Daddy Barry picked me up in his Chrysler PT Cruiser woody at 10am Friday, June 23rd, 2006, to drive to Palm Springs for collaring and to spend the weekend. (Originally he’d planned to pick me up on a rented Harley and ride me to collaring on a long Monday together on May 1. Then he had a motorcycle accident in Palm Springs Saturday April 29. Afterward there was needed recuperation time, and also him designing a different memorable plan that didn’t so actively utilize the still-healing right leg.)
A time I was over at Daddy Barry’s before the accident, I glanced over and saw the collar lying on the dresser. The sweet surprise and intimacy took my breath away. Joyful tears welled up. This had been a long time coming.
I’d fantasized about being taken and claimed by a leatherman for 25 years; since I was 17. The collar was the outward symbol of finally trusting someone – Daddy Barry a year ago -- enough to let that dream manifest.
That trust took time.
Daddy Barry and I first met April 30, 2003. Papa Tony had suggested I come out to the Bears’ meatloaf dinner. (Technically, it was a fundraiser by Mr. San Diego Bear 2003, Eric Crow, benefiting both Bears San Diego and Mama’s Kitchen.) It was at The Big Kitchen near 30th and Grape. I’d parked just up the block on 30th. As I was walking down the block in jeans and oiled knee-high boots, 6-7 guys on motorcycles pulled into the IGA Market parking lot, gliding in a handsome group formation.
Daddy Barry was one of those men. Unbeknownst to me, he turned to his friend Harve – “Harley Ridin’ Harve” -- and said “Who IS that?! I’ve got to meet him” and that he wanted to fuck me right then and there on the street. In the friendly line outside The Big Kitchen, extroverted Harve made it a point to introduce himself and his friend. Inside it was pretty full. About 70 guys came in total. I sat at a little two-person table with a guy named Bill Freyer, who would become one of our best friends in town, and had a great time. But before the motorcyclists left, Harve handed me a card with his information that said “Come ride!”
Easy rides around town fit me best due to my limited stamina. It seems like Harve had sent out notes about group rides but that they were a bit long for me. Then came this note for July 13, 2003:
Motorcycle ride - Coast Hiway to Oceanside
This Sunday, meet at Pecs at 1000. They
are laying out
coffee and brekky things for us. We can leave at 11:00. Ride up to
Oceanside and environs, head back to Pecs for a complimentary lunch they
are laying out for us around one. Kewl huh?
Still long for me, but otherwise an ideal ride.
The group met up at Pecs and rode up toward Oceanside. The temperature shifted from warm and sunny inland to a sweet, cool gray day as we got closer to the ocean.
There was Saturday traffic when we hit the beach towns like Cardiff-by-the-Sea. Barry was being point man in the rear. When the group of 10 or so of us would come to a red light, he’d pull up to the intersection and when the light turned green, he’d pull through the intersection but stop in front of the cross-street lane that could potentially turn into our group and separate it. When the last bike was safely through, he’d throttle up and take point again. I hadn’t seen this done before, but instantly realized what he was doing.
When we got to lunch I found him and thanked him. When I asked him what that process was called where he was in the rear protecting the group he said he didn’t know. But he added something like “I like to be behind.” My response was along the lines of “I love a man behind, but it’s been a long time.” He said it had been a long time for him to be behind. We said let’s do something about that and exchanged cards.
Our first get together was not long after at his place on Alabama Street. He was very considerate about his smoking. And the place was so clean the friendly cats Petey and Taylor didn’t seem to be a problem. I had a great time. He did, too.
Then we wouldn’t see each other for months. We were intensely turned on to each other, but it would be quite a while before I could take his long, thick, deliciously tasty uncut cock. He finally entered me March 24, 2005. It was glorious for us both!
Somewhere during those first two years he stopped smoking. And Petey, his best bud, died.
