Thursday, June 12, 2014

Market Menagerie

Of course, the IML market was not all super-buff leather men, Alphas, and puppies. (Although it was a lot of the market.)

“These guys really work out,” Faust noted at one point.

“Yes, that is sort of the point.”

It was the point for the leather men, but at the market you saw all sorts. A grandmother wandered around in a steampunk corset with 7-inch platform heels. A ancient granddaddy leather man, withered and frail with age, with wrinkled skin, a leather cap, leather vest, and naked underneath, walked up and down the market, covered lower in a leather jock with assless chaps, his wrinkled chest and wispy white chest hair poking out.

There were big girls, and small girls, tall boys, fit ones, ones that have never seen the inside of a gym, slave girls, bikers, slave boys, and mistresses, all walking about and mingling. As it reached close to four in the afternoon in the market, the smell of leather and bodies and unrepressed sex washed over us.

We moved out of the way for a couple of lesbians, one pushing the wheelchair of the other while they moved down the hall. We passed a boy walking about with canes attached to both arms. The market was a cross section of humanity, all brought together by a common thread of the amorphous human sexuality.

It was more menagerie than market: a beautiful, dazzling, thrumming living space.

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