Leather Bar

Posted: May 12, 2011 in general

While it might be possible to be Leather without ever having set foot inside a Leather bar, I think that you would be missing out on a huge part of the visceral experience of Leather by doing so.  I think the memory of those experiences is why a small piece of our hearts dies each time another Leather bar shuts its doors for good.  There is something about being in that space, surrounded by Leatherfolk, that no amount of reading or talking can teach you.  I wanted to write about that experience this week, basically a view for those who have never been and a reminder for those missing it.

It takes a while for my eyes to adjust as I step inside the door.  It is dark inside, shutting out the world outside and becoming more real than anything beyond the doors.  This is where creatures like me come alive and where we find our own kind.  I have to squeeze past men at the coat check, but these aren’t just any men…they are Leathermen.  They are men who are unafraid to be men and to love like men.  They are rough and big and hulking and they smell like men, not like aftershave.  They smell of the leather they wear as well as the sweat they sweat…and the sex they have.  I inhale deeply and that scent helps me feel like the animal I am.  I am different than them, but I am of the same species.  I move through them, catlike, past the coat check where they shed their false skins to reveal the leather and skin beneath.

The bar is much like any other bar, only darker.  You also don’t often find “girly” drinks here.  Here it is mainly beer and hard liquor with the occasional jello shot.  I see a group of boys drinking and frolicking.  Their youth is barely restrained by the leather they wear as they joke and jostle each other.  Along the edge of the bar, though, in the shadows, the hunters watch the prey play.  Their eyes are harder, often rimmed with a few wrinkles and they seem to see more in the low light than most people do at midday.  In other lives, these men might be managers or they might be mechanics, but here they are the hunters, watching every move around them, occasionally nodding in recognition to a friend or engaging in conversation as they lean back against the wall, idly sipping a beer, like big cats relaxing before they chase down a gazelle.

As I stalk my way through the crowd I feel the music even more than I hear it.  It is a loud heartbeat that seems to rattle my ribcage, like drums of war.  I smell the familiar smells of beer, sweat, leather, piss, and cigar smoke wafting through the air, making it hazy.  I narrow my eyes and smile at a passing friend, a handsome boy bringing an equally handsome Sir a drink.  I tease him with my smile, baring my fangs, but we both know that neither of us are on each other’s menu.  I am not a hunter and there are few here who would attempt to hunt me…I’m just not their kind of prey.  Boldly, I revel in this freedom, enjoying it rather than feeling disappointed that I am outside the games at play as the hunters lure their prey closer.  That is, until I feel a pair of eyes tracing my own body and I turn, intrigued.

Amid the Sirs is a Leatherdyke, equally seasoned and strong.  She relaxes amid the hunters and one of her companions turns to see where her gaze has settles and laughs.  I can’t hear his words, but I feel my heart quicken as her eyes stay on me, measuring me, gauging my reaction.  I feel my face flush and my throat grow dry and I swallow, my eyes looking down, breaking the tension of our stares.  When I look back up, she has turned to her companion, laughing, but her eyes dart back to mine, telling me that she marked my nervousness and I know the game is on.

All around me men and some women dance similar mating dances, more like a dance between predator and prey in the smoky haze.  A man near me groans as another twists his nipple, his lips near the boy’s ear, almost brushing it as he whispers what he will do next.  The boy leans closer to the Sir, eager for his touch and tormented by thoughts of the pleasure and pain to come and the Sir toys with him, drawing out the anticipation so that the boy will be even more eager to please.  I smile, forgetting for a moment my own weakness and vulnerability and regaining my composure, yet envious of the boy, wishing I had lips near my ear promising such sweet torments.  I head to the bar and I can almost smell the pheromones, the musky smell of horniness and desire as the prey entice their hunters and the hunters stealthily lure in their prey, each of them marking off some space to share in the crowd.  I turn my back to all this, floating on the thick energy coming from it all and feeling a deep, gutteral connection to our ancestors, men and women who saw what they wanted…and took it.  Here the game is a bit more civilized.  The takers ask before taking, but they take just the same after the niceties are completed and consent given.  I ache to be taken, but instead, I order a drink from a cut barback, marveling at the mix of primal, sex driven ferocity tempered with more courtesy and manners than one would find on the average street outside.

Then I feel her behind me before she speaks, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.  I fear it is her and yet I also fear that I am mistaken and that she has gone on to other quarry.  Her voice, though, is husky but female, strong as the muscles of her arms, yet mixed with the softness of her lips.

“It’s about time you bought me a drink,” she says as I turn and see her smile.  She is testing me, waiting to see how I will react.  I offer it to her, my eyes darting up to hers only to lower again.  She wears a cover and I know her.  I’ve been dreaming of her ever since I saw her in her leathers, wondering how those boots would feel pressing against my skin.  She laughs and instead orders a beer from the barback, moving closer to the bar, intentionally into my space.

“Do you still think you want to take me on?” she teases as she takes a swig of beer.  I swallow hard, measuring her up, knowing she is a heavy player, knowing she is muscular and knows her way around.  I feel my whole body heat up and I try not to show how badly I want to feel her teeth in me, her fists hitting me, anything she has to give.

“Yes…Sir.”  I manage and my voice nearly cracks, I’m such a mixture of turned on and terrified and excited and anxious.  Her eyes dig into mine and I know that she has read all that I didn’t say.  There is no hiding from eyes like that, as the boys around me know too well from the pairs of similar eyes that seek them.  She moves quickly and suddenly I’m pinned back against the bar, her hard muscle holding me helpless as her eyes look down at me.  I feel a bead of sweat start running down my forehead and I’m embarassed as a moan escapes my lips as she digs a hard thigh into my crotch.

“Well then…”  she is as calm and composed as I am a mess, smiling casually, her hard eyes full of everything she plans to do to me, knowing I will surrender eagerly to her.

And the music thumps on, this moment lost among all the other moments like it, all around us, mixing together.

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Comments
  1. CandiAnne says:

    Omg Red totally hot. You easily make the reader a fly on the wall. Thanks for sharing, wish I’d been there.

  2. This just made my morning, thank you so much for sharing this. It reminded me of a few things I’d forgotten.

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