Imagine that you are a gay male in your early twenties. The year is 1961. Before the dawning of the "Age of Aquarius" and the sexual revolution that was to follow.
It's a Saturday night. You're full of expectations but also extremely nervous. You have never tried this before but it is becoming more and more a major part of your fantasies. You're not exactly sure what to expect. All of your friends have declined to join you in the adventure saying it's not for them, too risky, too dangerous.
Where you are heading is just a little hole-in-the-wall place, down a small alley in a not so good section of town. As you reach the alley you look down into the darkness. A small neon light points the way, shedding just enough light to let you make out the row of motorcycles parked beneath it. Your instincts say turn and run. Your desires say go inside.
As you walk in the door you are immediately overcome with the smell of smoke, stale beer, leather and testosterone. Your heart beats faster. Your palms begin to sweat. Your instincts are still saying run. But those desires make you stay.
As your eyes adjust to the dim light, shapes begin to emerge. Shapes of men. Hard- looking men. Not the type you have been used to seeing in the other gay bars. Most are wearing the protective leathers of a biker, complete with their club colors on their backs.
As you look around, you notice that standing besides some of these men are younger looking guys. Instead of leather, they are clad simply in cut-offs or jocks. Most are wearing either a leather or chain collar held closed by a lock. Some are on a leash, the handle of which is being held by one of the men in leather.
With great relief, you realize that other than a few quick glances, your entrance has drawn very little attention. Taking a deep breath, you move slowly towards a secluded corner, away from much of the activity. A place from which to observe.
You watch as the men in leather engage in conversation, slowly sipping the beers sitting on the bar in front of them. But your attention is drawn to the boys in the collars. Standing quietly, their hands behind their backs, their heads slightly lowered. They move only to light a cigarette or cigar for the man they are beside or order them another beer as they take the last swallow from the one they have.
You see their stoic faces change ever so slightly with just the hint of a smile as they see the pleased look from the man they serve. You see how they beam with pride when the man playfully rubs their heads as he brags to the others how good his boy serves him. You watch as the other boys snap-to even more, hoping they too will be bragged on. It's a subtle, playful yet serious competition to see who can be the fastest, most attentive and you sense the feeling of pride that will be awarded the winner.
You watch, not quite understanding exactly you are witnessing, but everything inside of you says you wish that it was you standing there. Lighting His cigarette, ordering His beer, smiling at His praise. The desire is strong, the need great. But as to how to get it, you have no clue.
Finally, needing something to drink yourself, but too scared to approach the bar, you slip quietly out the door into the alley, ready to head back to the safety of more familiar surroundings. Just as you begin to think you're in the clear, made it out without being noticed, you hear a deep, strong voice behind you.
"Where ya going so fast boy? Hell boy, you just barely got here. Why ya leaving so soon?"
The voice stops you dead in your tracks. You feel like running but your feet refuse to move. Slowly you turn around. Standing there, silhouetted by the glow of neon, is the figure of every leatherboy's fantasies. Tall, with wide shoulders and a muscular chest that angles down to a thin waist. His leather jacket and chaps hug every muscle. The strong features of his face are mostly hidden by the bill of his biker's hat, revealed only by the glow of a draw on his cigar. Although your instincts now yell RUN, those desires turn the yells into whispers, barely loud enough to hear.
You try to speak but all that comes out is a stammering of " I I,I,I,I,I,I,I,……"
"Didn't think anyone noticed you did ya boy? Well, actually, you got quite a bit of notice, made a pretty big impression. Don't feel bad though boy that you didn't notice. You weren't meant to."
Walking towards you, in the glow from his cigar, you can begin to make out his eyes. There is a kindness, gentleness about them, very much at odds with the hardness of the rest of his features. You don't know or understand why, but looking into his eyes you feel calmed, safe. With the final step that brings him straight in front of you find yourself automatically placing your hands behind your back, your head slightly lowering, your eyes down.
With a gentle touch, he raises your chin. As your eyes meet, the world you knew up till now disappears. Your fears and apprehensions suddenly fade. You see a new world in his eyes and you immediately know it is there, in that world, is where you want to be.
A slight smile is all that betrays his satisfaction. "I was fairly certain, watching you back in the bar, that you would have it. I'm generally not wrong about such things. Some of the other guys noticed it too. And sure enough, it's there. The spark. I can see it in your eyes. Only someone very special has that spark. Only someone with that spark has what it takes to be a boy. That's why I followed you out here.
"Something inside you brought you here tonight, helped you overcome your fear and walk through that door. You know this is what you want. The question is: are you ready to explore who you are, what you're made of and what you're capable of? Are you ready to find your limits, then give every ounce of energy you have to push beyond them? Are you ready to understand the joy, cherish the peace of mind, celebrate the pride in knowing you've done your very best serving another willingly, lovingly, to the fullest extent of your capabilities? If you are, then follow behind me boy, proudly, back into the bar and I'll help you begin your journey.
" This time you answer in a voice that rings out with confidence and conviction, "Yes Sir, Thank You Sir".
Turning so as not to let you see the joy in his smile, he begins to walk back towards the bar, and in a voice slightly more than a whisper, you hear him say "Good boy".
Time was, that unless you showed what was referred to as "the spark", you would not be permitted to find the secretive world of the Leatherman. You would not know you were being watched and evaluated until they were ready to let you know. Many came hoping to be chosen, most never were. Only those whose behavior showed respect, whose eyes possessed the fire of desire were even considered. Only those who were betrayed by their look of longing and hunge, surrounded with a determination inspired by need, would be given more than a fleeting glance and be invited in.
There are many still today who watch and evaluate from a distance, waiting for the glimpse of that same spark. There are still many today who will only invite those who possess that spark into their world. Would they find it in you? Would they see in you the respect and desire? The hunger, determination and need? Would they see the qualities they feel are necessary to separate those capable of continually providing a top level of service from those who will never understand the joy of putting another's needs above your own? Will they see you as someone worthy of their time, effort, dedication and affection?
They will if your desire is strong enough--and if that spark, your essence, gives you away.
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