Tail end of Winter, dawn of Spring and the Sakura Matsuri

My "little leather life" as of late has been fairly busy, though I've not been blogging it. Instead of attempting to catch up, I'll just make a brief note of our travels yesterday and other upcoming events, some Leather, others being more seasonally inspired.

Sir and I headed down into Washington D.C. yesterday for the Crucible's 18th biannual LF&P (Leather Flea and Play,) which as I've noted here before when writing about it, is more commonly referred to as the "elephant pee," hence the elephant logo.

We had originally thought we might be bringing a friend along with us this Spring but travel plans fell through and it turned into a nice event for just the two of us.

It was well into the afternoon by the time we arrived, a slight drizzle was coming down, but it seemed plenty crowded none-the-less.

I was on a mission of sorts, after some rope. We're going to make it to Shibaricon this year come hell or high water (after our thwarted attempt last year), so this was going to be one of my last chances to catch Rainbow Rope in person before we head towards Chicago.

We found some nice blue MFP for Sir, and a nice 50' piece of Blue and Black all of which came home with us. Afterwards we wandered a bit, looked at knives, but didn't quite see anything that felt quite right.

At one point, I did see someone across the room that we had met at Black Rose last Autumn, but by the time we had come back around she was nowhere to be seen. So this was yet another flea where we weren't really finding familiar faces.

We stumbled headlong into a happy surprise as we made our way towards the door. When we had come in through the library area it had been a mob scene and so we figured we'd come back through on our way out. Well sure enough, just as we were getting ready to leave we finally stumbled headlong into the "unique" and custom that I try to keep my eyes out for when we go to the Fleas.

Wooden canes (among other tools) with bone handles. Lovely, natural materials with soft leather work carefully bringing the pieces together. Sir said they felt really good in his hand and the balance felt wonderful.

My ex-wife and I used to discuss the importance of tools and how it was not merely about feeling amazing on the "receiving" end of a whip, but also about how a tool feels in the hand of one who wields it. Those conversations led her to create an incredibly special whip, one that will never be used on anyone else. It remains as a physical legacy of our time together.

These canes embodied that same spirit. One is long, the shaft a carefully polished hickory, the other a much shorter purple heartwood, perfect for intimate work. Stumbling into special pieces like these is precisely part of the reason we go to the fleas and vendors rooms at events.

I protected our newfound treasures from the rain as we wandered back to our vehicle. All notions of a trip to the National Arboretum or even a quick drive around the tidal basin to see how far along the sakura blossoms were fell by the wayside in the bleakness of the rainy afternoon.

Instead, we stopped back by one of my old neighborhoods for good pizza and beer and just plain spending some time together, talking on into the evening. The drive back home in the rain made a perfect end to the day.

In other news, we are looking forward to DC and Philly's Sakura Matsuri both this month and in April. (Click here to see more information about this year's DC featured poster artist, Carol Tomasik. I love this year's design!)

We celebrate every year, welcoming the cherry blossoms and marking the occasion is part of our Household. Along our way back home yesterday, we saw a few trees already in bloom, so I suppose I can at long last break out the Sakura incense.

For just a few short weeks each year the whole house smells of the blossoms and incense, and I take long hot baths in Sakura bath salts. The tub gets filled with pink water and I listen to lots of koto and shakuhachi music. It is all part of how we shake off the last of Winter. For now, I'm trying to decide what events over the course of the festivals we'll actually make it to.

We have also made the decision to go to the (first ever!) Charm City Fetish Fair near Baltimore. I'm actually very excited about the event, in part because I'll be having a number of friends from out of state coming in for the event. We're working to schedule meals and possibly sleepovers, and other such around the edges of the event. It should be a good time.

So we've been keeping busy.

January and February have also been important months in terms of my "little Leather life", but I will leave those stories to another post.

Of Kink and Blog-o-sphere Kerfuffles

Generally, I tend to avoid the anti-S/m dust ups around the blog-o-sphere that spring forth with stunning regularity from the keyboards of those who co-opt the term "radical feminist."

But every so often enough pissed friends point me at enough bullshit that I can occasionally be coaxed into writing a little something.

This was originally intended as a brief comment to the Most. Awesome. Comment. Ever. post over on Let Them Eat Pro-SM Feminist Safe Spaces.

But it grew.

It grew beyond reason, and certainly beyond comment legnth.

So I've moved it here as a full post instead.

For readers who have no idea what this is all about, be glad. (Or read Pro-SM Feminist Safe Spaces' tag documenting the BDSM-and-feminism kerfuffle in inverse order, starting at the bottom of the page. Most of the relevant links are either in that or in the comments thereon.)