Meanwhile, the logistics for our get-togethers for two years were amazingly complicated. Though both of us had open relationships, neither of us wanted to host when our partners were home. He had free time in the evenings, but that was when his partner was home. I had free time during the days, but that was when my partner was home. And he was working lots. The writing on the wall seemed to be: This person is a great physical match but lacks a crucial component for a relationship with emotional intimacy – availability.
For each of the preceding two years in my annual list of “Ten True Things” I’d written “I’d like a sexual Top back in my life.” While true, I was not ready to put the effort into it. But when I wrote it a third time, I was ready to work to help it manifest. Saturday February 19, 2005, I drafted an ad :
Handsome bottom with bright smile & sense of humor seeks San-Diego-area Top / Dad to pleasure. I'm particularly hoping for someone into *safe*, passionate vanilla sex but am open to quite a bit more.
I'm 6'2”, 185#, 42, muscular, furry-chested & a good kisser! I'm a non-smoker, non-drugger, & non-drinker. I've been HIV+ since the early 80s and cannot bareback.
A good match will be male, honest, height/weight proportional & not use drugs. Fun desirables include uncut, handsome salt & pepper hair, male-pattern baldness, yummy moustaches & woofy Italians! Non-smoker is a plus.
I spent the 80s exclusively on bottom and the last 15 years on Top. I've always fantasized about having a leather Dad but have never had one yet. I am in a long-term open relationship and also have a dear leatherslave. With this loving family base I am emotionally available and regularly physically available to a Top / Dad should we hit it off. By definition I'm versatile, but in this venue I seek only to service a Top / Dad.
Please drop me a line at "dadsearch" via "officerwes.com" if we might be a good fit -- or if you know somebody else who might be.
(I’m reminded of a conversation with my sister Susan years ago when I was looking for a slave: “You are already so dominant you’d be more balanced if you were a boy.”)
Friday February 25th I called Barry and told him he would be a good match, if he were more available. He asked “What are you doing tomorrow?” So he came over the 26th and we had our first talk about him possibly being my leather Daddy. I sent him the link to the ad afterward.
He had concerns about his time. I kept it attainable and clear: “I’d like to get together at least once a month.” He thought it over. (Later he inferred that his friend Harve had gently nudged him with two things: “He’s writing about you” and “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” Thank you, Harve.)
On March 2, 2005, he wrote “The ad is great and I'd really like the opportunity to take care of your needs any time that you'd like. Let me see what I can do for you.”
We started being able to see each other once a month or so, which was great! But I felt a longing to talk with him in between and know what was going on in his life. On June 29 I asked if we could get together for coffee at Urban Grind. There I told him that I missed talking with him. He reminded me that I was free to call him anytime. I told him I remembered he’d said that – and also that I felt uncomfortable calling him at work. He said not to. Simply call. Sir, yes, Sir. Thus began regular quick phone visits that really helped further bonding.
He’d been wanting to take his boy to a SuperPigs men’s BDSM party, but they were on weekends – when he was seeing Stan in Palm Springs. On December 3, 2005, it worked out for him to stay in town and take his boy to the gathering. We had a sweet time in the original dungeon.
That first year in service saw many life changes happen. Daddy Barry’s partner Stan sold the place on Alabama Street and used the proceeds to build a retirement home in Palm Springs. The two of them moved to a two-bedroom apartment on Indiana Street. Then, sometime after the house was completed, Stan got fed up with his job and quit. They spent a short while longer on Indiana together. Then Stan moved to Palm Springs where the house was paid off. And Daddy Barry rented a less-expensive one-bedroom nearby on Albatross Street; the rent waived for managing the complex. He commuted most weekends to Palm Springs, but strived to get together at least once a month. Things shifted on my end as well when a Monday evening commitment ended when 2006 began. Daddy Barry had first dibs, and took it.
We began seeing each other some Mondays after dinner, from 6:30-9:00pm. We were enjoying our times together, but in those evenings when we’d get a nice visit going we both seemed to wish for more opportunity to visit more deeply, in addition to our now-regular quick telephone chats. Finally after our third anniversary – not by conscious date-choice -- on Monday March 6 we began seeing each other from 4:00-9:00pm, which gave us a chance to visit over dinner. We began growing a much larger shared body of experiences that allowed me the opportunity to learn – and appreciate -- this man’s heart, spirit, intelligence, and passions; his hopes, dreams and frustrations. I got to know this smart, sexy man better. We fell in love on more levels.
