Now there's a scary thought

There was a munch discussion recently that somehow got onto the topjc of latex cat suits ...those clinging, full-bodied, figure revealing suits made from latex that look so-o-o-o good on luscious females. Someone then mentioned that, "...I'd like to see Unc' in a latex cat suit." Now, as many of you know, my body type is ...umm... "ample," prompting my response, "You know, if I wore a latex cat suit, I'd look like the Michelin Man." (There were the usual gaffaws, but it also prompted one woman at the munch to blow cherry coke out her nose.)

Unc'

I Love Flying But Hate Airlines and TSA

OK, from whence does this come? Coming home from Thunder 2008, I opened up the bag that had been checked on my return flight. Sure enough, by the disarray of the items inside I knew my bag had been 'tossed' by TSA. (Yes, I'm deliberately using the prison slang term. The laudable 'goal' of "We're doing this for your protection" espoused by TSA is just so much hovneau.) Maybe it was the handcuffs and the cylindrical-like violet wand that I bought at Thunder showing up on the X-ray that did it ...ya think? Daaaah! I already hate the folk at TSA with their wannabe rent-a-cop mentality, but now I can add another dislike reason to my hate list -- slobs. Well, I can't do much about it. At least they didn't steal any of it (which actually happened to a friend of mine) or 'chawk' an oyster into the bag ...though I wouldn't put it past them.

All of this lead me to thinking about how air travel has changed. My first airline trip on my own was to New York City in a "...straight to heaven in a..." 707, a jetliner that had a propensity for crashing. But at least back then, airlines were actually competing on the basis of cute sexy stewerdases, passenger comforts (with sexy stews?), and food service. Now days you get surley TSA rejects, torture racks, and the $5 small bag of stale peanuts. Add on top of that the 'bright' (gag, choke, pthooy) folk at TSA whoes taped announcements while waiting in their long lines is to "...in order to speed up the process, please remove your outer garments." Hey, I'm waiting for the day when some gal will get it in her head to actually do that.

Till we get more sense and actual airline service, I'll just continue to ship my play gear, take the train when I can, and otherwise limit my airline exposure.

Pins 'n Patches

Every time I attend or present at an event like Thunder or BR or TESFest, etc., I'm always given an event pin. Now it's nice to have them, but when I get home I toss them into the nearest drawer of convenience. So somewhere in wherever I'm living or perhaps in storage I have all these pins and/or patches, but I really don't wear them. See, I come from a time when yes, some guys had patches on their leather vests, but that was only because they were a member of some motorcycle club. A lot of the rest of us (hets mostly) didn't even have vests let alone patches. (Actually, there was this one guy, but then he came dressed as a kinky Boy Scout for a Halloween party.) If we did, we'd be looked at askanced as "...oy vey, a new guy trying to impress."

Today there are a whole bunch of worthy and august title contests where patches on vests are hard won and a symbol of pride and a symbol of someone designated to do something important for the promotion of the community and/or fundraising. I'm not going to deny them their rightfully won achievements. They've earned that patch and the right to put it on their vest.

What I have to smile and silently giggle at are those folk dressed in their fetish leathers with all their event pins showing to the point where it looks like some demented SCA type wearing button armour and ready to battle ...the Knights Who Say 'Neat'. And by the knowing smiles I see on the faces of my contemporaries, I guess I'm not alone in that.

Now I recognize that maybe pins and patches hold a more significant meaning for TNG'rs and their peers. I guess I'll just have to say that this is one of the mutually respectful differences between my generation and the TNG'rs. Frankly, my pins and patches are in my memories--such as remembering the pride I felt being part of the 60,000+, nation-wide, leather contingent in the 300,000+ "Gay March on Washington" in the 1980's and during that, watching a mounted DC cop blush as we recognized his epiphany that he was 'one of us'.

S&M Rubber Chicken Circuit

I just got back from Thunder in the Mountains in Denver. I try to attend that every year together with Black Rose and assorted others during the year as time, money (day job), and presenting gigs permit/require. Funny thing is that I remember way-back-when... when I commented to one of my contemporaries after seeing events like TESFest, Living In Leather, and a couple of others emerging into the community consciousness that, "... soon we'd be having an S&M (yes, before the term, 'BDSM', but after T-Rex) rubber chicken circuit." I meant it as a joke back then, but boy, did that ever come true. I wonder what 'bizspeak' buzz phrase of today will theTNG'rs be reminicing about in 20 years or so.

Me ‘n T-Rex

A munch tag line I like to use to introduce myself with on introduction go-arounds is, “…I go back to the dim mists of time – when we used to butt fuck T-Rex”. I use it less so these days since at one time people got so tired of hearing it, they banned me from using it at munches.