But back to that little comment that grew, here it is in it's entirety:

***

What so many of these oh-so-outraged women miss is that until fairly recently, it would have been exceptionally rare for them to have this level of visibility into the things we do.

Placing ads, exploring kink.com... by and large they wouldn't have had any immediate jumping off point to know WHERE to place such ads, (and it's still a LOUSY methodology,) or the ins and outs of the language were it not for the increased visibility in that they've been afforded.

Note that Leatherfolk were not out playing evangelists. The visibility they (the outraged) now enjoy comes as a direct result of commercialization, and into spaces where we self select and gather just as any other demographic has online.

Time was, not so long ago, that finding out about certain communications vehicles, much less entering into Leather spaces, would simply not have been an option for them.

To gain access to such meant going in person, and having someone willing to vouch for you. It meant entering what had often been a Gay male domain.

These days, they need only punch up whatever website they care to fear this week, get themselves all worked up, and then start typing.

A few rare Leathermen took me under their wings and taught me the core values of what being a Leatherperson entails; among them the critical importance of discretion, appropriate time and place, and "not frightening the horses" so to speak.

Of course for many of our critics they can only see the flat images on their screens, they know nothing of the ideology or highly ritualized behaviors that go with so much of Leather.

One of the first "Leather" books I was ever told to go read wasn't some (at the time unwritten!) manual of how to flog, nope I was told to go brush up on my Emily Post.

Those amazing Leathermen taught me the importance of being above reproach in one's dealings and finances, being a person of their word and personal honour, expressing deep loyalty towards those deserving of such, knowing when to defend oneself and one's tribe and when to hold your tongue, and not drawing attention.

To do otherwise could bring undue scrutiny down upon the community, these concepts being passed down from a time when raids on Gay spaces without so much as a pretense were common.

Yes, the net has changed everything, some for the good- breaking isolation and making "deviants" such as ourselves feel far less alone in this world.

But it has also come with a price- that things which were once deeply private and shown only to lovers or others deemed to have "the right stuff" and a deep willingness are now mere clicks away for any and all.

That and perhaps our critics have missed a key point, Lao-tzu's "Those who know don't talk. Those who talk don't know."

Certainly something they may wish to keep in mind the next time they should happen to be perusing the kink-o-sphere.

Splattered all over screens everywhere decontextualized images, a comic book notion of what Leather is, now readily available to every Joe and Jane Schmoe.

The vast majority of whom have no framework to fit some of what they're seeing into (even those within the community often have no mentors to answer questions, no training.)

Internal to the community AIDS had more to do with that than any online change in information flow could ever have done.

Yet for those external, yes we are in effect put 'on trial' because suddenly people who simply never would have seen what we do behind closed doors can now spend countless hours fixating and obsessing over how what we do must somehow affect them, or if not them, then at least the broader class of womyn more generally, or so their false notion goes.

The reality of course, is that we were doing this long before they noted our presence, and no, how I did or did not happen to fuck my wife did not affect broader class womyn other than to have if anything served as a binding closeness between the two of us in our (genuine) Radical Feminist activism.

All of it has been decontextualized down to the flat screen though. They know little to nothing of (and in certain cases absolutely refuse to discuss) the fact that much of what we call modern Leather comes not from the heterosexual end of things 9D is so obsessed over, instead many of the traditions have roots in the disempowered Gay Male sub-community of those who came back from WWII and didn't fit.

They looked at the suburban postwar world of "settling down" and having kids, and opted to hit the open roads on motorcycles with some of the few people who understood what they had seen and what they had been through, and their feelings for one another. They created small nomadic tribes with other men.

They were outsiders.

Womyn to womyn S/m has reflected those sentiments at times even more so, in that not only have we been Queer outsiders to the broader society, we are also often outsiders even to Gay Leather.

(Hence names such as "The Outcasts," "The Exiles", or more generally groups such as "The Renegades.")

To refuse to examine the origins and context much of leather culture grew in is not merely to erase Queer history and Queer methodologies of survival, but to actively reinforce the very heterosexism and heterocentrism they decry.

Ironically, they now claim to essentially speak on behalf of and in protection of womyn and womynkind- a feat only made possible when subsets of womyn who love and yes, ultimately sleep with other womyn, who know a great deal about womyn's authentic desires, and who have been (real) Radical Feminists since back in the day are relegated to "traitors" or "collaborators with the patriarchy." They thereby attempt the coup d’état of not merely erasing us, but usurping our positions as womyn who yes, know a thing or two about womyn.