As opportunities arose, we included Daddy Barry in family rhythms.
In a conversation with my father I mentioned that I’d asked a man to be my leather Daddy. He inquired, “What does that mean?” I put it in terms he’d be more likely to understand: “It’s like asking a sexy woman if she’d be your Dominatrix.” “Oh.”
Another sweet moment was after Opa arrived in December Daddy Barry babysat so that we could join the Brothers’ outing to La Pastorela Noel. It was a late night for early-rising Daddy Barry. He said he lay down on the rug and she curled up near his head and fell asleep.
Tom worked especially hard to make a welcoming Christmas. Here’s a picture Tom snapped after the joyous dinner:
Then there was my birthday in March 2006. Here is what I wrote extended family member pup boy john in response to his query:
> How was Your birthday celebration last Sunday, Sir?
Very, very heartwarming. Tom worked on a delicious meal of cold jumbo shrimp, deviled eggs, and cornish game hens; dogslave brought a yummy salad that had figs and other fun surprises in it. Daddy Barry arrived at the door with 72 red roses. I nearly cried with joy. And I told him "Your boy is so *old*, Sir!" ; ) To top it off, the family got Me a "Master" brand massage table.
In the week after, Tom started sneezing. We have different allergies, so that's not uncommon. But about Tuesday he said "I think it's the 72 flowers" (which also had baby's breath and a few other adornments). So, we started to toss them out. But as we were headed toward the trash chute I changed My mind and said "Let's leave them here for Steve (our humpy metrosexual neighbor) to enjoy." So we set them on his stoop. It was maybe half an hour later that he got home and asked "What's this?" We explained that they were birthday flowers from Daddy Barry but that Tom started sneezing and we thought he might enjoy them. Then while we were visiting through the kitchen window, another neighbor who is a Realtor arrived home. Steve turned and asked "Hey, Jim, how much can I sell my place for?" Jim said about $550,000 when the market is firm, and about $450,000 when it's not. Steve thanked him, then turned back to us. "Roxanne [fiancé] and I are starting to look for a place big enough for the two of us to both fit in. She's got a lot of stuff." We expressed our sadness in seeing him go, and also wished him well on his adventure. He continued, "I'd really like for my parents to move in, but they're not ready. I figure in about 5 years they'll change their minds." Tom inquired, "Have you thought of renting?" To which Steve said "I'm a reluctant landlord. For it to really work, I'd have to know the people and know that they were looking after my place." Tom and I looked at each other and smiled, and turned back to Steve. In unison we said "The boys are looking for a place together so that they can be closer to us." He immediately said "I'd *seriously* consider renting to /them/."
Long story short: The boys are moving in next door June 1.
We are all very thankful.
The family gathered again to celebrate dogslave’s birthday in May.
And again to celebrate Daddy Barry & Officer's return from the collaring in Palm Springs.
Daddy Barry had shared with me about his friend Larry, whom he’d dated for about 18 months and who I also knew from around town. What he’d shared answered the question I’d had after first meeting Daddy Barry. Here is what I wrote after Larry committed suicide March 28-29, 2006:
Larry was a big, broad, uncommonly handsome man with a thick, bushy moustache. Daddy Barry and he used to be &uckbuddies years ago. Both stopped using after a night of sex and drugs that left them each shaken. When Daddy Barry and I flirted on a motorcycle run in 2003 I was deeply surprised when this sexy guy (Woof, Sir!) said it had been about five years since he'd been intimate with a man. Later I learned about that scary night.
About a week ago Daddy Barry mentioned seeing Larry at breakfast -- with a beer. I was saddened. Around this same time, Larry had relationship problems that got physical.
He was found dead by a neighbor friend amidst pills and booze, a suicide note left behind.
