June

Over the past few years, the month of June has asserted itself as a month of milestones and achievements for me. It is the month I was pulled out of my mother’s vagina (yes, this crass description is tribute to the ignorance of the Michigan legislature), the month I moved to the United States to start a new life, and the month I became a United States citizen. This year it has also become the month I have been doing a lot of less than desirable and uninvited reflection about my life, my direction and goals, and becoming much more accustomed and comfortable in my new found larger-than-life-dominant-opinionated-and-loving it personality.

 To begin with, I list my birth as an achievement because it almost never happened at all. My parents always planned on only having two children. My mother was a civil engineer, and gallivanted about construction sites during both her pregnancies, leading to a miscarriage of her second child. Her pregnancy with me followed a year later. I noted that I was pulled out of my mother’s vagina, because I was a week late,  the umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck, suffocating and preventing me from breaking free of my mother’s womb. It also happened to be the hottest day on record in Cairo in 1979, the air-conditioning at the hospital broke down, and family members had to bring their spare fans to the hospital to help my mother cope with the sweltering heat, and this alien baby that just did not want to get the hell out of her body. The doctor had to stick his hand up in there, cut the cord, and pull me out. I was blue, and barely breathing, but alive, and kicking. My mother tells me that the nurses congratulated her because I was apparently the only boy born in that hospital that day. All the women in labor were on their second or third pregnancies hoping for a boy. My mother’s response? “Boy, girl, who cares, as long as it is out of there!” I love my mother.

So, every 23^rd day of June, I celebrate that fateful day, and the events that have constituted my life from then on. As luck would have it, June also became the month of another milestone in my life, 21 years after that fateful day.  Flash back to May 2001, four months before the world as we knew it changed, I was living in Cairo, minding my gay self, trying to find direction after graduating college. I mean, what the hell do you do with a degree in political science living in Egypt for Christ’s sake? Well, that month also happened to be the month the police cracked down on us gay Egyptians, stormed a nightclub aptly named the “Queen Boat”—yes, the irony of that name has never escaped me, and arrested 50 plus patrons. They put them in jail, interrogated them, beat them up, tortured them, forced them to “confess” on tape whether they were tops or bottoms, and subjected them to “forensic” exams to see if they were “used”. These exams were based on discredited methods from 18^th century France that basically said if a man has a funnel shaped anus, that is an indication that he has been habitually anally penetrated. OK, how many of you went to look in the mirror at your anus? Come on…fess up!!

Jokes aside, these men’s lives were destroyed, their families disowned them, their names were published in the papers, and they were left to rot in jail. Some of them were my friends; and some of the ones that were helping them on the outside were also my friends. It became clear that it was dangerous for me to continue living in Egypt, as an out gay man at least, but I had no choice. Fate had other plans for me in the form of a loving family that hosted me back in 1996 in Chicago. I was telling my host mother, from here on out referred to as Mom, the events that transpired in Egypt, in the hopes she can impart any advice. What came in the mail three days later was a plane ticket to Chicago, and an opportunity that I could not pass by. So, June 11^th, 2001, I moved to the United States, and I have not been back to Cairo ever since.

Nine years passed, and I went from a tourist, to an asylum seeker, to a permanent resident, and finally, on June 17^th, 2010, to a man dressed in a suit, in a Federal courthouse, with my right hand raised, pledging an oath of loyalty to the United States, and allegiance to its flag. In the packed courtroom were 140 others taking the same oath, their families, and friends. With me were my Dad (my American father, and the man I owe my life and a huge debt of gratitude), my then partner Matthew, my then boy philip, and several of my coworkers who came to support me. Unfortunately, Mom was not with us as she had lost her battle with pancreatic cancer four year earlier.  It was an incredibly momentous occasion for me, and probably the proudest day of my life.  The saying goes that one cannot choose their family, but I did. The implication also is that you cannot choose where you are from, but I pretty much chose the location, culture, and language where I wanted to live as well. It was an accomplishment in the sense that I rolled with my life’s punches, played the cards that were dealt me, and accomplished something with it. I can now say that I have lived one third of my life in the United States of America. I guess that makes me two parts Egyptian, and one part American. That, my friends, is one hell of a cocktail, if I say so myself.