To their minds, what we have to say are often unpleasant and unthinkable realities about womyn. Things that must then be projected into a form of "othering" as no "real woman" could ever possibly genuinely want the things we do, we must therefore to their thinking either be deluded or under a form of coercion, both of which conveniently disqualify us from what they now co-opt as "their" revolution.

Except of course, for them, it's more often than not revolutionary, as 9D herself would be/has been the first to fess up to. (See point 2 here.). To then utilize the term "Radical" (meaning "to the root") while explicitly rejecting "to the root" forms of social change, instead insisting that working within the existing systems (oh, LIBERAL feminism- bingo!) is the way to go is for her to 'wear the colors of the enemy' or co-opt our terminology for her own (assimilationist) purposes.

While for some Kinkyfolks, they may feel a need to justify themselves, now that we are being lied about, savaged and put up 'on trial,' others of us on the other hand, have always understood we were living at the edges and as exiles to begin with. I don't need to justify myself or my life to anyone.

I don't answer to those who co-opt and subvert the title "Radical Feminist" without ever so much as noting that some of us who used it long before they also wear (earned) Leathers, and were doing so long before the outraged-come-lately happened along.

As "exiles" we've always known that there is a time and place to stand our ground, and other times and places where going on the defensive or trying to justify our existence merely becomes counterproductive.

I've always been where the front lines are when it really matters, and if that's not "feminist" enough for those with smoke blowing out their ears from behind they keyboards, my answer really comes down to "Tough shit."

They've got a problem with it, it's their problem, not mine.

Now do some of us have a fair amount to say about the commercialization of the "work" we do, and the increased visibility into our world others are now afforded? Of course. But when it's time to say those things we do them in our spaces under our rules, not the false constraints of blogsites like 9D's, the preclude even my own existence as a Leatherwomyn.

Yeah I know, this is post-length. It's long overdue such be said- and as should be clear by now it's only going to be said in "our" spaces, not theirs.

***

I also made an earlier comment on another post on that same tag, Nope. I'll republish it here as well just to keep all my writings on this particular dust up available in a single place:

***

"If you have that kind of dark side, it might be best to leave it unexplored. Or kill yourself"

Yeah, I caught on that bit too.

For her, the notion of people like us existing in (her) world is just too frightening.

She would feel more comfortable if people like ourselves were either not here or at minimum not visible.

Since she's apparently not the type who feels the need to rid the world of us, herself personally, she'd rather we just "opt out."

A lot cleaner and neater that way.

Certainly no blood on her hands. No, certainly not.

The the instinct to purge those she finds so frightening, so terrifying, etc. lies just beneath the surface.

The difference being of course, radical feminist Leather womyn such as myself feel no need to purge the universe of the likes of her.

She who is so quick to condemn has never heard of me, knows nothing about me, and certainly isn't reading my (at times) "submissive" womyn's blogging in relation to a male partner.

I am after all both S/switch and Bi. Being such, I therefore fall straight on into the exception bin for her, that she so conveniently dismisses and refuses to discuss.

Womyn living within the context of consensual power exchange with other womyn is most certainly NOT on the agenda over there.

Of course our "individual experiences" are dismissed as she'd rather only discuss what she perceives as some twisted version of experiences on on the whole (what a handy way to dismiss any womyn who would dare disagree, and her own experiences.)

Nope, she'd rather bemoan the (commercial fetish) fate of the armory building, a building she herself by her own admission once coveted and now chalks up to having in essence, fallen into the hands of the enemy.

Seriously, gal, it's just real estate and sex, get over yourself already.

Sex the likes of which she both clearly has a fascination with and yet insists she sickened by.

This clearly qualifies her as having an opinion we should all listen to about on such matters- not so much.

Funny, I don't find myself writing post after post about whatever kind of sex she may (or may not) be having. 07 February 2009 10:05

***

Who knows, perhaps six months from now when the next regularly scheduled "feminist" anti-S/m dust up occurs I may just link to this post instead of wasting my time giving them essentially the same earful all over again.

Collars of leather and a 'collar' of metal

Earlier this month, on the fifth, we celebrated our two year anniversary of Sir having placed his metal 'collar' of sorts on me. I've worn his titanium band about my right wrist for all but one afternoon of the last two years.

I've written about the band and its significance to us before, but looking back over my earlier writings here, I realize I've never written about Sir collaring me in the first place.

For some people a 'collaring' becomes a ritual, almost akin to a wedding, complete with a ceremony, and members of their community as witnesses, etc. For us, it was a very private act.

