This Is The Tale Of Me

Once upon a time, a twenty-five year old woman went to a leather night held at Adams Street, a gay bar in Akron, OH with her boyfriend (now partner) and two close friends, a gay male couple.

She had purchased her first handcuffs at the age of sixteen and had her senior pictures taken in a leather jacket and boots, so she knew who she was by this time and place.  She borrowed a leather vest to meet the basic dress code.  This young lady had prepped for this night as much as possible, by reading a dog-eared copy of The Leatherman’s Handbook she had scoured used book stores for years to find.  You might chuckle, but that’s the only resource she had heard of, and she didn’t want to fuck up if she had this opportunity.  Being in this environment, even as a minority, she saw a combination of camaraderie, fundraising, fetish sexuality, and openness which felt like home and there was no turning back or away. 

I bet you’re not surprised this is the tale of me.

My entire adult life I have existed fairly exclusively in a world of men; first as a truck driver then as a leather woman.  Looking back over the sixteen years I have spent in the leather community some things have changed, some have not.  One change which has been striking and sometimes disturbing is the vastly different outlook of the women younger to the scene and the sentiment of "no women" when there have always been a few women around.   

With this writing, I aim to create an insight and understanding as to why women of my tenure in the leather community are how we are.

After my first taste of the community on that first bar night, I began attending and supporting the back-patch club fundraising nights and leather nights in the gay bars in Northeast Ohio.   I listened much and spoke little.  I was always polite, respectful, and would engage with the people who were open and approached me.  I started to meet amazing men who became amazing friends.  And even though I was in the minority, the leather community felt like home.  Here, I could be the fullest aspect of myself, not having to hide anything, but certainly keeping things street-legal.

In the late 90’s-early 00’s, back pack clubs were thriving in the state; Trident Columbus/Cleveland/Toledo, The Iron Eagles, The Rangers, The Unicorns, N.A.I.L., The Crusaders, Steel Valley Leather were all hosting bar nights and had full club rosters.  I witnessed what an important role they served and after dedication and deliberation began inquiring about pledging for membership in the local club.  

2004- A Iron Eagles military bar night at the 540 Eagle, Canton, OH.

For two years I asked the man I knew best in the club about an application and sponsoring me.  Each time I was told something like, “Ummmmmm, I’m not sure.  You’re a woman.”  Michael was told he could get an application to pledge at anytime, but withheld.  In talking with other members of the club who had become friends they told me the club’s by-laws did not exclude women, or anyone for that matter based on race, sexuality, income, HIV status, or gender. I never ceased my support of the club and their bar nights, because I believed so strongly in what they were accomplishing and experienced this powerful feeling of home.  I still would ask for an application from time to time, and on one fine night I was given one. Two sponsors vouched for me.  I put my nose to the grindstone and even though I got my balls busted hard on a regular basis I earned full membership in either 2004 or 2005 in a six month period. 

The times I visited the heterosexual kink community, it didn’t have the same fire or focus. I felt more a stranger there than in the leather community.  I couldn’t find the openness, kinship, joy, spirit of activism, and social/fundraising focus I’d come to love. When I said hello to people passing in the halls, I was met with silence.  I was told people are hesitant around people they didn’t know.  BDSM play was all behind closed doors there, and you certainly have a cocktail while you were doing it.  And almost no one wore leather.  If they did it was a vest over a pair of dress pants or Dockers, and that esthetic didn’t get me hot. 

The leather nights at gay bars and back patch clubs were in only in-road I knew to the leather community.  In the Midwest, there is no women’s leather community.  It didn’t exist then and it doesn’t exist now.  There were no leather boy groups, no leather girl groups, no pup groups, no Master/slave groups, no fem-domme groups.  There were leather bars and leather clubs.  Leather was the only way available.  I had to try to make my way, or walk away from a community which was becoming my home.  

During these first years of going to leather bars, it eventually would come out in conversation I was a fairly skilled S&M top, and gay men began approaching me to play.  It was my policy, and still is, never to approach a man to play in a gay bar or at a leather event, as I assume he is usually gay and I always respect his sexual preference as I perceive it.  Because it was the desire of those men to play with me, the doors of the back room began opening, and I’d find myself in a least one hot scene each night I went out.  Sometimes, I would have a number of people waiting, and I’d play for hours as long as everyone’s energy (and the queue) was there. 

