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Trained in several traditions going back to the Old Guard leather lifestyle, i take my leather identity very seriously. Presently single, I dedicate my time to the service of the Community through volunteering and education, and production. Mid-Atlantic leatherboy 2006;. NLA-I Member. Seen the great highs and horrible lows of the public sphere, and am now seeking something real. Outside of the community, i am the co-founder of a film and production company based in New York City. If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears the beat of a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.- Henry David Thoreau SELF: Double Scorpio born on the Day of the Dead, go figure lol I am a genuine guy. Okay, a little freaky and crazy, especially when Im engaged in play or some other activity lol. I'm a take it at face value person. Respect equals Respect, etc. There are several facets of a person, and I am someone who digs deeper than the facade, and hope others do the same. In the words of one of my hero's, "This (The flesh)will fade. But the subtle body will go on." There is such meaning and truth and validity in that statement. The question is, who has the courage to stop looking and actually see?

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5/14/2014 8:05:42 PM
A friend said deep inside I'm a wife. I think she is onto something. At least pArtly

5/11/2014 4:47:38 PM
Phase 2 of Mr. Benson the movie is in full swing. Now back to finding the right Sir for me as I continue on this journey

2/15/2012 5:55:20 PM

dirait-on


7/22/2011 10:03:21 PM

Tis interesting, that how so many people claim that there are similarities to Leather and Kink/BdSm, that there are so many other things that separate the two lol

 

It's almost uncanny.

 

 


7/10/2011 8:45:19 PM

Oakwood Chronicles Chapter One

The Oakwood Chronicles:  Prequel novel to the upcoming film Amongst The Living
Written by Jennifer Suttler

Chapter One: Something Wicked This Way Has Always Been

Every town has its history, and mine is no different. Founded in 1867 for its rich supply of coal, Oakwood (named after its founder, Ray Oak), Pennsylvania is a town that reached its heyday during the coal boom. Sadly, that was decades ago. Sandwiched between the Pocono mountains, Oakwood is a valley city, complete with, yes, a river running through it. In whichever direction you look, the mountainsides loom in the distance. The drive from the turnpike is a downhill spiral, highlighted by the run-a-way truck ramps every hundred feet or so. In the autumn the view is most assuredly beautiful with the plethora of Fall foliage. In the winter months, the view is icy and barren. Springtime brings with it a scent of jasmine and honeysuckle, and in summer, the humidity is so thick you can almost see it settle within the valley itself.

I grew up here. Many of us have. For some reason, people who were born here never leave. It's as if the valley has its hooks rooted in the flesh of its citizens and no matter what we do, we can never break its chains. Sometimes new people move into the area from the surrounding big cities. They seek escape, or a slower, calmer lifestyle. And on rare occasions, sometimes people do manage to escape. My best friend Markus managed an escape years ago, and hasn't been back since. Then again, I haven't seen him since then either. But we still send cards and letters to each other from time to time. 

Yes, good old fashioned letter writing! In this day and age, could you believe it? I have never been one on the up and ups of technology. I think that in the back of my mind I can't shake that notion that someday, all this high tech computer stuff is going to fail, and then where would we be? We'd be running like a pig searching for mud in a concrete parking lot. So yes, I am one of those women who prefer the old fashioned letter writing. I think that Markus does as well. At least, he's never complained about it to me before. He's not really a complainer at all. He's the quiet sort. Always in his head. The constant observer. He has good reason, however. Markus is a product of Oakwood, after all; he's one of us, whether he likes to admit it to himself or not.

His mother was named Gertrude. She was the local librarian at the Oak Library for as long as I knew her. She had Markus when she was in her late twenties, and unmarried. No one ever met his father. Gertrude was beautiful, possibly the most beautiful woman in the valley. She was also one of the nicest, and made an excellent blueberry pie. It was only natural that someone would sweep the woman off her feet, and that honor had gone to Councilman Gregory Folton. He loved Gertrude so much that he married her, even though she already had Markus. Gregory never acted like Markus was his boy. They clashed about everything, and he wanted a family of his own. Sadly, Gertrude passed away while giving birth to whom would have been Markus' little sister, and Gregory's heir. Being a man of duty, Gregory did the right thing and took custody of Markus. I think, however, that Gregory really hoped that it was Markus who had died, and not Gertrude and the baby. Most of all, Gregory resented Markus for his gifts and unique talents and after a fatal tragedy, their hatred for one another was solidified in a grandstanding fashion. It became, literally Markus against the entire town, and sadly, Markus lost and went away.