Where I got it from was from a signature I saw once when I was on an Australian BDSM list, only they used “…since T-Rex wore thigh-highs and fishnets”. Evoking T-Rex on their part and on my part was an indication of our longevity in the scene (since 1980 for me).

Now as I use it more sparingly, I get bigger laughs. And now other munch goers like to chip in with related comments to keep things going. Can’t keep a good T-Rex down, I guess.

Chao-4-Now

Unc’

Smiles and Squicks - #1

Having been around for a while, I’ve seen many things in BDSM that made me smile. Fortunately, there were much fewer that made me squick (i.e., made me go, “E-e-e-e-ew!”).

Smile: Driving down the Pacific Coast Highway on a sunny spring day and seeing an attractive young lady in a Mercedes convertible with a license plate saying ‘SLAV ONE’.

Squick: When I worked in a Fetish store, I got a call from a mature Middle Eastern woman asking if the store had chastity belts. I explained to her that we had leather ones for males. As the conversation evolved beyond that, I realized that she was talking about real metal ones for her daughters …and not for fetish purposes. That struck me so much that I had to turn the phone over to another store associate.

How Unc’ Got His Start in BDSM

I don’t know exactly when I developed an interest in what is now called BDSM, but it was certainly before my teens. When it started to become clear to me was in Boy Scout Summer Camp. Our troop had conducted a paper drive to help fund camp expenses, but in sorting through the paper stock, we set aside some magazines for reading at the camp. Boys being boys, we of course squirreled away the mens magazines. One that was of particular interest to me was an old Argosy mag. Why? Well one of the stories was about a guy rescuing two women being tortured by Cuban revolutionaries – with descriptions of the girls having lit cigars pressing into their naked breasts. Ahh, the fun, the fun!

In subsequent years I had a lot of fantasies, but I didn’t allow myself realizations of them. It wasn’t fun being a horny geek thinking I was doomed to be a closeted crypto-kink. And of course with all the social and moral acceptance of such thoughts (… r-r-r-ight…), it’s no wonder I wasn’t feeling comfortable with those fantasies. Sometimes the ‘urge’ got too much, so I did some ‘commercial experimentation’. It wasn’t all that satisfying, but at least it took off the edge.

I got married and then divorced (no, not because of my BDSM interests). During these “free range” days, a friend of mine suggested going to a Mensa SEX-SIG lecture that was featuring a speaker talking about BDSM. The speaker owned a local BDSM-based commercial (… yep … that kind of ‘commercial’) club. He wasn’t all that impressive (even worse I found out later in my BDSM career), but he did have a cute model that looked pretty good hogtied.

As the lecture was ending, a guy (Don Miesen I found out later) came forward and announced that he had some flyers from the Society of Janus. Now I had heard of this club, and I knew it was a BDSM club, so I was definitely motivated in getting a flyer. Despite some people, a couch, and a table was between me and the flyers, with the drive of someone who’d run down his own grandmother, I managed to get one of the coveted flyers. (Remember, this was before the age of internet, so while I may have known about Janus, I didn’t know how to contact them.)

Having the flyer, I could now send in my application and fee to sign up for an Orientation meeting. While waiting for a reply (that seemed to take forever) I started wondering what I was getting into. Would I be dragged down into a dark basement dungeon by a bunch of gay guys? With an envelope containing an invitation to a Janus Orientation, I was about to find out.

The Orientation was actually held in Don Miesen’s home. Now for a het guy like me, I was impressed with this knowledgeable, cultured gay man with a dry and sophisticated sense of humor. And the others at the Orientation were …well… quite normal. There was pleasant social chit chat together with chips, dips, and sodas. Then the actual Orientation started, and that was held in Don’s basement – it was dark and complete with chains on the ceiling. Oh me! But fear not I soon learned. It was just an explanation about how Janus worked. When it was over, I was now a Janus member.

I soon made some good friends and started attending Janus’ classes. One of the first ones that I attended made a lasting impression on me. Kat Sunlove was doing a demo of her femdom style. Don Miesen volunteered a young woman (who was enamored of Mistress Kat) to be a demo model. Kat had the woman disrobe to her panties before handcuffing her wrists behind her back. The Kat took a Hot Shot cattle prod and started running the tips across the woman’s nude body. Well… when I saw that, I said to myself, “I’ve died and gone to Heaven”. I was certainly hooked, and I knew that I found my lifestyle.

There are numerous side paths to this story arc of my BDSM life, but that’ll be later. ‘Nuff fer now.

Unc’