The final Saturday in August found me planted in a cushy stool at Timberline Spirits, surveying a makeshift stage with a gigantic bear flag for a scrim (that's "bear" as in gay subculture, not California grizzly) and, for a set, two wobbly frames covered with fabric that had been spray-painted to look like brick--however abstractly. In front of the flag, capital letters spritzed with the hazy suggestion of camouflage spelled out "ROUGH TRADE," the theme of the night's proceedings.
I had come to witness the annual Northwest LeatherSIR/leatherboy Competition and the inaugural (but sadly uncontested) Community Boot Black Contest. I'm still not sure what skills an exemplary "community boot black" might possess, but the headshot of the sole competitor featured the toe of an anonymous boot inserted into his mustachioed mouth. So I guess I've got the general idea. The attributes of a particularly talented LeatherSIR or leatherboy are, in contrast, eminently recognizable to anyone who's seen a Miss America pageant. In addition to wowing the judges in a private interview, leather contestants must deliver a speech about service and community, prance about in a jock strap, help auction off a basket (while never resisting the impulse to take the bait when the announcer says, "Tell us about your basket!"), and display some talent.
Unlike Miss America, however, the prospective LeatherSIRs and leatherboys all share the exact same talent. In a subculture that prizes the psychologically convincing (if stereotyped) simulation of dominance and submission, everyone's an actor. In the "fantasies" section of the competition, the contestants had to be playwrights and directors too, as they created, staged, and starred in their own five- to ten-minute scenes.
As theater, these fantasies were handicapped by the venue. The sex appeal of the performers was hampered--and it really didn't need hampering--by the uninspiring lighting, which consisted of a single spotlight partially obscured by a set of antlers mounted to the wall near the light and sound booth. And the all-powerful judges, seven in number, sat at angled tables that blocked sightlines for most of the packed house, especially when the performers got down on hands and knees, as was their wont, or tried to pin each other to the floor.
The scenes didn't vary much in imaginative reach--from the porn cliché of the doorbeller who gets in over his head (in the case of the first scene, the unwitting sex slave appeared to be a Jehovah's Witness) to the faux Army interrogation scene that hewed discomfortingly close to reports of misconduct at Abu Ghraib, the scenarios trafficked in familiar situations and images. But fantasy, whether kinky or vanilla-cherry-banana-sundae, thrives on powerful, prototypical images and actions, and these playlets can hardly be condemned for failing to invent new ones.
The best-written fantasy of the whole lot did introduce a twist into the formula, even if the acting wasn't stellar. The scene began with a young boy and aspiring cowboy flipping channels in his bedroom, restlessly switching between classic Westerns and old television shows. When the boy falls asleep, his fantasy of a dashing, leather-clad Lone Ranger comes to life, breaks in through his bedroom window, and dives onto the bed to wield a crop above the boy's tender bum. But the crowd really went crazy when the cowboy-in-training turned the tables, snatching away the intruder's gun (and forcing the intruder to suck on it), and then, with the permanently buckled back of the very young, beating and topping the older man.
I had almost become reconciled to the contestants' mediocre acting and flailing limbs when Miss Aleksa Manila, the evening's formal entertainment, was introduced. Aleksa showed up all the ostensible performers with her powdered 18th-century pompadour, Disney-character makeup, and obligatory leather bustier. Here, finally, was a performer who could lip-synch with confidence and wiggle her ass with carefully coordinated abandon. When she demanded obeisance from her leathery court, everyone fell into line. The insubordinate cowboy could stand to take some lessons.