I, however, loved him with all of my heart. We were, and in my eyes, still are this day, best of friends, much to the chagrin of my twin brother Rick. He never seemed to like Markus that much, but then again, boys will be boys. Rick was the sports player, and ladies man. Markus was the quiet, haunted type. And when I mean haunted, I'm not over analyzing. Markus would tell me things that he'd seen throughout the town that would send me to bed at night with all the lights on in the room, and the covers still pulled over my head.

He never meant to scare me. He's not like that. Looking back on it, I think Markus just needed to tell someone, and I became that someone. He confided in me as often as I did him. I miss him terribly. In fact, when I finally rose to the librarian position at Oak Library, I begged him to come home when the other faculty threw me a party for the recognition. And yes, this was on the phone. We do speak on the phone as well. I understood why he didn't want to return and that he was busy working a case where he lives now in New York City. But I think, perhaps, he's been away for so long that he's afraid to come back here. I wouldn't blame him one bit. After all, he, in his own way, managed to escape. Why ever come back?

I realize that I'm spending a lot of time talking about Markus and that I haven't seen him in twenty years, but he's been on my mind of late due to some strange things that have been happening. Things that I know only he would understand. I fear I need his help, though I am too foolish to ask him outright.

You see, there have always been strange happenings here in Oakwood. I think it must be the same for almost every small town. We all hear the stories and tall tales, especially around Halloween. Oakwood just seems to have a larger amount of them. Everybody experiences things out of the ordinary. And of course, no body talks about them except over coffee and meat loaf at the Oak Diner. By that time, the secrets out and it begins to flow through the town with the wind. Especially if Teresa Horton is on duty. She hears more gossip than those magazine rags at the supermarket. And she's a talker, a very, long winded talker.

I myself have seen some crazy things in my life here, but for the most part, I chalked them up to Oakwood being Oakwood. It wasn't until last week, when I really became alarmed. And of course I didn't recognize the alarm until it was too late. At least, I think it may be too late.

It was Wednesday, and I was closing the library late. We had an after school program that day, and the kids were there until about seven thirty. I was alone, of course, and was going to lock up the doors when I noticed a man standing at the front desk, someone I had never seen before.

The man was very tall, I'd say over six feet, and strikingly handsome. I noticed immediately his strong jaw line, and dark hair, matching a five-o-clock shadow. His eyes, when they turned to face me, were so intoxicatingly blue, I actually had to take a moment to compose myself before walking over towards him. As I neared him, he outstretched a hand to me, and I noticed that he was wearing a tailored black suit that fit his muscular frame like a glove. Oh yes, he was handsome. “I apologize for the late hour, Ms...” 

I took his hand. “Im Ms. Suttler, Jennifer.” He held my hand for a lingering moment, and then smiled. Boy, does he know how to smile!

“Ms Suttler, of course. My name's Clint Walters.”

“Pleasure meeting you Mr. Walters.” 

“Please, call me Clint.” He finally let my hand go. I had to fight wiping it on my skirt to stop the tingling sensation. 

“Then call me Jennifer, Clint.” I smiled back. “And it's no problem. Is there anything I can help you with?” 

The man smiled again, but it was more serious somehow. “Actually, I was looking for a book about Agnes. The local book stores were all out of them.”

“Agnes, of course. We have an entire section. Please, follow me.”

I led him to the reference section on Agnes. Agnes, understand, isn't a person. It was the massive flood that struck the valley back in 1972. Coal and Agnes, those are the two things that the valley's most noted for. It was a terrible time, of course, a real tragedy. It needed to be documented, and that's what some people did. They documented it to death, if you ask me. 

Don't get me wrong, I am an advocate for education, but some things just are too much, visually speaking, of course. In one of the books there is an entire chapter devoted to the whereabouts of several of the disturbed bodies at the Fort Cemetery, accompanied by gruesome pictures. The water pressure was so much that the coffins in the cemetery were ripped from the ground, and the bodies were sent flying into the trees, or being carried away with the waves. Several ended up perched upon people's porches. Others were in the streets or on the lawns. It must have been truly horrifying. And of course, these tragic events were captured by local photographers and published for all to see.