Now that our beginning history together is written as a remembrance, back to the collaring.
After about a year in service and 3 years of knowing Daddy Barry, I respectfully mentioned something in case it had not crossed his mind: “If it would please you, Sir, your boy would be honored to wear your collar, Sir.”
Daddy Barry was open to the idea with one caveat: “It cannot interfere with your relationships with the boys. See how they would feel about it.” I was able to instinctively reply “slave jeff will be fine with it.” He said “check on dog and get back to me.” dog’s response was a duality: “Happy for you, Sir -- and also concerned that it may mean less time for me.” I told him that wasn’t how Daddy Barry and I intended it.
I reported back to Daddy Barry. He started pondering how he’d like to go about it. That ultimately led to the trip to Palm Springs.
Leading up to the trip I was concerned. I was intensely looking forward to this intimate time with Daddy Barry, and also keenly aware of how tired I get from travel. Daddy Barry seemed to sense that somehow, and asked what I was feeling. I told him that I was looking forward to our time together, and also afraid that his boy might melt in Palm Springs’ 115 degree heat. He relayed that he was really looking forward to this time as well, and that if the heat were too much for his boy he would get his boy back to San Diego. I was touched, and relieved.
There was much packing. Perhaps for the first time in my life I used shoe polish cream to hand-shine my boots myself. Surprisingly, our boot kit was out of black polish. I went next door and slave jeff had “Angelus Perfect Stain Show Wax Polish – water repellent, polishes and preserves all smooth leathers, restores color.” It was fun to work with. For packing I also made sure there was plenty of nutritious snack food – TrioPro cookies, Myoplex ready-to-drink protein shakes, and CarbBOOM carbohydrate gel.
Meanwhile, I was hearing reports that Stan was doing all sorts of things like washing windows to make the stay special. I was particularly touched after we arrived that he’d stocked the foods I use: Silk and sandwich fixin’s: bread, peanut butter & jelly, deli meat sandwich fixings with Miracle Whip and mayonnaise; very sweet.
The drive was pretty easy. It seemed pretty far – taking a couple of hours -- but I was enjoying spending the time with Daddy Barry. And he stopped to get me a sandwich which gave a chance to pee, stretch the legs, and get sustenance. Finally though my butt gave out. I was just sore from sitting. Daddy Barry knew this might happen, and had me lean the seat back and rest a bit with a pillow he’d brought. It shifted the pressure point and helped.
When we got close, their home suddenly appeared right at the first edge of town. Stan greeted us. I hadn’t seen him since he accompanied Daddy Barry to Tom’s reception for an art showing at a local coffeehouse August 15 - September 14, 2005.
I was given the quick tour of this handsome, light and bright home with sparkly pool and stunning mountain backdrop. We headed into town for lunch at Rick’s Restaurant, “Cuban & Latino”. Upon our return I was touched to see that Daddy Barry had brought my toothbrush from San Diego. Then I was laid down for rest.
Later in the afternoon we played in the saltwater pool, large sunshades keeping the intense sun off me. Dinner was at a fusion Mexican restaurant downtown called Mariposa. I had a particularly delicious pork tenderloin with apricot glaze. Afterward, with the full-on sun beginning to recede, we took pictures of the April 29 motorcycle scene for the lawsuit now proceeding against the uninsured – and unapologetic -- Marine who caused it. Rabbits lay prostrate under a bush near where we’d parked the car, sipping water from a landscape drip hose. When the scene was pictorially documented, we went to check out the gay shopping area nearby -- Gay Mart, Q Products, The Bear Store, and a leather store named Gear.
Knowing that both Daddy Barry and Stan enjoyed shopping, which wears me out, I’d previously inquired if they liked to play cards. Daddy Barry said they both did. I brought six decks, and that night we played a game called hand-and-foot.
I also got to see how Taylor the Persian shakes Stan’s hand to get a treat. Very sweet.
