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Not So Warm Leatherette

It's probably a good thing I'm both too exhausted to venture out, and my bank balance is a bit weak. A cosmo here, a shot there would be a welcomed treat this weekend; but the reality of the event almost never lives up to the fantasy.

Believe me, I tried.

Once, while living in Chicago, I ventured out to the Chicago Eagle. "The Mecca of Manhood", I thought to myself.

And while some of the patrons and *ahem* events going on inside certainly made my voyeuristic trip worthwhile; I almost turned around and went home after being greeting by a three hundred pound doorman in a greasy t-shirt with strategically placed nipple-breathing holes.

And a voice Mariah Carey would envy.

See Tarzan, hear Jane. The man sounded like he sucked down a tank of helium. Poor dear.

That's not to say Cleveland doesn't have a thriving leather scene full of manly men; it certainly does. I've met quite a few fetish following fellows since my arrival.

I thought about having a drink after work this evening. I thought about calling David and asking him to join me in tossing back a few shots of scotch from a safe, dark (and very distant) corner.

Then I looked out the bus window and saw two masculine looking men clad in leather from head to toe. Caps, vests, chaps, boots.

And pink tutus.

There's always tomorrow night.

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