EDGE Philadelphia

At the suggestion of one of my readers and podcast followers, I was going to devote this month’s Leather Bound to rimming.

The Leather Bound fan mentioned checking out my naughty-and-nice homemade porn, and especially liked the images of this top having his ass eaten. He’d asked about whether I’d written on the subject since this was something that he was particularly into and a topic of discussion that a lot of tops seemed to shy away from (in his experience).

He mentioned particularly liking a shot of me holding a thick cigar in one hand, my thick cock in the other, while sitting on a rim seat. It’s not one of my better photos, but it is one of the images that seems to get the most response or generates the most private correspondence.

I think response to that pic is based on what the image evokes... namely, a confident man with hard dick sitting back while smoking on a gar suggests masculinity, power, control and dominance. In my experience, many folks who dislike gars actually like the look of a man smoking them (even if they just don’t like the smoke). The rims seat adds another dimension-for some men, the idea of burying themselves in an ass is hot simply because they love eating or taking a hot (and hopefully clean) butt. For some, the idea of eating a top’s ass brings an additional thrill of penetrating a hole that is otherwise virgin with their tongue. And for some subs who get off on "humiliation" rather than plain ole piggy sex, the idea of getting their face into a sweaty hairy crack while someone either talks dirty or dismissively about them, or ignores their worship altogether while appreciating a gar, feeds their own fantasies of being used as a human sex toy.

So there certainly is lots that I could say about the topic... and the holiday season with its tendency to bring people out on the roads to buy (or return) gifts, to visit (or flee) from family, also tends to bring the asshole out in many of us. So the subject seems both topical and relevant.

I’ve often said what is most powerful about leather play to me is the connections that it forms. If all I want is to get off, I can use my hand or my boy’s mouth (he’s been known to satisfy me in his sleep). But when I get into leather and kink play, I’m fully engaged, very much in the moment, focused on my partner and our responses together, equally gauging safety and pleasure. Since I don’t have to cum to consider a scene successful, what really makes a play scene the most successful for me is the sense that I went somewhere new; that my partner went someplace outside of his body, finding joy in his subspace or delving deep into his mind as fantasies were explored; or that we pushed or reached an established limit, all of which ultimately forged a connection that brought us a little closer than we were before.

In short, it’s about bonding, building and maintaining genuine intimacy.

What might look to outsiders like hard slamming action in a sling can feel like making sweet love to the men who are in the action, because what matters most really is not what happens during the play, but about how we feel about it (and each other) afterward.

Let’s face it, sometimes we fool around simply because we’re horny-and as soon as it’s over, we want to get the hell out. At other times, the connection we’ve made is so powerful, the satisfaction so great, we just don’t want to let the moment pass. And those are the moments where it’s all worthwhile (even if it took a lot of time to set up)!

But given the events of the past few days, I’m going to indulge myself with some end of year sentimentality. For folks just wanting to read about leather or sex, the rest of this month’s Leather Bound is not for you. Check back with me in February.

In truth, there was not action or rimming over the holiday season for me. But there were lots of opportunities to recognize and work on and celebrate connections.

It was the first year that I joined my boy’s family for Christmas celebrations as a ’married’ (well, union ceremonied) couple and the first time since we’d broken up as a triad. Emotional wounds that I’ve been nursing over the years came to the surface. For too long I’ve tried to be on "good behavior" around the family of life partners (I’ve never been lucky enough to have in-laws that warmed up to me, not because I’m kinky but because I’m gay, an activist, a Jew, in a triad relationship... you name it, there were excuses). But finally this trip, for one of my boy’s closest siblings, I opened up. We had a painful exchange, both took emotional risks, and I think we both came out better for it. We certainly have a better understanding of each other now, and I’d like to think a better appreciation for one another as well.

But the most poignant moments on Christmas Day came when I joined my boy eryc when he visited his brother at a nursing home. His brother is dying, succumbing to early onset Alzheimer’s Disease.

My heart wanted to burst with pride and heartache as I watched eryc taking his brother’s hand into his own. With love and care, eryc reminded his brother of who he (eryc) was. And after a moment’s recognition seemed to register in his brother’s eyes, and his mouth curled into a surprise grin, those eyes of a former hellraiser would close. Within moments of recognizing he had company, his brother would fall asleep on him while holiday music played loudly on the sound system. I heard nurse assistants singing along, softly to their patients. "Jingle Bell Rock" made me smile; "I’ll Be Home For Christmas" tore me apart.

