The weather may not have been all that hot, but the men certainly were at this year’s Dore Alley Leather Fair on July 31. For those not in the know, I should explain that long ago, in a land far, far away… ahem… I mean maybe a decade ago right here in EssEff, a tiny alley in the South of Market district called Dore Street was a heavy cruising area and hot sex spot for after-hours horn-dogs. The resulting yearly BD/SM leather fair was dubbed “Up Your Alley” for obvious reasons.
Right away, this year we pervs knew we were in the right place, upon viewing a willing slave who had been Saran-wrapped neck-to-feet to a light pole. That’s gotta be safer sex to the max. Then a horse and buggy rode past; but upon closer look it became evident that the vehicle was being carried by two females in pony play, their horsetails shoved up their nether parts, mouths bridled and feet shod with actual horseshoes, while the seated mistress impatiently whipped them onward.
I then spied a huge dungeon bed with hook-on sling and many additional hooks for attachable accoutrements. When snoopy relatives came for a visit, you could always hang plants or mobiles as a ruse. New to me in the way of kink devices was a tickling, humming, vibrating pad with tiny nubs from Dildotronics, meant to be placed between partners while fucking, although this one was designed for hetero intercourse. The inventor promised he would have a specialized homo one out in time for Folsom Street Fair. They are rechargeable, requiring no reliance on batteries. The company also had high end vibrating anal beads made of silicone, so the lubricity keeps you going long after your lube has worn out. Another purveyor of grownup toys offered waterproof vibrating eggs, good for hot tubs and other liquid occasions.
Having arrived abnormally sober, this alkie nun was pleasantly surprised to encounter a gigantic, four-story-high plastic blow-up bottle of beer advertising that Miller light was available for any who so desired. I did and I consumed, especially since that was one of the sponsors of the event. Later I happened upon the frozen margarita, vodka lemonade, and Southern Comfort booths, from which I freely fed. Well, nobody wants to see a sober Sister Dana. Not pretty at all—trust me.
The dress code was all about undress. I saw one man who wrapped the official Dore Alley sticker around his throbbing cock, which was all he wore, except for engineer boots. Several others wore leashes around their dicks, held very close at hand by their masters. And there were all manner of jockstraps—silk, satin, spandex, cotton, metal mesh, and stuffed toy. The plushies came out in force, and I just gotta admire any stuffed toy aficionados who immerse their entire body in faux fur in the heat of the day. That’s dedication, baby.
I saw several tee shirts that made me giggle. A man who was in full face bondage that would have put Hannibal Lecter to shame, sported a shirt entitled “One Sick Puppy” with a cartoon of a master hitting his dog with a rolled up newspaper and the frisky doggie responding, “Spank me hard. I deserve it. Oh yes, the rolled up paper. Yes yes yes, spank me like never before!” Another shirt on an autoerotic aficionado advised, “If no one will play with you, play with yourself.” For the MasterCard addicts, there was a great spoof on that credit card company. The tee shirt read: “SadoMasochismCard = Floggers…$150; cuffs…$65; chains…$20; marks that last for three weeks…priceless. There are many things money can buy, but for all else, simply say, ‘May I have another please.’” While passing by the endless rainbow merchandise booths, I suddenly thought of a new gimmick: why not have the rainbow cock sock windsock, so you can proudly, colorfully let the wind blow while you’re getting blown. I’m applying for the patent as this goes to press. Maybe I should just apply for the patent leather shoes instead. Oh hell, maybe I should just have another margarita.
As always there was a plethora of pain-inducing apparatus—ranging from whips to floggers to canes to paddles—but my favorite remains the bunny fur paddle (soft as a bunny’s tail on one side and hard as a wooden paddle on the other) or the bear claw (soft as a bruin’s belly, but beware the claws beneath).
Mister S Leather had a flogging area that was quite popular, especially when hot daddies smacked their boys’ bare butts, chained to a St. Andrews cross. The super seXXXy South of Market Bare Chest Calendar models were hawking their wares, shouting, “Twelve hot hunks for twenty bucks!” proceeds of which went to AIDS Emergency Fund. They were also promoting the upcoming Saturday afternoon Hairrison Street Bear Fair on Aug. 20th, 10pm to 4:30am. The Steamworks 24/7 Bath House used the slogan: “Building trust through community partnerships” and proved it to be true by holding a toss-a-fist carnival game benefiting their good friends at the Berkeley Free Clinic (specifically the Gay Men’s Health Clinic there) and by Steamworks’ matching every donation, dollar for dollar. The game involved the throwing of rubber hands in closed fist form through the wide-open butt holes of cartoon characters. Needless to say, fists were flying. Stopping by the SF AIDS Foundation booth, I picked up on some new jewelry—a tiny complimentary “Who’s Your Daddy” paddle lapel pin. When I got my temporary tattoo from the Real Bad booth (promoting the night’s official after-party of the same name, which benefited Project Open Hand and the Community Center’s same-sex marriage campaign), as Chris applied the water-soaked sponge, I feigned hurting and fake screamed, after which he assured me, “Just wait until you pass the threshold of pain, and you’ll be okay.” As we all know, one tattoo is not enough, so I stopped by Tweaker.org to get my official anti-crystal ink on my arm. Dump Tina—or at least cut down your dependence on the nasty bitch. At the Healthy Penis booth, you could get free tests for Chlamydia, gonorrhea, and syphilis, as the giant, dancing healthy penis looked on and threw much shade against the giant, lurking, red, pus-infested STD monster. OUCH [Organizing Up Communities against Hepatitis] was next-door, offering free Hep A&B vaccinations. Having already received my immunizations years ago, I traveled on to get my scrapbook picture taken along with a bunch of my fellow Mama’s Family members. Sandy “Mama” Reinhardt organizes this shoot every year, and each year the number of family members expands. This year over 730 people are in Mama’s Family, a social and charitable organization of leatherfolk that spands across the nation. I am extremely proud to be “Mama’s Nun” way back in the formative years.
There were many many gay porn venues where every taste under the sun was served. But if you preferred your sex live and in person, there were plenty of hideaways where that could be obtained. For instance the PBJ (that’s Public Blow Job, not peanut butter and jelly) that occurred on top of a closed dumpster. Honey, just because you have a jacket over your head doesn’t disguise the fact that someone’s blowing you. And of course Sister Dana tirelessly carried out her sisterly duties, blessing and anointing all the exposed cocks. But when the late afternoon winds came up and the bare-assed boys began to bundle up, it was time to call it quits and go home, dreaming of the wonders to come when Folsom Street Fair will arrive on Sept. 25.