One of my most memorable early nights in the back room at the 540 Eagle here in Canton.  I’m playing with a handsome leather man and his partner is closely watching so he can learn to top his man.  We’re bathed in red light in the corner of the small, smoky, dark, back room.  A leather daddy is relaxing in a barber chair smoking a cigar while a boy worships his boots.  A vanilla business man is simultaneously riding someone’s tongue and sucking another man's cock.  Our scene is getting hotter; voyeurs are pleasuring themselves while watching, and both men strip down to leather pants.  Our heat is rising with the heat in the room.  No one can hear the music clearly but we can feel the bass.  Everyone is engaged in their own scene but contributing to a higher energy. My bottom’s partner is closer now. He’s eagerly watching my Vampire gloved fingers tease his boyfriend’s chest; my bottom’s head bowed, his chest heaving with excited breaths when he looks up feverishly and leans quickly in to kiss me.  I felt the same fire, met his tongue with mine, and lose ourselves in a kiss.  Within a minute, I feel another tongue seeking to connect and another pair of hands sliding around my corseted waist.  We were in that ruby corner for sometime and the night ended with a hearty thank you and an exchange of numbers.  Over a decade later, the handsome bottom and I are still close friends, and have been together in good times and bad.  

 

Me and a fore mentioned leatherboy in 2011.

I became enmeshed in the goings on in the batch patch world.  I went to every bar night, every meeting, every fundraiser, marched in Pride parades, traveled to support the endeavors of other clubs, held the office of secretary, worked security for Mr. Cleveland Leather, helped with every run show, worked hard, played harder and developed deep friendships with the men around me. 

For a long time the only leather I owned was boots, my back patch vest, and a leather halter.  I made it work.  But, I could pull up a bar stool any night in the old days at the 540 Eagle, get served, and share camaraderie all night long.  

But there are times, even to the this day, when I might be invited to an event to support or judge an event, and I am blatantly ignored by the bartender and denied service. 

Once at an All-Clubs bar night at the bar I first experienced leather culture, a kinky woman who came to support the event needed to use the restroom facility and wasn’t quite sure about what to do.  Those of familiar with this situation know the women’s room key is always lost or the women’s room is occupied by people fucking.  Sure enough, the women’s room key was nowhere to be found and by this time she was doing the dreaded dance.  I told her to follow me and we headed toward the men’s room.  I called discreetly in the door to make sure it was clear; the man at the urinal told me he’d be finished in a minute, came out and said, “Here you go, hon.”  We bustle in, she’s bursting… only to find the lone stall, door open, with four men in it, back patches blazing.  One turns around to look at us and then promptly turns back to the action.  He looked me in the eye, so I knew he saw us and waited for a time for them to kindly move the party (for just long enough for her to pee).  A minute passes when I calmly say to them, “Could she please use the stall for just a second?”  The man who made eye contact with me turns around long enough to growl, “Fuck you.”

While she’s in the process of frantically looking for her keys to leave before she urinated herself, two twinks enter the bathroom and one says, “Hey doll… what’s the deal, you guys need to use the bathroom?”  The kinky woman bolts, and I tell the young men what transpired, to which the reply, “That’s muthafuckin bullshit!” Then my extreme amusement, they begin wetting down paper towels, wadding them up, and copiously pelting and chiding the men monopolizing the stall.  Their next round was on me. 

 

There was always an undercurrent of “knowing your place” as a woman, especially from the more “traditional” members of the club.  A leather man who took care of business and was outspoken and forthright was a natural dominant, a leader.  As an outspoken, dominant, forthright, leather woman, I had to learn to communicate very carefully as the first place some would want to cast me into was the bitch box.  It seemed with these men as long as women were working their asses off, being the bitch, and not questioning anything, everything was cool.  If you stepped out of “their” bounds, things could get pretty uncool very quickly.  If you were submissive women, things were typically easier. 

At times, I would hear racist remarks, which shocked me the first time I heard them from a gay man.   I didn’t understand how someone who had been widely discriminated against could do it to another.  I’d always call hate speech on the carpet.  

Melvin and I. - 2005

Even outside of the leather world, gay men and I would mutually gravitate and find kinship.  I was an attendee of Pagan Spirit Gathering for many moons, where there was always a loud and proud Rainbow Camp each year.  I came to know many of the men from the camp, and they came to me when their request to have kinky classes taught at the event and on the official schedule was denied. 

The men asked if I would be open to teaching covert classes on S&M at their camp.  I said, “Absolutely.  Let me know when.”  It wasn’t all work and no play though, no sir.  One late night, an impromptu contest occurred when a jar of Nutella and my bared breasts were used as an impetus to create an impromptu contest demonstrating oral skills between gay men and straight men at a Bacchanal.  Gay men won.  Some fine leathermen and leather allies came out of that camp; men I am proud to call family.  You know who you are. 

