A Boy & His Pup
I was in the Pacific Northwest for a celebration, in a city I used to reside in. On an off evening, I made plans to see an old friend. We agreed to meet at a well established leather bar to catch up and cruise. We knew the theme was hi-vis/construction wear, so we dressed the part. I wore a yellow hi-visibility construction vest, some black denim jeans, a trucker hat and my lucky jock.
The bar is a bit off the beaten path, not untypical for a leather bar. Most positioned themselves intentionally to cater to patrons “on the down-low”. Less likely for the casual woo-girl or party jock to stumble in and be alarmed at the territory they imposed on. A red door (naturally) tucked away just enough that the foot traffic might not notice it.
We crossed the threshold, and something about it automatically shifts your demeanor. Conversations create a hum in the space, broken by the sound of pool balls being smacked and shuffled around the table, like a bell during a sound bath. A row of lockers straight ahead to place your belongings and street clothes. To the left, a bartender constructing well drink after well drink in between cracking tall boys open. There’s a scent of musk and sweat in the air, mixed with liquor and an aftertaste of neoprene and “seasoned” leather. The room is dark and lit with dark blue and red lights bouncing off the dark walls of an open floor plan. The only other light coming from the televisions around the bar playing pornography; a coded sign of a safe space. Men on film serving as guardian angels from the commoners, ancestors watching over the next generation.
At the back of the building leads to a door. Before it, the trough urinal in a tiny 6’x4’ room, the kind of bathroom with little to no privacy, perfect for a voyeur, perfect for someone to catch a glimpse. Designed intentionally. Out that door, a covered patio that felt like a giant gazebo, where we would settle into conversations with our drinks in hand. The place where we learned it was not just construction worker night, but pup night as well. A conglomerate only a gay bar could host and make it make sense.
We talked for hours outside on a smoke filled patio, conversations loud around us, more flatscreens playing vintage porn above our heads. Generosity in the form of compliments to break up the conversation, whether it was invited or not. Often, catching the pups in my peripheral, accepting the normality in a space like this. I’ve experienced pups before online or at other spaces, but never been around them enough to feel like the host of a wildlife show. There was one I kept going back to, one pup I was eyeing all night long, whenever he had his hood off to get some fresh(not really) air, he had my full attention. Strong jaw, dark hair, blueish grey eyes, built, but still soft. He was with three other pups all in matching navy blue gear.
My friend ran into someone and stepped away for a private conversation later that evening. At the bar, awaiting eye contact from the bartender signaling it was my turn. Two figures took up the space next to me to participate in the same social experiment. It was that strong jawed pup without his hood and his handler again. I took a chance, got brave and told the pup he’s had my attention all night. He got close, almost as if he was going in for a kiss. That anticipation, the suspended moment before the action. Cut to him licking my ear, and letting out a light “ruff”, only to pull back to meet my eyes with his.
His handler took notice, mentioned he had some business to take care of (nudge nudge) and offered the man’s leash to me. “You can watch him while I am away,” he told me. Before I could answer, the responsibility had entered my hands. I knew nothing of the rules of this community at the time. I had many thoughts as I watched the handler walk away. I thought of the radical trust both of these individuals had, who might be watching us, what do I do with him, do I walk him. He got on the floor, asked for belly rubs and he received them. We went outside to that smoky patio, I bummed a cigarette off someone that we would share. We spoke, we flirted, we groped. Two people, enjoying each other’s company, nothing more or less. Some interactions only need to be that long. His hood went back over his face, and the primal energy took over the shell of the person I was talking to. I gripped his leash, and held on while he played with his pack.
My friend returned to find me right where he left me. The image must’ve been quite a sight: Me, in hi-vis gear, smoking a cigarette, holding a hunk of a man that I disclosed I was attracted to, while he was on the ground playing with his mates.
What I got from it was not a new world of kink I wanted to immediately dive into. I was in a voyeur role in this moment, fully enveloped in my own curiosity of what I was witnessing. Like a news anchor interviewing someone with a talent, then having the anchor participate as well. It was sexually charged, but it was more about the camaraderie I got to witness. The drop-in to character, the playfulness, like no one was watching. It held what I always wanted, to feel free enough to just let go and enjoy life, no matter who is watching.
Shortly after, midnight beckoned everyone inside. The bar’s policy was to reduce noise outside completely at midnight since a neighborhood lurked just behind the fence. As we filtered in, the space shifted again, just like I did when I crossed the threshold to the entrance of that bar. Somewhere between last call and the first song, it became a dance floor. Shirts came off. More than shirts came off, actually. Bodies moved together with the same unselfconsciousness I had witnessed outside in the dark at the end of the leash I was holding. The whole room, it turns out, had been practicing the same thing all night. And my temporary good boy was my invitation.
Photo Credits: Caleb Keller