Not Fighting The Fight

I had a great time out at the Eagle last night. It was the one thing that I did NOT have planned for this weekend. I’m so glad that I went.
After attending my second fundraising activity for the weekend, I decided to head over to the Eagle, and it was exactly what I needed. There was no contest, no event, no fundraiser, no theme, just a collection of guys who decided to head down to the bar wearing what ever the frack they wanted to wear.
There was enough gear and leather to make me horny and hopeful. There was also a smattering of WeHo boys in tennis shoes. But I like being the welcome wagon for those hotties truly interested in leather and fetish, so I was happy to see them. Of course I was also happy to scare them in a way that will hopefully bring them back in more appropriate attire.
It was a pretty hot crowd and I felt at home. I chatted up some friends, an ex, and a few new guys. The order of the day was to hang out and maybe get laid with one of the hot men in the room. With our group, regular glancing around and reconnoiter was what interrupted our conversations. Those who left the group and returned were expected to give a report on what they’d observed away from base camp.
During one of my tours through the space, I spent some time alone leaning on the front bar. Greedily watching the wonderfully hot bartender work his bare chest, low rise jeans, shiny belt and wicked smile. Men came and went as they ordered their drinks allowing me to see up close who they were and maybe what they were about as they talked to each other and the bartender.
I missed my opportunity to talk to a hot fucker decked out in a harness, leather cap, and most importantly and gauntlet on his right wrist. I was working up the never to approach him and his three Muir cap covered companions when I was interrupted by a tight bodied WeHo boy. Stripped down and retrofitted in gear he’d be a hot little number… I was intrigued. Unfortunately that distraction cost me the time I needed to strike. When I looked up, I eyed harness man walking out the front door with his friends. Zipping up the ass of his leather pants as he went. FRACK!
Part of the night included being snubbed by someone close to me. I don’t really get it. Of course I am certain he’d claim I was the one doing the snubbing. But like I said, I don’t really get it. And now, I just don’t have the fight in me to engage with that dance any more. I now accept the role of “X”. I can only guess what “X” is, but I have a feeling it has something to do with my lack of enthusiasm for fundraisers. 
Brand me, tattoo me, give me a fucking tiara as the asshole of “X”. Just let me get back to my guys in gear, and sorting out the leather subs from the weho doms, cause that’s really the scene I’ve been trying to preserve with all my high profile political work.
When there is a weekend where I’ve been out cruising the scene for ass for three nights and have only attended one fundraising event, then maybe we can revisit that conversation. Til then, I’m done fighting.

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