 

Once Michael was asked to create a Halloween ad for the bar night.  Some “traditional” members thought it appeared slightly feminine and much consternation ensued.  After one “Christmas In July” fundraiser in which drag queens had invited to help perform, they were told they could not enter leather space because of their feminine appearance.  Can you guess who they came to?  Me.  They knew I had earned the ability to be in the space and knew I cared about others and would help if I could.  When I tried to sort it out amicably between the bar owner and the guests, I was told, “There’s no way they are coming up here, even if they were invited to help.”  The more free thinking members; we were super tight due in part to their balanced views and the fact they didn’t get my gender color their view of me.  

Offensive Halloween advertisement.

By this point in 2006, it had been eight years in which my personal and social life was almost solely in the world of leather men.  I never went to straight bars, because my brothers weren’t comfortable in them.  My family wanted to be with me and I with them.

 

I was at a leather event in Akron, OH when my brother, Mike Gallagher, mentioned I should run for a women’s leather title.  I said, “I didn’t know they had those for women!”  I had attended Mr. Akron Leather and Mr. Cleveland Leather many times, but only knew of two other women connected to the entire leather scene in Northeast Ohio.  I learned shortly thereafter women’s leather contests had been happening for many years, but they were far removed from my scope of being.  I had no idea there were numbers of leather women, because in Ohio at that time I was one of three.

2005- Mike & Mike on the patio of the Leather Stallion Saloon.

After a bit of healthy convincing from him, I competed for a leather title in Columbus late July of that year, and then planned for the regional contest a month later.  Leather men were by my side the whole way.  

I went to the regional contest, won, and became Ms. Great Lakes Leather Pride. One of the highlights after winning was being sandwiched between Larry Golubski and Mark Frazier, with Mark saying, "I had no idea pink leather could be so hot!"   

And, the leather world opened up much, much, larger. 

 

The first event we were invited to was a Leather Ball weekend.  It was held by Steel Valley Leather and was held at the fabulous Club Maxx and a cut-stone manor with an outdoor play space overlooking the Ohio River.  My first scene was a flogging scene with an OG leather transman.  He’s not had top surgery but was secure enough in himself to remove his shirt to better enjoy the sensations.  Before long a friend of his, a gay man is eagerly sucking on his nipples from the front of the cross while his boy worshipped his boots.  It was a hot scene and a large number of gay men there thought so to.  The line of men wanting to play took my three and a half hours to work through.  

Nigel & Maxx holding down the fort at the 2006 Great Lakes Olympus Leather Ball Weekend.

Michael and I traveled to Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, Columbus, Cincinnati, Steubenville, Parkersburg, Charlestown, Pittsburgh, Indianapolis, Louisville; sometimes alone, sometimes with brothers.  I first met some of the finest people in my life at that time, which has been the blessing of this hard journey. 

My focus for the title year was to travel within the region, supporting events/fundraisers by selling whatever was for sale out of my cleavage (because it always paid off for the charity) and connecting with the leatherfolk (usually leathermen) in the new town of the weekend. 

As a queer identified (not gay) regional title-holder the only place I could compete internationally was IMsL.  In the time leading up to the event, I was looking forward to being around other leatherwomen as it was going to be a wholly new experience, perhaps once-in-a-lifetime as it takes a huge travel allotment to budget a trip to San Francisco from the Midwest.  My excitement was short lived.  In the first day of the event, I had repeated comments made to me like, “Oh, you’re the one who’s in with the leather men.”  One judge who was lesbian wouldn’t even speak to me.  Judgment statements were made to me about everything from the fact I was sharing a room with three men, that I had men in my fantasy, to my perceived sexuality; the fact I was not a lesbian and came from the men’s community did not bode well for me.  Here I was, surrounded by individuals who were self-identified leather women, and I was more of a stranger among them than among leather men. 

IMsL- 2007 Playing with the boys after it was all said and done.  Photo by Rich Stadtmiller.

  In 2008, we were in Louisville, KY at a gay bar supporting a Red Party event which was an HIV/AIDS fundraiser organized by a group of leathermen.  The work was winding down when Donald Palmore looked at me and said, “Up for an adventure?” Well, of course I was!  Within fifteen minutes, he’s explained his desire for me to be one of the women to “pop the cherry” of the bar Boots who has never allowed women admittance and while we’ve been talking has amassed a group of family and friends to stand together to help do the deed.  We (attired properly) traveled to Boots, and went in with him in the lead.  To the doorman Donald said, “We’d all, all of us, like to come in.  If not, let us know and we can go.” Donald and his boy Chris, Rick Mora, Russ Coulter, boy Doug, and Michael escorted Ms. Tammy and I in, pretty as you please.  Later that night, the bartender told me it was one of the best times he’s ever seen go down in that bar.  Each time I’ve returned, I’m warmly met with, “Ooohhh girl, you’re back!  Are you here to do it up?!?!  I remember last time you were spanking boys on the bar and it was hot!"

Some of the infamous "Boots night" crew.

 

To be continued...