Before we had gotten together Sir had done a work related trip to San Francisco. Over the course of his time there he made a trip to Mr. S. where he purchased some tools, including cuffs and a simple leather collar. As he describes it, on the feeling that he might be needing them eventually. On that same trip he also explored other parts of the CA coastline that years later he would bring me back to.

Going to those places together, years after his trip, showing me those places special to him was very important for us. They were places he enjoyed and thought of sharing with a partner long before we came together. To finally go there with him, and see them through his eyes, was a way of getting to know him and draw closer to him.

He did not put the collar upon me the night he first whipped me, nor did he place it around my neck soon thereafter when he came out to me and we first disappeared into a hotel suite together.

It was later, after I had come home with him and stayed at his apartment for almost an unexpected month long visit. I spent my days being his, lying across his black leather couch reading books and wearing his cuffs, waiting for him to return, or dressing and going out for walks around a nearby lake. In the evenings sometimes we would go out, other times, we spent quiet evenings home, realizing slowly how well we fit together how comfortable it was being together. How we could share a small space together yet not be in one another's way.

In love and in gratitude, I did small things, making the bed, tidying the apartment, washing dishes, and most of all, learning the small ways in which I found myself his. It was a time of massive changes in both our lives, yet somehow we had found one another.

Near the end of the month, not long before I was to return to my home, an otherwise ordinary evening changed everything for us. We had decided to eat in, Sir had cooked, which was not unusual for him. As we sat down to dinner we ended up having a discussion that amounted to (to vastly oversimplify) essentially a variation on 'eat your veggies.' Particular veggies I was certainly no fan of, and had an unfortunate 'history' with in childhood, but by the end of the meal he had convinced me to reluctantly nibble.

Ordinary as such may seem, after dinner, I found myself crying, not in that he had done something I didn't want him to, but in that I realized he was at times better for me, than I was to myself. Writing it, I suppose it sounds silly, but I had come to the realization that he was very good for me.

Being Queer, finding such in Sir, particularly so soon after the relationship with my wife ended, was in many ways very confusing. At times it all felt too soon, even as it felt so right. I was very guarded, afraid of throwing myself into someone new as some form of coping mechanism to deal with my sorrow and my loss.

Yet that month together showed me that this was more than merely a matter of grasping at someone, it somehow genuinely worked, and was growing into a relationship in its own right even as I at times hesitated, and perhaps most of all, I came to understand how much Sir genuinely cared about me and my own well being.

In that time together I had come to call him Sir, even as he felt odd about it. He had never envisioned himself as a "Sir" and did not know what to make of me calling him such. I, on the other hand, recognized almost from the beginning what he was, and what he was in relation to me. Nor did we say "I love you" back then. It took a long time before we came to that point.

But that particular evening, after I came to realize that yes, he cared deeply for me and my wellfare was when we came through to collaring me. I would be leaving soon, and no doubt the impending separation had some to do with it, but we had come to the strange realization that somehow we 'worked' together.

I laid across the bed in his bedroom and he asked me if the collar was what I wanted, if I would choose to be his? I thought for a long minute. We were less than 2 1/2 months into the relationship, it was less than a year since I had been in my previous relationship, in some ways it all felt so soon, and yet, it felt right.

I looked him in the eye and gave my assent. He placed the stiff new leather collar, a simple black band with two D rings, one at the front, and the other at the back that fit through a notch made for it around my neck. He unlocked a small padlock, slid it through the back back ring, locking the collar firmly around my throat. I slept beside him that night with his collar around my neck.

It was between the two of us, a private thing. There was no explicit detailing of what all being his would entail, to this day I think we're both still learning. But it was an absolute commitment for both of us, and I've always felt honoured to wear his collar.

The lack of 'spelling it all out' has at times been difficult, particularly for me. But whatever the hardships have been along the way, I'm still his.

After ten years together, we came to a point where it was rare for him to place the now well worn and cared for leather collar around my neck.

It can also be awkward at times. Being S/switch, it can be difficult for me to clearly signal my orientation while wearing a collar. There are times when wearing such is fully appropriate, but others when it can create confusion, not for us, but for those unfamiliar with our dynamic.

So to mark those ten years, and by way of putting a 'more permanent' collar or sorts on me, over the final Ohio Leather Fest Sir happened across the appropriate token, the locking band of titanium I now wear about my wrist. Rings on tapering fingers are removed easily by comparison. The hinged bracelet must be unlocked to be removed. I consider it a stronger commitment than a wedding ring.

Now I've worn the metal band for two years. Sir holds the key. I have an 'emergencies only' key for my own safety for when he is not present. In all, I've worn forms of his collar for close to 12 years now.