So, where am I going with this anthology of momentous occasion in my 33 years of life? As I said earlier, June this year has brought with it a slew of uninvited moments of self reflection. As I look at myself in the mirror and notice the abundance of white hairs making their presence known in patches on my beard, my mustache  and my temples, I begin to reflect at my journey, and the person that I have become. I came here a frightened little mouse, with nothing but my suitcase and the kindness of others to sustain me. I still did not know who I am, and what I wanted to do with my life. Until that point, I had lived a pretty sheltered life, with well off parents (who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps, and worked hard to get to a comfortable place in life), a great education in the best schools in Egypt, and a lifestyle that, while not lavish, was still better than 90% of the country. I was a mama’s boy, and I had no direction. Now, toughened by working hard; from mopping floors and stocking coolers, to a white collar job in international education, to student loans and mortgage debt, and building a life for myself, I am more comfortable in my own skin.

I have evolved into a dominant gay man, who has very strong opinions, and holds people to very high standards. In my efforts over the past several years to carve out a place for myself, I became friends with, and kept the company of many men that I did not particularly like, all in the hopes of achieving a sense of belonging. This year, I asserted myself and listened to that voice I have muffled and ignored for many years. I got tired of pretending, and exhausted from keeping the company of people that I thought very little of, and even loathed. My therapist, who I have seen on and off for the past ten years has marveled at this change; this evolution if you will. When he first met me, I was in an abusive relationship with a deadbeat alcoholic because I just wanted to feel loved. A few years later, I was in a relationship with a man that I loved dearly, but who cheated on me, and had his own demons that try as I might, I could not chase them away. And a year ago, when I went back to his couch, I was a man getting more comfortable with his own dominance, in a relationship with a man that brought out my self confidence, while allowing me to nurture and love him in return.

It’s not all fun and games of course, and I am by no means the ugly caterpillar that turned into a Monarch butterfly. I have had to cut ties with people, and I have had to assert myself, express my opinions and views even if that made me uncomfortable; and in the height of my Egyptian-ness, I have marked my territory, and stared men down with my best Achmed the Dead Terrorist impressions. Throughout this journey, the people that mattered, and my true friends have stood by me, shown their love and imparted their welcome advice. I am still growing, evolving, and discovering who I am as a person, as a man, and as a member of this community and society. But, I am more comfortable now than I have ever been, and I am grateful to all those who stood by me throughout my continuing journey.

June is a month of milestones and accomplishments. As I celebrate my 33^rd birthday, and coincidentally gay pride in Chicago, I know I will be looking forward to many more Junes, and many more accomplishments to come.

The Dash for the Sash

As the mother of all leather contests wrapped up, and contestants headed back to their respective communities, I found myself contemplating the purpose behind these annual contests, and the rituals they spawned in our community. In his speech marking the opening ceremony for International Mr. Leather 2011 last year, I recall Chuck Renslow saying that this annual festival is not about choosing the best looking body, or the most handsome face, but it is about who is the most suitable ambassador for us as a community. In his opening remarks for IML 2012, Renslow stated, “What we do tonight right here in this room will be history by morning. The very fact that you are here in this room tonight is an amazing story. It is your story. I want to encourage you... each of you...to begin recording your personal history and the history of those around you.”

One of these statements talks about the winner of IML as an ambassador to the community at large, and the other places emphasis on the individual. The two of course go hand in hand, and speak of the tremendous impact one person can have on their individual family, local community, or even their international impact. However, these statements also make me ponder the reasons one would run for a title, and compete in such a contest. Does one run for the sake of their community, their state, or country? Or does one run for their own personal reasons? Or is it both?

I am reminded of a conversation I had with a, then acquaintance, as he was contemplating running for a leather title. When I asked him why he wanted the title, he recounted service to the community, elevating the status of the state in the larger community, and spouted off all these community service projects and events he would like to start. While I admired his—what I can only describe as nationalistic zeal—for his state and community, I remember looking him straight in the eye and saying, “fuck the community, why do YOU want the title?”

My question was not because I don’t believe in the importance of community service, and using one’s awarded title to make a difference in the community; because I do. And, as we have seen from the repertoire of community service projects this and past years’ contestants have, community service is a highly important aspect of any contestant’s resume. But, I do believe that running for a title is a very personal decision, and one has to have a solid foundation of personal reasons for seeking a title in order to be a strong and effective titleholder.

A couple of years ago I decided to run for a title, way before I was ready to I think. In discussing it with several friends and acquaintances, I was struck by one person in particular. I have since come to call that person Cartman. As I went through my spiel about running for the title, Cartman kept throwing me curveballs in order to dissuade me. I spouted off community service reasons, competing at IML, and other similar justifications. After listening, and interjecting liberally, Cartman finally yelled, “IT’S A BAR TITLE”. That comment alone jolted me out of this fantasy about winning that leather title. It is a bar title, and it is just a piece of leather with letters on it, that on their own do not mean a damn thing. It is the person that makes the sash. It is the person that makes the title.

