we love kidnapping scenes.  That's why the thought of being grabbed off the street is so hot to me.  It makes the bondage REAL.  Even if it is just role-play, it becomes real.  That's the other reason that porn doesn't appeal to me; the odds that I will ever get to screw around with a chiseled man like on those sites is pretty slim to none.  I can't see myself ever being in those scenes.  But if I see an amateur video of a guy being tied up and toyed with...well...that's something I can imagine being a part of quite easily.

Couple this with the fact that the men are never gagged in profesional porn, and I just get bored.  (I wish Bound and Gagged would come back online; they always gagged their models!) Among my friends who are part of this fetish, gags seem to be a very common focal point.  This is, in my opinion, the root of why the bondage enthusiasts are not very proud of their fetish.  For me, just the feeling of the pressure of tape or a hand or a bandanna pressed against my mouth is enough to make me hard, regardless of whether or not I'm tied up.  I can't describe why; I've just always been that way.  I think that's a common theme among those of us into bondage, and I think we're all ashamed to admit it too.  It's the stupidest, most random part of the body to be an erogenous zone; and we know it.

And there you have it.  The bondage.  It doesn't matter how stupid anyone thinks my fetish that doesn't make any sense is.  Yes, I know that a white van and a ski mask isn't quite the sexiest thing in the world to a lot of people, but honestly?  I can't think of a better way to spend an afternoon than tied up and toyed with by a dom that knows his work. Bonus points if I didn't see it coming first.  

Usually when I tell someone that I get into bondage, their immediate response is, "Yeah, I'd love to tie you up and fuck you!"  They view the bondage as an adjunct to some otherwise very hot sex.  Not that sex is bad.  I certainly keep myself induldged.  But this is where a lot of my friends have struggled to  understand where I'm coming from. Some of them don't understand how you can get off in that position or else how you're supposed to get fucked while you're hanging from the ceiling or wrapped up from head to toe in duct tape.

These concerns are valid, and for the most part, I do believe there are two kinds of bondage kinksters.  Those like me, who've known this was a big part of them their whole lives.  There are also those who get into it later on and kinda get used to the idea, and it works for them.  And that's great!  The more the merrier.  I think most people that get into bondage later tend to be more interested in the bondage as an adjunct to sex.  Not that this is bad; by all means, people should absolutely be tying each other up and fucking.  But as I said at the beginning, I've realized how few of the born-enthusiasts there are.

I don't need to jizz to enjoy myself (although, it never hurts).  We're talking about two different kinds of sex.  The thing you can't forget is that the sex starts with the first knot, and ends when I can move again.

Closets and Gardens

While I was unpacking from IML and cleaning up some gear, something happened which I didn't think was likely to occur for a number of years.  My closet filled up.

Seriously.  I have a small closet in my attic where I keep all my leather, rubber, and spandex pants, shirts, etc.  Not only did I run out of hangers, but I filled up the closet as I finished washing each piece of latex, polishing each piece of leather, and organizing each of them.  I can't believe it.  Being a poor midwesterner, I thought it would be many more years before I had a closet that was full since I have so many bills to pay.  Granted, it's a rather small closet, but I can't help but be thankful for everything I have.

There's one piece missing though.

I bought my latex catsuit when I was 21 years old.  I gave some careful thought to what I would do with my income tax refund that year; after making sure I didn't have any car repairs or debts to other people to pay off, I decided to buy some gear.  I had wanted something made of rubber for a while, and with great trepidation, I searched far and wide for the one piece that just felt right to me.  The Mr. S full body five-zip catsuit.  I didn't send them my measurements or anything; I just got lucky by ordering a "small".  It fit like a glove.

Over the next five years, I got a good amount of *ahem* mileage from that amazing piece of molded pseudoliquid sex.  Everytime I would slide it onto my body, something would happen with me.  It wouldn't matter what was going on at school or how many hours I had worked that week or what kind of fight I had just gotten into with my parents.  Every last bit of that would melt away into the rubber.  I was a fox.  I was Tynan.  I was me.

