It feels like I’ve been hiking my whole life, yet very little of that has happened in the tradition place most people imagine when they hear that word. Last weekend my girlfriend, my lover, my hot butch leather Daddy went hiking in the woods, the traditional way. And I was in the city lamenting that I was not able to take in the changing color of autumn leaves by her side. The following day I had an epiphany about hiking and stopped my lamentations and replaced it with gratitude.

broadwaycamelwebI have lived my life in the concrete jungles of the world. The modern cities of our world, sometimes grimy, unpleasant,  and challenging. There is a lot of hiking that happens in these cities and thankfully not all of it is tough and hard, but some of it is brilliant, vibrant, and inspiring. On Sunday Daddy and I were in the city exploring, on a mission to find body jewelry that met both our satisfaction.  Walking north on Broadway we came across an exhibit with displays spaced out over many blocks. I stop at the first one not knowing there would be more and like a tourist or an unabashed New Yorker I rush up and ask her to take a picture. As we kept moving up Broadway I would find a new figure, color, design, pattern to fall in love with more than the previous one. As we walk along I  say to my Daddy, “This is why I love this city. Every day is an opportunity for a new adventure.” I may miss the colors of the autumn leaves changing, but the city gave me her own vibrant, unique changing of colors as we hiked along her concrete paths.

This morning I am reminded of other hikes, the type most don’t think about and the kind most people usually don’t share stories about. The hikes where one must lift them self up, find the strength to move one step forward, face everything and rise. I think of times we cross paths with others  and then we show who we are… will you hoist another up? Will you share your water, give them your shoulder to lean on, or carry them the distance when they struggle?  These are the long hard hikes, where perseverance, determination, and loyalty are born. These are the hikes where character forms. Who are you and who will you become?

Country Music

Life is good
I met me a girl
She got a beautiful heart
Her eyes are blue
by Billy Currington, “It Don’t Hurt like It Used To
I could pretend I am not acutely aware that its Domestic Violence Awareness month, but I stopped pretending and I stopped living in fear a long time ago.  I heard this song on the radio and thought about what a long way I have come in the past two years. I’ve done a lot of mending and you know what? I’m so happy these days. What I love about country music is that it tells a story. Right now these four sentences are my story…
Life is good
I met me a girl
She got a beautiful heart
Her eyes are blue

An Ocean of Love; NYC Dyke March


2leatherwomeninthecity.jpgWe were two leather women in Bryant Park, NYC, waiting to see who would come walk beside us under the banner of Lesbian Sex Mafia, in the NYC Dyke March. A dear friend was co-chairing this get together with me for our club LSM and we wanted a decent turn out. I believe it’s easy to allow ourselves to fall into the trap of high numbers=success and the same is true in the reverse, low numbers=failure. A few days ago I told my friend, forget about quantity, relax and let’s enjoy the company of those beside us. Let’s go for quality.  It turns out in the end we had the best of both worlds, quality and quantity.

A small group of women turned up from an assortment of places to walk beside us. They were women we met at the Lesbian Sex Mafia Pizza Munch, Uncle Red’s SUBMIT Party, LSM monthly educational classes, LSM members, and a fancy leather woman international title holder with her lovely half. Turns out we didn’t have a banner, so we were a group of women marching in organized chaos, and it damn… was amazing.

The march starts on in front of one of my favorite places in NYC, the main branch of the NYPL in Manhattan. Our small band of women gather in between Patience and Fortitude, the two lions in front of the library entrance. One man rushes forward to take a photo of a person marching in our little 2016-06-25 17.41.20organized chaos and when the person states their displeasure in the manner which the man took the image, the man come within 6’’ of our friends body and face to say some crap about being press and not just a random photographer. I don’t believe he was press, but regardless of his press or non-press status is beyond me his behavior was not acceptable. I stepped forward and let the man know he was too close to this person and in this person’s personal space. There was some back and forth, but eventually he left. There is always that one person who has to be a dick. We got past that moment and we didn’t let it affect our day.

The Dyke March is a non-permitted protest. We depend on and love our march Marshalls. They hold hands and block the cross roads and keep us safe. There are protesters who bring signs with words of 2016-06-25 17.43.57condemnation and shouting their hate speech. These detractors are peacefully blocked with by organizers and supporters own banners or drummers/musicians/noise makers who follow along making sure we receive positive messages of love and support. My favorite is a girl holding a sign saying, ‘’You’re Making Ellen Proud’’ What can I say, I am an Ellen fan. This morning I was wondering where is the, ‘’You’re Making Porshe Proud’’ poster. Maybe next year. Another favorite of mine was The Lesbian and Gay Big Apple Crops. We all stopped to dance, because their energy and love was just that much that it required attention. So much goodness, so much, it was …amazing.