I’d had a “snack” of a sandwich while Stan got ready to head out to breakfast, then asked to take the usual after-breakfast nap instead of join the men for the fun outing. It was confusing to Stan, but Daddy Barry understood.
When they returned about 11am, Daddy Barry and I got ready for our excursion to Mount San Jacinto State Park. He drove us up a fairly sharply inclining road that had a posted warning “Turn air conditioner off to avoid overheating.” Thankfully the PT Cruiser didn’t need that assistance as the temperature outside was already 100°.
We parked in a lot named Gray Squirrel. That’s a good sign! We love squirrels! An awning near the road shaded folks. We lumbered over. Sir’s recuperating leg was stiff. Shortly, a wheeled tram arrived that gave a lift up to the front door of the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway, the world’s largest rotating tram. (Short blurb: The tram can hold up to 80 people. “…the tram takes passengers from Valley Station at 2,643 feet elevation to Mountain Station on the edge of the wilderness, elevation 8,516 feet.)
Part of a boy Scout group seemed to be having an outing. We ambled through the nearly empty queue for Daddy Barry to get tram tickets. I overheard something like “Two?” “Yes”. “$42.” Dang!
It turned out the trams ran about every half hour, taking perhaps a 10 minute disembark and load period and then a 20 minute ride. The one about to leave was already full. That gave us a bit to go sit nearby in an essentially empty vending room and hug.
Then our tram was announced. We queued up with the others and got on. We had window views. Interesting part: The bottom rotates, so holding onto the rail on the side at the windows is a practice in impermanence. In a little bit the floor has moved enough that it’s time to shift the hands, if holding onto the side. It’s also sweet in that if someone begins stuck next to a metal post, it shortly rotates out of their way and they get a chance for an unobstructed view.
There are about four towers that suspend the cables as the trams travel up about 6,000 feet, whatever that translates into in true distance given the angle traveled. With the weight of all the folks in the tram, there was a notable, gentle undulating drop as the car crossed over the first tower and its weight dropped onto the cables. An excited collective “Whoa!” went up, especially the first time. Our fellow travelers also emitted joyful giggles and experienced travelers shook knowing nods.
The ride up with Daddy Barry was delightful. We were together on our adventure! The warmth of the area near the base lodge was shortly replaced by a pleasant breeze through the open windows. I peered out at the landscape below, noticing it’s quick shift from a valley opening to narrower, steeper crevices. The largely barren landscape below gave way to what appeared to be pine trees as we ascended. A small crick ran down the hillside, marked by occasional tiny waterfall sightings and telltale green vegetation close by. And we continued up. Soon part of the interest shifted from what we were passing to the view unfolding further below; the Coachella Valley. The huge windmills were tiny little rows.
We disembarked at a mountaintop lodge. Daddy Barry headed out the back of the lodge, where there was a wide concrete hiking trail that descended gently down in a zig-zag pattern. He was looking for a spot where we might have some private time. It was Saturday, however, and there were plenty of others enjoying this beautiful cool summit where it was a pleasant 20-30 degrees cooler. We stepped just off the trail to rest on a rock. I was concerned that being off the trail was against the park rules. The hand that I used to brace as I descended onto the rock immediately felt pine sap spoogage. Meanwhile, Daddy Barry kept scanning for an accessible private spot. Ultimately we stepped back over to the trail and headed down just a bit further. Then it became simple: I started getting short of breath. Daddy Barry changed directions, and took his boy slowly back toward the lodge at a leisurely amble.
The lodge made it easy to address the very sticky spoogage, and also provided an opportunity to eat. $14.50 for a tuna wrap and two drinks. Pricey, and well worth it. The Manboy was much better after sitting and refueling.
We’d been sitting at a window toward the front of the lodge. I inquired if Daddy Barry would like to scope out that side for a place that might work. He did.
It was beautiful. This was the side with the majestic drop toward the valley down below.
We took a walk up some narrower steps and a very short trail and wound up at a stunning vista atop a large, flat-topped peak. The rock was lightly brown-red, soft and dusty like sandstone. A low safety fence lined the periphery.
