User:Bagoas
Ah, fetishism. I slipped right on through the cracks of what would have made my soul sing. I performed a short stint in the military as an infantry soldier. Somehow you would think that the military would be more homo-erotic. It wasn't. Mostly I remember never feeling clean. Show up. Do as I was told. Drag my feet when I could and drink lots of beer to numb the times in-between. I fled the military for the thrills of New Orleans, where-in still lay the famous bathtup at Jewels. I was a whore. I was a stripper. I wanted in on leather. BUT Somehow it had ALL become the provenance of the Bear set. I am not a cub. I'll never be hairy. I don't even respect the look. It is a lack of discipline and moral fortitude. Any leatherman worth his salt should be fit and trim, should put himself through some, maybe not all, paces. In short: look good. I'll admit this is a personal taste, but waking up sandwiched between the soft flabby furry couple from the night before could've left scars...not that I scar. Where were the pack leaders? Where was a kennel-man looking to add to his pack? I looked hard, believe me. The lines that I crossed in hunt of the Abduction/Redemption series, Pauline Reage, or Mason Powell's vision of The Brig...I would still leap at the chance should it present itself, except I am used goods, golden-boy no more. Pony-play withered the scene and ended it (sorry to that guy) could no one understand the need for puppy play? I did a short stint in Florida prison. You would think it would be more homoerotic. When You see a line of black men running a train on a weak white guy and nearly fall victim yourself, you check into solitary confinement. Nothing hot about prison either. But a leash, a belt, a collar, cuffs, ball gag, black hood....grrrrrrrmmmmmmm. I read someone wrote that punishment and discipline are one and the same. I beg to differ. Discipline is better learned when rewarded with praise (like a scratch behind the ear) than threatened with punishment. And then, some of us really really do like being thrown back in the briar patch. I was threatened once with a belt whipping--I could hardly get the fellow to strike hard enough to make me squirm out of the way (when I squirm, it's plenty hard). He dressed and left and suggested I needed therapy. I enjoyed sitting on those bruises for a good couple of weeks. Was I duly punished? All of them: a swing and a miss.