We started as a small group of 13 women in Bryant Park united by some association through the Lesbian Sex Mafia, we became several hundred in front the NYPL on 40th Street and 5th Avenue, and I turned around and somehow we had become thousands. Unlike permitted protests, in this march the only barricades are our march Marshalls. People can step in from the sidewalk at any time along the route and join us. And they did.  The march came to a halt and we create a moment of silence for Orlando. I turned around in 360 degrees and I start to feel tears welling up. We were an ocean of love and this ocean extended far beyond what my eyes could see.2016-06-25 19.12.52

The Bootblack Daddy

LeslieBootblackingI am a leather woman. I am a bootblack. I refuse to put the word ”and” in front anymore. I believe in calling people in vs. calling people out… That leather brings us together, it does not divide us.

I’ve seen a lot of hurtful things said in the leather and bootblack circles on social media in the days after IML38. It not only saddened me, but I was left confused. So I privately messaged a person who has experience in front and behind the scenes of the IML and IMBB contest to ask for time to answer questions that weighed on my mind. I am so grateful I did that and that my request for information was received well. We met and it was no easy conversation. There was frustration, there were voices raised at times, even occasional tears on both side, but there was also a genuine desire to understand the other. There was good communication.

I was left thinking, am I doing enough for this our leather community… Am I being a big enough part of calling people in… And how am I creating the change I want to see… Am I doing the work or just paying it lip service… I think about Actions and Deeds.

I don’t want to be part of the problem. I want to be part of working for the solutions and to do that in a way that calls people in, not calls people out.

In the long list of unkind comments made in recent days I saw a note that there were very few bootblacks speaking out for Leslie J. Anderson, The Bootblack Daddy. If people want to unfriend me it’s okay, but as a leather woman, as a bootblack, I stand beside The Bootblack Daddy.  She calls people in and if you do not see that, or know that, then maybe talk to people with experience at IML and IMBB to understand how it is run and why things are as we see them. Then you might do as I did and ask yourself how you are helping create the change you want to see.

Leslie J. Anderson I want you to know I SEE YOU. And you know it’s funny to me, because even though we have not spoken in months, I know you see me too.

A Letter to My Daughter

2016-03-23 12.34.59

More flowers for your birthday. Ephermeral cherry blossoms.

When I tell people about the day you were born I say it was the most empowering day of my life. Your birth was magical. You were born in the house where we lived, surrounded by people who loved us, as the sun was setting. And at the moment of your birth there was a gentle breeze that flowed in from the front window and with it the scent of delicate rock roses. And as I breathed in that sweetness, I knew your Granpa G. was there with us. Unlike many people, your birth name has meaning. I love you with all my heart.

Today my second child and my youngest is turning 23 years old. My first child was born in a hospital. My second was born at home with a midwife. As a woman and a mother I felt strength during her pregnancy and birth. My mantra was, “I have confidence in my body to do what it was created to do naturally.” Her birth was a back labor and lasted 23 hours. Having her at home was one of the best decisions I’ve made in my whole life. It truly was empowering.

I remember digging up those rock roses from the front yard of the home my husband grew up in. He lived in the same house his entire childhood. When we got married, no one lived there, as his parents had retired further south, so we moved in. Those roses were originally in front of the room his sister grew up in and the room that eventually was our first daughter’s nursery. My father in-law, Tom,  was a horticulturalist by hobby. These were his roses. My father in-law was a second father to me. I lost my own when I was nine years old. I am not sure I could have loved Grandpa G. more for all the kindness, affection, and love he gave me. He died before my littlest was born. The irony, both my father and father in-law were taken from me by cancer. Roses do not survive well when but these were his roses, for his little girl. I was not surprised when they survived. I think I willed them to live.

My daughters each have a family name. Hers is Serene, after Tom’s mother. I remember sitting at his bed side and him saying he wished he could live to see more grandchildren. I didn’t know it, but I was pregnant. Eight months later Serene was born. The breeze winding in the room and the scent of those roses. I knew Tom saw his granddaughter. I felt it in my heart.

The Lotus

lotusAirial wrote that, “The lotus flowers live in ponds. At night the flowers close and sink into the muddy waters, only to emerge perfect and pure when the sun rises.”