On our last trip through San Francisco, we stopped by Mr. S. and found a slightly more elaborate leather collar with a locking hasp that eventually we will have occasion for. As of yet, it waits, still unworn, for that day.

As some of you have no doubt noticed by now I often find myself writing about anniversaries and how long Sir and I have been together. I often mark the passing of time, be it the seasons, or the dates that matter only to Sir and I. Likely, it has much to do with how new all of this still is to me. I've never been in a relationship that lasted a decade before.

I sometimes see workshop presenters bios in which they remark upon having been 'in the scene' for five years or such. I can't help but feel not only the length of time I've been at this (I sometimes feel like such a dinosaur!) but also the time that Sir and I have been at this together.

Don't get me wrong, I still 'buck' plenty, and doubt, and question, and feel downright exasperated at times with some of the lack of focus or definition, but I can't imagine my life without him, and without being his. I never take that light band of metal around my wrist for granted.

Marking the anniversaries is but one way of saying I'm still aware of how special, how amazing, and how new this all is to me.

Thank you, Sir.

Seeing Herself

To begin with, it's sometimes funny what I consider 'personal'. I can write a post about being flogged, but when it comes to writing this, I pause. Perhaps in part because she'll be reading it, but also in that, well, in some ways, it's personal.

But this is blogging my little leather life, or so I claim, and to avoid writing this would be, well, a rather serious "sin" of omission, in no small part because it is what is a very serious part of my 'now', and in part because it's also part of my Leather 'then' as well.

I'm not going to attempt to write any version of the story of us here, at least not now. Suffice it to say, Herself (which sometimes should be more aptly written herself), is what I'll use here to refer to the womyn who was, for a time, my wife. A time that came to a close almost as soon as it began. Not by my decision, but by hers.

We've been apart for over 11 years now, and for all but the last few months, been completely out of contact. Which is its own long story that, no, I'm not going to write here either. She knows, and I know, and that's what matters here.

So we have been back in contact for less than a year now, almost entirely via e-mail, with one phone call, on her Birthday. It was the first time I had heard her voice in well, forever; lifetimes, relationships, marriages.

Clearly, we each have our own 'nows'. I, to my own surprise, have been steadfastly with Sir, and she has had her own relationships and entanglements and disentanglements with both people and the State in relation to such. I've left my beloved midwest to return to the general area near where she and I spent our years together. She on the other hand has left her beloved here to return to a place that she in some ways feels is not hers. Over time, though, my here, or more specifically Sir's here, has become such a part of me that this is my home now. He chose this place and I agreed to come to him.

So now, all these many years later, she has pined for a specific Yule gift from me- the ability to see me once again.

There is of course, much more to it than simply she and I coming to our own end. There was another person, and much pain, and much unnecessary pain, and interference that kept us from even being able to communicate, much less draw things to any kind of civilized close at the time. All of which, of course, is my far too polite way of saying bad things happened, bad things far beyond the control of the two of us. Not that she (or realy either of us) is some form of innocent party in the course of all of this, just in that many things happened that had nothing to do with anything either of us would have wanted or had any control over.

So she has asked to see me.

Naturally, this had lead to a great deal of introspection on my part.

There is the person she once was, and there is the person she is now, and there is everything in between. And there is the person I once was, the person I am now, and everything in between. Mainly though, there is time in between, and more than a decade, much of which was spent not knowing if she was alive or dead.

More than my wife, I placed my collar around her lovely neck, and called her my own.

My obligations to her, to that, did not end at the edge of our time together. A collar is a lifelong commitment for me.

So I have chewed upon this request of hers for some time now. Sir and I have spoken, and pondered, and worked through and through and through this. Oddly, it turns out he may be more comfortable with such than I am.

In the end, despite everything, or perhaps due to everything, I have come out to 'yes, but on my own terms'. That is all I can give.

Our Fetish Flea trip will, at one point take us near her, and come January, for one afternoon, she and I will finally come face to face, a culmination of so much. More than words can begin, really.

I suppose you can see now why I couldn't not at least give this its due. This is my now. And seeing her will be, well, no, not blogworthy, simply a significant, (hell, momentous) occasion, to me anyway.

I walk into this not knowing what I will do. We may cry, laugh, be awkward with one another, prattle on unceasingly, scream at each other, come around to some strange version of restoring the friendship that was there so long before we even came together, or walk out, perhaps never to see one another again. I don't know.

All I know is that in this, I can't deny her her request.

And that is all tangled in with Leather ideas of responsibility, and loyalty, and honour, along with deep sadness, betrayal, and even still smouldering anger.

Mostly, though, I've missed her.

And I'm so damn glad she's not dead.