Passing

On Friday afternoon, we'll point our car (loaded to the gills with stuff that sustains us for the weekend) and head north for a drive of about 90 miles to attend Ohio Leather Fest. So, this morning I clicked on to the website to see what "last minute" information there might be about the weekend -- only to find the announcement that this will be the "Last Ever" OLF. No explanation. No details. No story. Just the bare words, and something that has been part of my life for many years now has a VERY limited bit of time left to BE.

I am not altogether surprised I guess, but I am feeling a deep saddness and sense of loss.

I understand that there are many within the life who do not participate in the public scene at all, and who do not find it of interest or understand what it is that some of us value. Still, for me, and for us, OLF has been there from the beginning almost, and there are many, many shared moments that will forever be tied up with the very existence of this regional Leather event.

I will always trace the beginnings of my real time life with Master and T to that wild, determined, anxiety-laden, 1200-mile drive across the country to meet them at my very first OLF.

I can still remember passing strangers in the hallway that afternoon and hearing a man I'd never seen (but had IM'd with a zillion times) say "kewl!" as He passed going the other direction, and knowing -- just knowing it had to be Him...

I will remember forever sitting on the side of the bathtub with my feet in hot water, trying to calm the jitters and stop the shivers before heading to the dungeon that very first time.

I'll always recall sitting with the two of them at dinner that first year at OLF, and saying, "so, I've heard you talk about this thing you call 'polyamory,' what is it?"

It will always be thanks to OLF that the skills that led to our knowing how to approach cutting and fisting were learned.

How many, many toys must there be around here that have come from our various OLF sojourns?

The collar that I wear was chosen by Master and T at OLF, and placed around my neck at OLF.

We survived the crisis OLF that nearly didn't happen -- that ended up in a miserable venue -- and where He and I played gloriously on a night when the stars aligned just for us.

We were stood up on a celebrity auction deal by Deborah Addington at OLF once -- a reminder that being a "star" or a "guru" doesn't necessarily make you a good or ethical person.

We've had marvelous chats with the likes of Jay Weismann and Bob Deegan and Laura Antoniou and Cristo of Cristo's knives at OLF -- proof that being a "star" can leave some folks being "folks."

And so many fine and wonderful and fun people "just like us" only different that we've had the pleasure of meeting in the halls and in the restaurants and in the classrooms and in the dungeons...

We've spent many a delightful hour immersed in the culture of our kink -- where we become the norm, and not the "other." Most often, for us who live our lives hidden, pretending to be something which we are not, the arrival at the site of the Ohio Leather Fest event becomes a transitional moment. From that point on we begin to transform into the reality of who we are, and for a few shining hours, we have the pleasure of relaxing, of letting the barriers fall. We get to sense what it would be like to live our lives in the open, to be honest and free. For a few days each year, we live as we truly are. And then it ends, and we put the costumes back on and step back out into the hostile world that is our day to day reality.

It is invariably a letdown and a sorrow.

I don't know what happened. I suspect volunteer/organizer burnout. Maybe the conservative "hell" that is Ohio finally just made it too impossible. Perhaps the backlash that is everywhere in our society has won out at last. I don't know. I only know that today I am marking the passing of something that has been real and constant and valued in my life.

We will be there this weekend. If you think of us, take a moment to celebrate with us just a bit, won't you?

swan