Running for a title is an intimately personal decision. It takes courage, motivation, ego, pride, humility, and a whole other basket of contradictory emotions to want to run and win a leather (or any) title. Otherwise, why the hell would anyone want to subject themselves to a furor of scrutiny, judgment, hazing, and hundreds upon hundreds of people saying “this is what you should/shouldn’t do”?  

It also takes honesty, clarity of vision, and most importantly, the ability of a person to cut through their own bullshit. Why did I run for a title a couple of years ago? In all honesty, I can say it was for validation. I was turning thirty, on the verge of becoming a US citizen, struggling to convince myself that I have found my place in the world, and wanting desperately to  believe that I mattered. I wanted people to see me, and listen to me, want me, lust after me, and validate me. I said then that I wanted to use my experience as a gay asylee from Egypt to show others like me that was OK to be gay, into leather, and be out of the closet to your community, and family. I said I wanted to be a spokesperson and a role model for that cause. While this was true, the most important of all reasons…the deeply and intimately personal reason, was that I needed to be validated. I wanted this proverbial community to pat me on the back, hoist me over its shoulders, and hold my hands as I smashed through my insecurities, and validate my choices.

And you know something, that’s fine. Whatever one’s reasons for running are fine, because it is not I, or the next guy, or the bar owner, or the guy down the street that are up there on that stage. But own it! If you are running for a title because you want to have sex, and using the title is your ticket to getting laid, then own it. If you are fat, and want to run to validate your size, then own it. If you are insecure, and want the title to validate your life, and your decisions, your looks, or otherwise, then own it. If you want the title for visibility to promote a community service project, or draw attention to a cause, then own it. You don’t have to own it publicly, or acknowledge it on stage. But, you do (if you want to be a strong contestant), have to own it privately, to yourself, looking yourself in the mirror.

As we enjoy the lull between the end of IML and the fall contest season; and as current title holders continue their community work, or whatever it is they plan on doing with the rest of their year; I invite people to think of why they ran, or plan to run for a title. Cut the crap, scale your walls, and chisel away at the protective wall you built around your pride, and your insecurities. Because, at the end of the day, it is you naked (well, almost naked) on a stage in front of hundreds of people, being judged on who you are.

Reflections on International Mr. Leather (Den Daddies, Leather, and Sashes, Oh My!)

The annual Hajj to the Leather Mecca has concluded, and everyone is in their post weekend afterglow, or hangover, depending on how the weekend went. I spent the International Mr. Leather XXXIV with my partner-boy michael working as part of an amazing team of Contestant Handlers. We spent it in the company of amazing, talented, motivated, funny, and exceptional group of people; not just title holders, but other Handlers, IML staff, and volunteers.

IML XXXVI held great meaning for me, and I am not immune to the after party nostalgia and reflection that plagues everybody after such a momentous weekend. Contestants, Handlers, and people that experience this weekend always say that IML changes lives. The assumption is that the change generally impacts those select few that competed, and are part of a fellowship/brotherhood of titleholders. For me, however, I can say that IML  changed my life in a way that I never saw coming, and helped cement the notion I have that the people you meet, and the events one goes through in life have a reason, and a purpose; even if that reason or purpose is revealed years down the road.

Nine years ago I met my now ex-partner. We met online when he lived in another town, and several months later, after he moved to Chicago, we moved in together, and had what I thought was the relationship to last the rest of my life. As our lives progressed, and we learned more about our past, and people we know, I discovered that he knew, this hunky black man who works for this scary leather event called International Mr. Leather. That hunky black man called himself Den Daddy, and the black and white picture I saw showed him wearing black leather pants, a harness, six pack abs, and a mean look on his face that was both menacing and titillating.

A couple of year after first hearing about this Den Daddy, I met, and had a fling with a local title holder who was getting ready to compete at IML. Through him, I met by pure chance this menacing Den Daddy. He was not what I expected at all. He was friendly, inviting, and exuded an aura of familiarity and comfort. We chatted, and laughed at the connection we had. We remained casual acquaintances, and went about our daily lives, only crossing paths here and there. It wasn’t until three years later that our paths crossed again when a friend of mine who works with him said he had tickets to IML, and I got a chance to go with her.