She challenged me to write about a moment in life when things got dark and to reflect on when the light returned. There have been a few times in my life when life was dark, but like the lotus flower, so far I have always emerged from the darkness and resurfaced into the beauty of light.

Some of my darkest times are related to loss of loved ones. I am not good at forming shallow connections. I gravitate toward deep bonds. I do not love half heartedly, I offer the best parts of myself to my loved ones, and wear my heart on my sleeve. My open heartedness and vulnerability are at the core of my inner beauty. Being and loving this way comes with risks. Its who I am and I don’t want to be any other way. I am risk taker.

Some love dies a natural death while other loves die or whither of neglect, lies, and betrayals. One time the harm was so great I nearly drowned from the pain. Nearly, did not resurface like the lotus. How I get through dark times has been with love, care, and nurturing from the kindest of friends. I’ve learned over and over that I cannot be an island. As an introvert it is all too easy to allow oneself to become and island. Me & my books & movies! This last time though, the lesson stuck. When I look back on it now I think of Dickens and remembering that suffering is never a waste if we learn from it. I learned a lot that I wish I hadn’t needed to learn, but learn I did and although I was bent and broken – I hope – into a better shape.

“Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but – I hope – into a better shape. ” Charles Dickens

This was a writing assignment to earn a Lotus Pin for NYC Littles Scouts, Troop 212


October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month

Purple RibbonI knew 16 days ago we began National Domestic Violence Awareness month. I have experienced physical and emotional abuse in my past. I read some things today that compelled me to speak out on the topic. There were some folks using the term gaslighting incorrectly and others were throwing shadow on claims of gaslighting as possibly being a matter of, “…I got confused, and emotional, and now I feel bad.”

I came across this journal entry in FetLife about 1 ½ years ago. I had never heard of the term “gaslighting” before I read that journal entry. The term is best known from a 1944 classic movie starring Ingrid Bergman, titled Gaslight. This past September it was being shown at BAM (Brooklyn Academy of Music) Cinema and I went to go see it.

What is gaslighting? A psychological definition of gaslighting is “an increasing frequency of systematically withholding factual information from, and/or providing false information to, the victim – having the gradual effect of making them anxious, confused, and less able to trust their own memory and perception.”

So yes, we are dealing with perceptions.

I was in a very destructive relationship in my past were I was physically and emotionally abused. The physical was easy for me to forgive, the emotional has been far from easy. Fairly early on, after I left my abuser, I realized I could not get past this problem. I had to work through it and that I needed professional help to do that. Some of the emotional abuse definitely fell under the term gaslighting. It can still be traumatic for me to relive those experiences. I was subjected to behavior that resulted in psychological trauma, including anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s an invisible scar I wear.

I want people to pause before they speak and automatically disregard someone, who speaks up about emotional abuse, because that is what gaslighting is, emotional abuse. I want to ask you to pause and listen to people who have the courage to ask for help. Please don’t turn your back and write them off as people who want to avoid being responsible for their own actions. Please I beg you to resist the urge to tell yourself, it’s discontent/sour grapes, because their relationship ended. I implore you to consider that it might have taken that person the last bit of strength they had to hold that hand out and ask for help. I beg you to realize that if you don’t error on the side of caution when that person reaches their hand out and grab that hand, you may lose that person forever. Emotional abuse can be that destructive. Grab that hand, pull them up, keep them safe, and find them help. Question later.

It took me a long time to find the courage to speak to one person I thought I could trust to talk to. Even then I made her swear to not say anything to anyone and amazingly she didn’t; she held all my dark secrets. She is a much better friend that I am. Even after I talked to that one person it took me another 6 months before I finally left. I’m a rare statistic, once I left I never went back to my abuser. Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind to try to ask to come back. It did. I want to say I was lucky, but it’s not that at all. It’s that I did the work and continue to do the work to heal with a professional(s).

Do some people misuse this term? Yes. Do you really want to take the risk of turning your back on the many that don’t? No one deserves to be abused. I didn’t deserve what happened to me and I did not want it. Do I have accountability? Yes. I stayed. No one forced me to stay. I have to live with that. The abuse I suffered nearly killed me. I don’t say that lightly. There is a lot of shame in admitting that out loud, but choose to let go of pride and instead say my truth out loud, because… If you are suffering abuse I want you to know I have known the shame & fear you live under. There are women and men all over who understand the shoes you walk in.

And look at me today…

I am not broken.

I am not a victim.

I am not a survivor.

I am a beautiful strong leather woman.

I am here in the today, the now, and embracing life.