Daddy Barry led me over to the front right scenic corner. We asked someone to take our picture.
We enjoyed the view a while. And this would have likely been the spot. But there was a young gal just out of view in the picture, in and to the right. I think we were both thinking that she would take in the view, and then head on. But we realized that she wasn’t even really looking. She was on a cell phone. We didn’t interrupt.
Instead we moved over toward the front left scenic corner. There a young couple was taking in the view. Still not quite the level of privacy desired.
Daddy Barry started heading back toward the lodge. After some steps down, Daddy Barry paused to appreciate the stunning backdrop there at the narrow trail, where another very sheer drop was on the other side of the safety fence. The sandstone bluff we’d descended created a little corner at this point as the trail turned back toward the lodge along the drop. We were not alone yet it was rather private: The narrow trail kept the few people moving, the stone provided privacy on one side, and the magnificent backdrop created privacy on another.
I looked at Daddy Barry and asked “Would you like your boy to kneel here, Sir?” “Yes, I would” was his reply. Down I went. Knees spread. Hands clasped behind my back. Chest out. Looking up into Daddy Barry’s eyes as he looked down into mine. A tear of joy ran down my cheek. Daddy got choked up as well as he pulled the serpentine chain collar out and held it in his hand: “I love you in my life. This is a symbol that I want you in my life always.” I continued loving into his eyes as he draped the chain around my neck, and locked the small metal lock with black bottom “Master“ nameplate into place.
We savored this moment. And, people were walking by us on the trail. By his order, I got up and we headed the short remaining distance to the lodge. On almost the last steps down I turned to a guy behind us and asked “Hey, would you mind taking our picture?” He snapped this first picture of Daddy Barry and his collared Manboy:
By now we were both quite happy, and had been on the mountaintop for a good hour and a half. I had a full heart -- and was tuckered. We headed toward the tram.
The trip back down seemed much quicker than the one going up, though intellectually I knew that the two tram cars were equidistant and traveled at the same speed. And something in the descending weight on the cables made the tower drops less noticeable. We held each other. Just as the tram hit the station, I let out a relieving piece of silent gas. The doors did not pop open as quickly as anticipated. Daddy simply furrowed his brow and said “Did you fart?” I nodded a relieved “Yes” and we all got off.
It’s totally a mystery how this next part happened, but a young gay guy’s gaydar went off and asked if we could give him a ride back to town. Daddy Barry said “Yeah, sure.” I was wondering the simple question, “Isn’t your car in the parking lot?” But it turned out he’d started near downtown, where he was parked, and had hiked the trails up the mountain. I was impressed.
His name was Sand. As we waited for the little tram train to take us to the parking lot I pointed to the collar and said “Daddy Barry just collared me.” Sand said that was so cool – he’d been collared before. I asked who owned that collar. “Master Skip.” To which I of course said “I love Master Skip and the family. Congratulations.” He seemed to have pleasant memories. I didn’t ask why the transition out of collar.
After we’d dropped Sand off, Daddy Barry took his Manboy home with an order to rest. Sometime later we made an excursion for dinner at Sherman’s Deli. One sweet moment was when a San Diegan from the next table introduced me to his father.
Sunday breakfast was again at Rick’s. I should have eaten beforehand, but had not. I really wanted our last morning to be spent together, so I opted to forego the quick morning meal and nap. I physically misjudged. I should have had a TrioPro cookie, a CarbBOOM, or anything really. With the delay in leaving for the restaurant, and then the delay in seating, that gap before food hit me hard: I was weak. My head hurt and I had to sit. Then the service this busy morning was slow. I was fading further. Thankfully, things slowly rebounded somewhat after food arrived. But I’d scraped bottom hard.
It was disconcerting to Daddy Barry to see his boy so tired. “I feel like I broke you.” I reaffirmed that it was my responsibility to eat food on the semi-continuous schedule I’ve learned that my body requires and stated that I’d try to do a better job.