IML XXXI was the first time I set foot in a leather event of that scale, visited the leather market, and socialized with leathermen from all walks of life and all corners of the world. To say that I was hooked would be a gross understatement. I was mesmerized, and I wanted to learn more about this world that felt both alien, and deliciously familiar. It was during that weekend that I also had the honor and privilege to witness Den Daddy receive a Pantheon of Leather award, and feel the tremendous pull of this leather world and community.

A year later I found myself competing for the Mr. Chicago Leather title. While I lost, I think the person that won was much more eloquent than I was during his speech, and had many more years than I did in the local leather scene. It was a great experience competing for that title, but the universe had other ideas for me. Through Den Daddy I found out about volunteering at IML, and getting involved in the community through other channels. So, IML XXXII saw me volunteering at the vendor market, and contest security. It was then that I met Mama (Sandy Reinhardt), and other amazing people that form the cornerstones of this vibrant, diverse, and interesting community. I wanted more, and I dug in deeper. I wasn’t a fly by night volunteer, who was in it to get laid. I was on a journey to find my place in the world, and this was my Yellow Brick Road (yes, I made a Wizard of Oz reference, although “yellow” here does not signify a fetish-HAHA!).

My friendship with Den Daddy continued, and I grew to think of him as a mentor, and a confidant. Through a twist of fate, I was invited to be a Contestant Handler at IML XXXIII. To say the experience was exhilarating would be an understatement. I was both honored, and terrified of the responsibility. I was part of a group of amazing men who’s sole responsibility is to prep and assist a group of 53 contestants in their bid for the International Mr. Leather 2011 title. Being on that team brought out of me my nurturing, caring, and commanding nature. I learned more about myself in those three days than I thought possible. It would not be a complete stretch to say that I grew in those three days as a person, and I left that hotel much more confident than I have ever felt.

Then another unexpected thing happened. There was one contestant, number 17, who came up to me asking for help in fixing a miniscule scratch on his leather jockstrap right before the Pecs & Personality portion of the competition. After trying to reassure him in every way I can that no one will even see it on stage, I directed him to the bootblack who touched it up with a sharpie. He was so focused on the contest, and performing well on stage. He needed to let loose, and relax. So, while he was standing there with nothing but a jockstrap, I came up behind him, and bit him gently on the back, over his tattoo on the lower right side. “Don’t bite me, I have to go on stage” were his famous words before filing out with the other contestants.

That guy went on to place 6^th, and we all went our separate ways after the contest ended. A couple of weeks later, we connected again on Facebook, and I went to visit him a month and a half later. That man today is my partner/boy, and the true love of my life. I feel a connection with him that I have never felt with anyone before. It is safe to say that he is my lover, soul mate, and friend. To say that the last year for both of us was life changing would only slightly begin to describe it. After nine years, I ended my relationship with my then partner. And even though we are best friends, and still live together, my life has forever changed. The same goes for my boy, and the changes, trials, and tribulations that he went through over the past year.

Between IML XXXIII and IML XXXIV, we both traveled to different states, and he judged several contests, helping choose the titleholders that would compete in Chicago in May 2012. As fate would have it, he passed his sash on to his roommate to compete this year as well. So, we both used our experience, and our perspective to help choose, mentor, and nurture a new class of contestants to represent our larger community at IML.

The story does not end there of course. In another act of awesomeness, Den Daddy invited both of us to join the IML XXXIV Contestant Handler team. It was an incredible experience for both of us, and brought our journey together full circle. In that handling room, as we rushed around helping our brothers, I took the time to give him a commemorative bite, in the same spot on his back, in the same spot in the room where he was standing a year ago.

IML changes lives. I know it changed my life in ways that I never expected. One does not have to be a contestant to experience the change that this contest, and the sense of love, and community it bestows on those in attendance. Yes, there are people in that mammoth hotel that go there just for the partying and the sex, and have no idea about the rich history and ritual that takes place a few floors away. The sex, the dancing, the market, that is not IML for me. To me, that weekend is exactly how I described it in my opening sentence: a Hajj, a pilgrimage, a sacred ritual and a calling. IML changed my life; and while I still struggle with my sense of belonging in the world, I know I am a part of this community.

Reflections on Finding Love, True Friendship, and People Who Don’t Matter!!