My first MIR came around; I got a chance to wear it in public.  And met some great new friends in the process.  I realized what it was like to wear the catsuit for 8 hours; and by the end of it, it feels like a second skin.  I wore it to the Eagle on my very first visit there a couple years ago.  I didn't know what else to wear to the Eagle.  Since it fit so tight and was just not something I'd wear out on the street (yet), I wore regular street clothes over it.  Even so, it was such a novelty.  I met a few people and made some small talk, and I realized how little the latex fetish was known to the old-guard leathermen.

MIR number two comes and goes.  That latex catsuit is what I wore to my very first gear night at the Eagle in January of 2010.  It was the outfit of choice for trying to convince other guys to come out to the bar and be a part of a community.  It worked; everyone who was there had to feel the smoothness of the latex at least one time, and I made a lot of good, new friends.  The next month, I wasn't the only rubberboy there.  A few months later, at the behest of my friends, I wore that catsuit onstage as I competed at MIR.  It turned out to be one of my favorite outfits to wear because not only did it look good, but because it tells a story of me through its scars and blemishes.

My catsuit isn't just a sexy piece of rubber that I put on to get off.  My catsuit is the very first piece of wearable gear that I've ever owned, and the piece of latex that gave me the strength and determination to drive myself forward, uninhibited into my own kinky desires.  My catsuit was the first piece of gear to make me feel whole and complete.  It was the first garment to hang in a closet now completely full of gear in a life that's now completely full of joy, vibrance, friends, and course, kinky sex.

At IML a couple weekends ago, International Mr. Leather Founder (yes, Founder!) and Executive Producer Chuck Renslow gave a very heartfelt speech at the contest on Sunday night, which included an amazing shout-out to me.  He had to shorten it due to time constraints, but in the whole thing was published afterward (click here to read it). I am ever humbled and grateful to receive such a compliment from such a great man.  I still can't believe he even knows who I am.  After the contest, I went back to my hotel, and slipped into the old girl for (what would become) her last time to play with an old friend of mine.

I've had my catsuit repaired three times already, but I liked the scars on it. They added character.  But alas, my catsuit exploded after my friend and I played, later that night at the bar. It may seem silly, but this is the ode to my catsuit.  Thank you, old girl, for being there for all those years and planting the kinky seed in my life.  You've served me well in many precarious situations and in many different *ahem* positions.  You gave me the calm and solace I needed to persevere; with your help, I found the strength to fill the closet in my dungeon as well as the void in my life. I could always slide in to you and melt away from it all, lost in the kinky life you gave me.

I'll never forget you.

How to Prep

Lots of people ask me about bondage scenes.  One of my latest questions someone asked me was, "How do I get ready for my first bondage scene?"  This took some thought, and I was about to blurt out, "I really don't know," but then I thought about it.  I realized that without thinking about it, I have my own little ritual set that I go through in the days/hours before a bondage scene I have coming up.  Here they are.

These tips are, of course, considering you have first taken precautions regarding safety, physiologic well being (discussed allergies, medications with your partner), and are using safer sex practices.

1) Caffiene in moderation
This one seems weird to put first.  I don't care how early in the morning it is or how late at night it is.  Caffiene is really only good for keeping me awake.  I get gitters, I get hyperactive if I drink too much coffee, and no one likes coffee breath.  Red Bull makes me burp, and no one wants to stop to have to take a piss right in the middle of a scene.  Long story short - no one likes a tied up, tweaked out gay boy.

2)Hydrate
Bondage is strenuous and hard on the body, particularly with ropes.  If you're with a particularly good or Type A dom, you may be stuck in one position for hours and hours.  You want to go into the scene already hydrated.

3)Stretch
As I'm getting older, I'm realizing that I'm not invincible.  (Yes, I'm only 26).  I'm still exceptionally flexible and can contort in many positions, but my job puts a lot of strain on my back and I've noticed that for the last year or so in my bondage adventures.  Once a thing I thought was only meant for old people, I now find myself spending ten minutes or so stretching out my legs, arms, chest, and my back before jumping into some rope.

