Trigger Warning: If you have a trigger, don’t read.
Suddenly, I found myself where no good Moody
alum could have ever imagined. As I joined the stream of people strolling around
downtown, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a foretaste of what I had
agreed to get myself into. Amongst the
crowd I picked out old men donning leather vests. I saw a young man wearing a bright lime
rubber muscle shirt. Across the sidewalk
were some burly biker men getting ready to “bear” their chests. And there I was, walking to the same place
with them.
Memorial Day weekend in Chicago not
only marks the supposed beginning of summer in the city, but also when the city
houses the annual International Mister Leather conference. I would never had any natural desire to attend such a conference, but last year
befriended a self-proclaimed kinkster.
So I decided to take the opportunity to walk a mile in his high laced
leather boots—without having to actually participate. How can you really ever attempt to love
someone well without ever getting to know who they are?
I met
my friend Miguel outside of the Marriott.
We had to sign waivers to go into the marketplace. I grew anxious not with what I might see, but
more of what I would have to confront within myself. I had already cast so much judgment. I was among probably the most demonized and vilified
people already amongst the marginalized…from the way I had been indoctrinated.
We
walked into the marketplace. The shock
factor wore off quicker than I thought it would—the smell however did not. It was at least twenty times worse than a
dirty hipster bar on a Friday night. The
entire room was rank with raunch. Some people
had not showered in ages in preparation (though my director says this can also
be the product of a prolonged drug high.)
This reek was mixed with leather, rubber, and the slight aroma of urine. I found myself taking refuge in the cologne I
applied before leaving.
In the
market there were a lot of different things for sale. Mostly leather of course. Leather is supposed to bring about this
hypermasculinity by wearing it. It gives
off that bad boy persona. It also feels
cool and keeps one warm in the cold weather.
In afterthought, I could see myself looking pretty good in some
leather. Next, there was a lot of rubber
gear on sale. It has two roots. Rubber can be a reaction to the HIV epidemic
where latex barriers really emerged into the scene. Rubber in this way is the maximizing of
latex. It also has this smooth feel
almost like it is a second skin, like one is putting on a different persona—like
a superhero (or villain.) It smells like
a tire and this is supposedly important for some reason. Beyond this were toys (I won’t say more,)
instruments for whipping, spanking, restraint and oh electrostimulation (which
is actually kind of cool.)
Electrostimulation sends a very small electric current through one’s
body such that they could transmit it to another person/object.
The people
watching though proved far more interesting than the merchandise displays. There were massively built men wearing
leather harnesses. They also had a
tendency to smell the worst. There were
men in leather vests and chaps wandering around. Younger guys had neon displays of skin tight
rubber on. Most people had on regular
dress though. There was a spot where
people could whip each other (gently.)
There were also tables where you could get tied up if you wanted. One guy was completely restrained with stuff
wrapped covering his entire body but his face.
There were also people with handcuffs, collars, gags, restraints, etc.
being walked around the market. Interestingly,
I saw one Asian boy who had come to my old small group for a time. I meant to say hi but he was a little tied up
at the moment. So it goes…
The
only thing to truly make me uncomfortable was the doggies. These were guys dressed in leather dog masks
that would cover their faces. They had
collars with chains attached. Some had
tails put in. They represent the epitome
of submission. Sometimes they get
chained up, put in cages, and well knick-knack, paddywack, give the dog a
bone. On a lighter note, they would play
fetch and really just wanted people to pet them. Miguel pet a doggie, but I just couldn’t
bring myself to. I had a week of
nightmares about them.
My
friend texted me that he was out in the lobby, so Miguel and I went to say
hi. He was decked out in his super tight
rubber pants. He showed me this thing he
bought. I smiled and nodded, “Oh it’s
shiny.” I gave him a hug as he left
appreciating that I had sucked it up and attempted to better understand his
world. Then Miguel and I left to grab a
drink and breath fresher air.
In
retrospect, I’m glad I attended IML. It
challenged my preconceptions about people that I’m ashamed to admit I had. Sadly the most striking thing at the time was
how nice and friendly everyone at the conference was—I had not expected them to
be. People were generally
socialable. If it was a tight squeeze,
people were polite and apologetic. It
was not that forced nicety either that I had been used to. People were hospitable because they chose to
be, not because it was expect of them.
It felt genuine. They even
reminded people of their golden rule: if I can’t do it to you, you can’t do it
to me.
My
friend explained to me that there is a sense of community within the fetish
subculture. In the evangelical culture,
it has become such a buzzword that the meaning of it seems almost lost. He told me about participating in
Rubbersgiving with friends. Whenever he
travels, he knows he can find a place to stay.
There is a great deal of hospitality in the subculture. People treat each other well. There is no need to worry about theft when
hosting people…someone might end up in a sleep sack though. So it goes…
For me, it is a model of organic community, which is a sad irony for
me. A small jaded edge in me wonders why
evangelical culture so obsessed with the concept of community can often
struggle so hard to create authentic hospitality without it feeling
manufactured.
The
prevailing assumption is probably that those in the fetish community must have
had some sort of childhood trauma which somehow manifested into these
desires. While that may be true for a
minority, one cannot apply this thought generally. IML was not an extension of rape culture—in fact
in many ways it was the opposite.
Everyone sets their own limits and boundaries. Nothing can be done to someone without their
permission and must stop when asked. In
many ways this sense of control would be extremely empowering to someone who
had experienced trauma. I also learned
that in many cases the dominant and submissive end up switching roles. In this way, it could be said that this is a
better model of submission between partners than perhaps what Driscollism perpetuates. There is still a lot I don't understand and probably never will, but I'm at least better educated now.
Finally, I moved further in my journey
of confronting my own judgmentalism. I
learned that I care too much about how people perceive me and more importantly
how they might perceive people I might associate with. In my doggie nightmares, I am more concerned with social stigma than the actual doggie. My friend and I move
into a bourgie neighborhood where I get invited to fancy dinner parties by my
neighbors (who doesn’t dream about being rich.)
My friend wants to get a dog for our apartment. I tell him I’m fine with it as long as he’s
the one who takes care of it the most. I
go out to a dinner party and when I come back I find that he has gotten an IML
doggie and keeps it chained out front.
Immediately I become a social outcast and none of the neighbors will
speak to me and of course no more dinner parties. In my dream I go and yell at my friend, “Damn
it! Why didn’t you get a pomsky!” At this point, I wake up. I guess I still have a lot of growing to do...
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