Last weekend my boyfriend and I had a wonderful dinner with a dear friend.  This was the second time I met her, and she has quickly made her way into my heart, and I think I made my way into hers. She was already a dear friend to my boyfriend, and knew him when he was married.  It was a great dinner, and we talked about everything under the sun, including religion (which we remarked shouldn’t be discussed in polite conversation). At the end of the dinner, our dear friend remarked that seeing my boyfriend and I together, and how in love we are, brings her great joy. She has seen such a difference in my boyfriend, and she knows he is happy. She was happy for him…happy for us, and wanted to have dinner again soon. It was a wonderful validation (not that we needed one) to what had been an otherwise arduous public introduction of our relationship.

The next day I met my boyfriend’s parents for the first time. Even though we had been dating for almost five months, he only mentioned me to them the weekend before. They were receptive and eager to meet me. Like any good Egyptian, I insisted that I could not go to dinner empty handed, and proceeded to search for a gift that would best represent me to his parents, and make a good first impression. After searching high and low, and cursing Barnes & Noble for not having the book I wanted (Egypt: A View From Above), I settled on putting together a basket of Middle Eastern desserts for them. I even baked a dessert (and almost burned the thing). The dinner went well, and we had a great time discussing everything from fishing, their house, shooting a raccoon five times and it still didn’t die, the Republican primaries, and my boyfriend when he had hair. A great time was had by all, and we went home relaxed and feeling the love and support of our friends and family.

Dinner with our friend, and my boyfriend’s family led me to reflect on our relationship, and both the positive and negative receptions we have experienced since we publicly announced our love to one another. It seems that everyone we knew, and did not know had an opinion on the subject. Our close friends, and those who knew each of us, either individually, or as a couple mostly expressed their support and love. Some were curious and wanted to know the circumstances behind our breakups from our previous relationships, but also made sure they expressed their support. Some others were not as supportive, and through Facebook chose to de-friend either one of us without so much as an explanation or a goodbye. What was also more baffling to both of us was that those we knew casually, or barely knew at all, seemed to have very strong opinions about us, our relationship, and proceeded to judge us publicly, and privately, but not to our face. There was plenty of mudslinging, slander, and rumors, and hearsay floating around, all very toxic, and quite disheartening.  

A close friend and confidant of mine once told me that other people’s opinions about me are none of my business. In other words, I should not dwell too much on what others think of me as long as I am comfortable and happy with myself. That is good advice, but also very hard to follow. In a world of Facebook, and in a community where your boyfriend is a public figure, it is very difficult to ignore people’s opinions. What is important, however, is not to let people’s opinions, either negative or positive, influence your actions and being true to yourself. I try to remind myself of this as much as possible. In going through my breakup, and in watching my boyfriend go through his, I often questioned if I was a good person, and if all the negative things people were saying about me were true. If so many people are repeating it, then it must be true, right?! I don’t think they are true, and ultimately, I can look at myself in the mirror and be proud of who I am, and confident in my actions and motivations. I do not know what motivates people who don’t know me that well to formulate and disseminate opinions about whom I love, and choose to be in a relationship with, especially when these same individuals are not so puritanical themselves.

My boyfriend and I are very active in the leather and kink community in the Midwest, and around the country. It is not a conventional community, and it celebrates all forms of love, and preaches acceptance, tolerance, and inclusion. It is a wonderful community of brotherhood, fellowship, and support. Being part of this community has given me confidence, strength of character, and also helped shape who I am today. So, when we experience vicious personal attacks, backroom gossip, and alienation from people in this community, it is both sad and disheartening. The people that know us and love us have been nothing but supportive, and continue encourage our love to blossom. Those who do not know us, and for some reason thrive on backstabbing and slandering us, will eventually fade into oblivion and become irrelevant. This community is big enough for all of us to exist in, thrive, and spread love and joy to those deserving individuals around us. There is plenty of room for the lovers, and the haters, and we are both volunteering in our community for the greater good, and to spread love.

I am who I am as an individual! As a couple, we are who we are as well. I am a good person, and so is my boyfriend. We are a strong, loving couple, who love and support one another. I am not less compassionate and humane as I have been described by some. I continue to live with my ex boyfriend who is my best friend, and one of my staunchest supporters and allies. I consider myself lucky to be surrounded by so many amazing people who love and support me. My chosen family, my leather family, and my true friends who bless me every day with their love and presence in my life continue to remind me of how incredibly fortunate I am. The Egyptian kid who came here with nothing is a good man, and will continue to be a good man. I am truly blessed to have found true love, and will continue to honor and celebrate it. Love deeply, laugh loudly, and continue to be proud of who you are…I know I definitely am!!