4)Quiet your mind
There's something meditative about being tied up.  You don't want your mind racing a mile per minute while you're getting into it.  And don't be nervous either.  I'm usually a pretty social, bubbly, fun individual.  While I'm stretching, I take a few moments to focus on shutting some of those areas of my brain off, and entering a more meditative state.   It's hard to focus and enter that "headspace" while your mind is racing.

 

Life is Good

Last week, I did my very first "gig" at Truman State, the school where I went to college.  About 40 people showed up for my presentation titled, "The P's and Q's of S&M."  I was a little nervous to be presenting this on my former campus, being that there were still a few students there who I know.  I've only been out of college for three years, but it still felt weird to be back.  All the students look so young, and that made me feel like I'm aging.

Nonetheless, I sucked up my fears and slid on some latex and walked up to campus.  (Aside - my favorite latex pants from Mr. S ripped while I was putting them on.  GODDAMNIT!)  As I walked through the mall to the fountain, a couple people on the street took pictures of me with their cell phones.  I couldn't help but smile.  The presentation itself went really well.  I got the whole thing on videotape so I can critique myself and look for some areas of improvement.  I really really want to get good at doing this.

The audience was different than ones I had previously presented to.  This was not a crowd of "wanna be" kinksters who needed information on how to dive in.  These were just people who were interested.  Most of them were probably vanilla but just curious.  Which is fine.  Whether I'm working for recruitment or just for education, I'm happy to be of service.  But as a consequence, most of the questions in my question-and-answer session didn't surround "how to jump in", but rather asking me personal questions.  A lot of the curious parties just wanted to know what it's like to be 26 and kinky from the Midwest.

One girl, for example, asked me, "So when you go to one of the parties you were talking about, can you walk us through one of those?"  So I described the CHC clubhouse on one of their 2nd Saturday parties.  "You go in the front and there's a little booth where you show your membership, pay the cover, and then you go downstairs to the social area where there's a small bar....." etc. etc. etc.

It was a great experience, and honestly, being asked all these questions got me to do some reflection on my own life. 

Following my event at Truman, I went on to St. Louis for a few days and through the weekend.  I went to a get together of some kinky guys I had met at Inferno earlier in the year, and of course, my Sirs.  It was a great weekend - very relaxing, and also added to my reflections.

I have to say, I'm incredibly thankful for everything I've been able to experience.  I have some of the best kinky friends in the world, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.  I've been lucky - I know that not every 26 year old gets to experience everything I have.  It's really hard for me to complain about any of that. 

I have a feeling that these are going to be the best years of my life.

Marc Jacobs is into Rubber

I'll admit, I don't know shit about fashion.  I'm 26 years old, I've been out of college for 3 years and I'm STILL dressing like a broke ass 21 year old who wears jeans and t-shirts EVERYWHERE.  And the gays know it too.  When it comes to professional fashion, I'm even worse.  I don't know the names of any of the big designers, I don't know crap about fashion history, etc. etc. etc.  Oh, and to top it all off, I never ever guess right as to which ones the judges will like or hate on Project Runway.

Although I do think I have generally a good eye for kinky fashion...but anyway....

From what I understand, this guy named Marc Jacobs is kind of important.  He's openly gay, he's amazingly sexy, he's currently the creative director of Louis Vuitton, and he's already a fashion icon in many ways, it would seem.

And he's into rubber.

Even if you hate fashion, please suffer through this 2.5 minute YouTube clip, and pay special attention to what he's wearing and what he's saying about a minute in.

Did we know this already? I mean, am I just so out of touch with fashion that I'm just catching up? Or did he just step half way out the door as a rubberman?

"Military, sports gear, rules, dresscodes..." - My my my, this all sounds so familiar....

This is not kinkphobia. *grin*