When we got home I rested. We had a sweet goodbye with Stan around 1pm, and on the ride back to San Diego my batteries were spent. For whatever reason, the drive seemed to go faster.
And, fitting his sweet nature, Tom created a family dinner including slave jeff and dogslave to celebrate Daddy Barry’s and my return from the collaring in Palm Springs. It was a sweetly intimate integration back.
Daddy Barry and I got together the next day, Monday, for our special weekly time together. I dressed in “Daisy Dukes” (short shorts) and an A-frame tank top to highlight the collar and my butt. Here’s a picture Tom snapped just before I went downstairs to meet Daddy Barry:
Well, it turns out he’d had a day from heck. And when he saw his big strapping manboy come sauntering toward his car he just laughed -- in a fun way. (He made me change into longer shorts for dinner.)
My remaining parents Daddy & Charlotte visited and stayed with Tom and I not long after the collaring, for July 5-7. First I went and met them out for breakfast. Later, slave jeff came from next door and spent time visiting with them both. Now, they both knew I had two leatherslaves. And at least Daddy also knew I had a leather daddy. But slave jeff particularly engaged Charlotte in conversation to welcome her. This gave both Daddy and Charlotte exposure to a happy man with a collar locked joyfully around his neck. That evening, something (a warm day?) called for my shirt to come off. I explained to them, as I do to others – like little kids who ask about it -- that this was given to me by someone who loves me very much. Speaking of whom, when Daddy was up for playing cards and Charlotte preferred something else, I called Daddy Barry and asked if he could come over and make a fourth. That gave another natural exposure to most the core of our loving leather family. They may not understand the trappings, but I could see they understood the love.
After their visit, I started manifesting an apparent allergy to the nickel plating. Daddy Barry ordered it off, and began seeking out a replacement in stainless steel which he put on July 23.
Since the collaring other elements have arisen. On my side, there have been some things I notice:
o In T-shirts -- and the T-shirts with cut-off sleeves that I often wear -- the collar is not visible unless I intentionally set it outside the shirt’s neckband. In tank tops, it’s readily visible. I’ve had this internal observation going on: To what degree do I display it as commitment, or pride? In time, I have largely settled down to what is natural for the occasion: In tank tops it shows. And in a T-shirt I don’t necessarily pull it out to make it show, unless a situation calls for it – such as being at a leather event for example.
o Originally I had a fear that the collar would be hot in the yoga that is so helpful for my neuropathy and back pain. Instead, it turns out that the serpentine nature of the chain rolls around as we do poses, and it’s really quite comfortable.
o Guys in the locker room notice it. As far as I can recall, nobody has actually mentioned it, but they notice. Nominal looks have been along the lines of “kids nowadays”, but others have been friendly – even cruisy – smiles.
o As I walk Opa, people notice it. Children have been the ones to ask the obvious question: “Why is that chain locked around your neck?” I respond with “It is from someone who loves me very much.” They get it.
Daddy Barry has made some notes as well:
“My job is to give you pleasure.”
Daddy Barry’s self-proclaimed job description, June 30, 2006
o He wonders, “What did I do to deserve this joy?” and “Why me instead of the others nationwide who might be interested? I’ll try to answer further: For one, I can’t travel. That pretty much means that if I want a real, living relationship; it needs to be with someone nearby. I know there’s some level of insecurity in each of us, but dang, Daddy Barry is sexy as heck, loving, intelligent, kind – to me -- , and has made himself available. He has slowly revealed more and more of his humanity and that has increased our intimacy. What more could I or do I want? Nothing. How does this feel? Like a dream come true. How do I respond? I strive to lovingly serve in all my thoughts and actions. Here’s a nuance that may help convey that: I have never, ever, not wanted to masturbate. Now, as a general statement, I don’t jerk off anymore because I know he enjoys a good Manboy meal. I strive to surrender and please; and see that He feels it in his spirit, his heart, his mind and body. I am deeply grateful. This is my open love letter to you, Sir.
Sir, thank you, Sir.
Your manboy, Officer Wes
© 2006-2014 by Officer Wes