Initial reaction to the flag was mixed. Your kinky, leathery family is not just men. Keep one hanging in your closet. Losing these spaces is a tragedy. Relatively few lesbian women were visible during the early emergence of the leather subculture. Leather bars are places of tolerance — places where you can be the queer, kinky, leather-loving, cum-hungry, rubbery, buckled-up, cigar-smoking, nonmonogamous, polyamorous, daddy-seeking, cocksucking person you are.
Leather bars are disappearing.
Like everything I write, the intent of this piece is to break down the stigmas surrounding the sex lives of gay men. The Leather Archives and Museum is dedicated to compilation, preservation, and maintenance of leather, kink, and fetish lifestyles. Furry pecs were buckled down in black leather straps, asses were out, and every few minutes a man stood, coming up for air, before dropping back to his knees. New leather events kept popping up. Throughout the history of the leather subculture, a variety of traditions have been observed, often diligently. Threads collapsed expanded unthreaded.
When cruising seedy neighborhoods and underground dives could get you killed or arrested — before AIDS hit its peak — we invented a code of wearing colored hankies in the back right or left pocket of our skintight jeans with colors dictating what sex we were seeking. Many leather nights still exclude women. Leather bars are places of tolerance — places where you can be the queer, kinky, leather-loving, cum-hungry, rubbery, buckled-up, cigar-smoking, nonmonogamous, polyamorous, daddy-seeking, cocksucking person you are. Countless guys like me — guys who work out but still eat donuts, who keep their beards trim and bellies natural — felt confident to lose shirts and more. Then came a crisis. Come as you are.