In one of the pictures, Mr. Jenkins is standing next to one of the corpses that happened to end up on his front stoop. I, personally, would never get that close to a dead body, let alone one that's been rotting in the ground for who knows how many years. But, Mr. Jenkins seemed his jovial self in the picture. He even has a copy of it framed above his fireplace next to his grand kids. Yes, we Oakwoodians are an interesting lot.

I led Clint to the section and even pulled a few books for him to take a look at. He asked if he could come back the next day and make some photocopies. He was doing a book on the area's history and was using Agnes as his jumping off point. The rest of the book would be pre and post Agnes. The order of the book didn't really make much sense to me, but who am I to say that to an obviously successful writer.

I told him “Of course”, and added that I'd put the books aside for him, and then he left. But before he did, he lifted my palm in his hand and kissed it gently. Immediately, the tingling sensation returned, but this time it was as it my entire body reacted to him. I have never met another man who had that much charisma and power over a woman, and was immediately smitten.

After he'd left, and I was finishing closing the library for the night, I began to come to my senses. I mean, how foolish was I to actually think that he may have kissed my hand for any other reason that to be polite. I was acting like a love-struck school girl, and here I am, a spinster librarian who's in her mid-thirties. I decided at that time to take it for what it was: a gesture of proper gentleman etiquette. I would forget all about the kiss, and Mr. Clint, and just see what happened the next day.

Only I couldn't forget, and that night, while I was in bed, I saw Clint again, and I am not sure if I was dreaming or not. I don't think dreams can give you visible bruises.

 


10/4/2008 8:40:06 AM
Okay. There is something out there that people need to learn.  Respect.  I am not sure who some people I am, but to recieve a message from a pictureless person, demanding I do something, when I have no idea who this person is, it's not just foolish and stupid (as if!) but disrespectful.

I don't care if you think you are a god. I this lifestyle, Respect equals respect.  Many people think that a Dominant has all the power in a D/s relationship.  These people couldn't be more wrong.

9/28/2008 11:02:22 AM
Just as an update to everyone.
JUST BECAUSE I, as a submissive, compliment a profile, or ask to chat with a Dominant, does not warrent the negative words and backlashes.
That is not leather. That's insecurity

8/10/2008 6:38:31 PM

With the passing of Larry Townsend, the Leather Community is definitely entering a time of shift and great change.

I may be considered too traditional by some, but i cherish and prize my place and history within this community.

Having been a state and regional titleholder, i am happy to know that i am not the only traditionalist aroud and that i can count on my friends and family to help that tradition move on.

but we are a dying breed.  and that scares me


6/28/2008 4:58:35 AM
I should be sleeping yet Im awake.
Its a week until the Mid ATL LSls competition and i cant sleep already lol

Judges and guests begin arriving wednesday.  Im panicking lol

what is a boy to do?

6/26/2008 5:03:28 AM
Throughout the course of the dramatic action of Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine's Sunday in the Park with George, the protagonist, a revolutionary Artist, is one the quest to Connect.  To connect with his Art, with nature, with another human, and with himself.

As leatherfolk, we are all on a similar quest, whether we be Dominant or submissive.  We are seeking to reach a mental level with another that we desire, crave, need.  This euphoria is a change in headspace, often labed 'sub' or 'dom' space, is something that can only be achieved by the ultimate connection of the mind, and is much more fulfilling than anything to do with the cock, ass, or balls, or vaginal areas.

Service is not based on sex, as i've said before, it's based on the mind.  What a terrible thing to waste. ;-)

6/24/2008 6:50:52 PM
I am in the midst of final preparations for the Mid-Atlantic LeatherSIR/leatherboy competition, which i am producing, having been a state and regional titleholder in 2006.

in prep, i have been connecting LSlb back to its roots, with Drummer, and ultimately, Thoreau.  It has been an interesting visit back through history to see how much things have changed, where priorities lie, etc.. and im not sure they are all good changes

6/23/2008 10:11:30 AM

TRADITION

If we know not from where we came, how can we ever possibly know where we are today, or possibly gauge where we will stand tomorrow.
I am proud to have had the Old Guard Training that I have, and to be asked on several occassions to travel and speak at functions, events, and seminars.
Gnothi Sauton.  Know Thyself.  It's the most powerful tool that we can possess.


6/16/2008 5:30:50 AM
Monday Monday.
Service has no sexual bounds.  The real sub are molded to not think of their sexual organs. It's not about them anyway.

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BittyKitty
 
 Age: 39
 Kitsap, Washington