Eryc told his brother how grateful he’d been to have him in his life, and told him that he and the family would look after his brother’s "girls" (meaning wife and adult daughters), that he didn’t need to worry about them. He spoke clearly, with both strength and compassion, so that his brother felt comforted. He told his brother that it was safe to let go in a tone of voice more often heard directed at children. Their mother, father and sisters were waiting for him at their old favorite beach, waiting to hang out and to get into trouble like the old days, he said. And I found myself having to separate myself from the pair to cry softly or to blow my nose-Alzheimer’s patients may not understand other people’s sadness, but they can feed off the energy and be upset by it. And as I watched them from a distance I couldn’t help but be amazed and so incredibly proud of how well eryc was handling himself and the situation.

In truth, I was a bit ashamed that I wasn’t as strong as my boy, because I wanted to be a pillar of strength for him-after all, it was his brother that was dying, not mine. As always, my boy amazed me.

When his brother wanted to walk around a bit, eryc helped him up. His brother walked with a very short, staccato gait in attractive, seasonal clothes that now hung on him a bit like a scarecrow, oversized garments on a shrinking physical frame. His brother froze in place at one point, staring at a fire alarm on the wall, and eryc reminded his brother that he had once been a fireman and other details of his forgotten history. They walked together in circles, going nowhere, getting nowhere, making connections that dissipated as quickly as they formed, like bubbles bursting just seconds after they’ve formed. His brother was no longer there, really; this was just another living ghost of Christmases past.

It was probably the last time they will see each other on this earth, and I was honored to share the moment with my boy, and to hold him afterward, and to let him know how proud I was.

Drained by the emotional course of the holiday visit, I was ready to return home to New Jersey bright and early on Saturday... but still yet another challenge awaited us.

After leaving the George Washington Bridge and heading onto the ramp for the New Jersey Turnpike, the car I was driving was rear ended by a Jeep that was moving far too quickly on the windy and rain-slicked roads. The Jeep skidded out of control, and in the course of a 360 turn, it slammed into the back of our vehicle, taking out the back bumper and blowing out the rear window. I managed to pull over to the side of the road, made sure eryc was OK, then we both looked back and realized there was no rear window and the dog was sitting up. We called out for Rufus to stay put, concerned that he’d jump out in panic.

When I got back there, my English bulldog looked to me once again like a puppy. He was scared and shaking, his appearance somehow looking smaller than his 65 lb. frame. There was shattered plastic around him, and his face was scratched up. Bright crimson blood smeared his forehead and nose and he trembled in terror and in shock, not to mention the cold wintry rain that was blowing into the car.

As I saw this wonderful creature that has brought me so much joy so frightened, and being unaware of how extensive his injuries might be, all I could feel was my own fear. Fear of losing him, fear of not being powerful enough to stop events like this that were clearly out of my control. I felt guilt and shame that while on my watch, my puppy was harmed. And in a split second I saw in my mind’s eye my boy’s face, similarly terrified and bloodied, and I realized how close I could have come to losing my love, my family. I was at once horrified by the reminder of how fragile all of our lives are on this earth, at my inability to safeguard and protect as omnipotently as I’d like to think of myself, but grateful that we all were granted more time together.

Fortunately, the dog’s wounds were all superficial, and although my boy is feeling stiffness and some body pain from the jolt of the impact, there were no injuries that required emergency hospitalization. Eryc called friends of ours, and they packed a little picnic for us (including cocktails, naturally) and one drove up in the rainy weather and collected us at a local car dealer, where we put the car in safe keeping until we could work things out with the insurance company. Our nerves were calm before we even got home, thanks to these dear friends and their strong drinks.

Although I tend to make New Year’s resolutions each year, usually keeping them, if for no reason other than I’m stubborn and don’t like to fail at anything, I’m going to make this year’s resolution more of a goal.

I’m going to try to live more in the moment and less in my head, to recognize and experience the joys that each day gives me; to better appreciate the family that I’ve been born into and married into, to let them deeper in my heart, no matter the risks of rejection and loss; and to celebrate the friendships and bonds that connect me with others on the world.

Life’s short. We need to play hard and eat desert first. And when challenges arise, we can rise to meet them... if I can’t do it alone, it’s OK. I know I don’t have to.

God bless us, every one.