Photo by Roger Robberstad

“You guys know this is a leather bar, right?” he asked from beneath his bushy mustache.

He sat next to a bare black door and beneath a lonely blue light, with his arms crossed, not in a casual way, but in a bouncer trying to make his muscles look bigger sort of way.

But when he asked my boyfriend and I if we knew what we were about to walk in on, a playful glimmer lit up his eyes and a little smirk tilted his mustache.

“Yep,” we answered in unison, a little too energetically, but the fact of the matter was we were very energetic.

The first thing I noticed was a man wearing leather short shorts and a cowboy hat by the pool table, pacing confidently as he studied the balls for his next shot. Next I saw the big bear type wearing very Republican glasses, but had nixed his shirt for some leather strappy number.

The bears were intimidating at first, their large statures wrapped in leather, but their hard appearance frequently gave way to boyish smiles and laughs. They were just big ol’ burrs.

After my eyes started adjusting to the visual stimulus, my nose tuned on to the man odor (yeah, that’s a euphemism). With all that leather on skin and body heat, it filled the joint. It was strong enough to convince me it was a bad idea to use the restroom, especially the women’s restroom.

The music was how I imagined it would be—strange German sounding metal with heavy bass and sex dungeon rumble with a voice that I couldn’t understand but sounded like the bondage devil giving instructions to his deviants.

We shouldered our way to the bar and discovered it was $1.50 beers. No wonder the place was packed! Where do they make their money, slanging out beers from the price of candy bars? And only blocks away from $16 Beer Land!

The shirtless tender stared at my beau and me as we studied to the taps to make our decision. Bud Light, Coors Light, Natty Light…Between them all was a mysterious rainbow tap with no logo.

Maybe after a few drinks I would have gone for it, but the combination of the smell and men who looked like my middle school principal wearing assless chaps turned on some strange carnal fear inside me that told me to stay away from the rainbow tap.

Resting on one of the black walls was a black cage, and on another a black cross whipping post. A man in leather pants and a cowboy hat walked up to one of the stray lesbians by the pool table, said something to her, they both walked to the whipping post, and she proceeded to whip the holy hell out of his tallowy back as he arched and giggled.

A few people glanced over, but it didn’t attract too much attention. Just another dude getting whipped by another lesbian.

Simultaneously on the other side of the pool table, a bear was getting his nipples sucked by a little Hispanic man. He cradled the little Hispanic man in his arms and looked down on him and his working lips with a warm and joyful smile. Again, no one really looked.

We must have been the archetypical Friday night straight couple that came in to see the sights, stand in the corner and sip our $1.50 beers beneath our humungous eyes. It was awesome.

*Leather bars to do not represent the gay community. To my understanding, leather is like a fetish, straight people have fetishes too. I’m very supportive of the gay community, but leather is an interesting scene regardless of your sexual orientation. I sincerely do not mean to offend anyone with this blog post. I have offended you, please let me know and I’d love to talk to you about it. 

An audio slideshow Patricia completed on the San Diego Canoe Kayak Team for her senior project of reporting on how enhancing someone’s relationship with water enhances their quality of life.

Patricia has become the arts guru at PacificSD Magazine. If you know of any upcoming art openings in San Diego a month ahead of time, please send all press releases to patricia@pacificsandiego.com.

Supermen by San Diego Shooter on Flickr

A loofa with butt cheeks, a bicycle gang of Teletubbies, gay cowboys, a frumpy Rhianna, Gay-braham Lincoln, a chain gang of monsters, the bumble bee girl from that Blind Melon music video, “The 1%”, 1,000 Waldos, 500 flapper girls, and a slew of slutty versions of furry creatures.

Hundreds of thousands of people giggling and swaying up and down the streets, body-to-body, not trying to get anywhere in particular, but mostly keeping their eyes wide and pointing out clever costumes.

“Did you see that guy? Was that supposed to be Bill Cosby? He was wearing a fro and a wool sweater…”

All of it moving to the ubiquitous bassy sound track of the three outdoor nightclubs exploding ear drums that night. The drugged-out electronic tunes weren’t quite drowned out by the pitchy drone of drunken flirtations.

The storefronts were lined with photographers standing by themselves, mumbling hateful things under their breaths, watching the youth “live” as they were being paid below minimum wage to carry a lens around for the night and “follow their dreams”.

The bar fronts were full of middle-aged gentlemen who had grown out of the tradition but were still hoping if they look rich enough they could snag a passing slutty rainbow or a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.

There were a number of much older gentlemen in the mix, doing laps, holding video cameras over their heads, gathering footage that only their bedrooms will see (I’m assuming, I’m assuming). Some of them were so old and wrinkly, and had such massive shit-eating grins on their faces, I thought they were masks. Very rarely is it you see a man over 60 smile like that.

Boys in masks barked at girls that strayed too far from their boyfriends’ arms. Girls in underwear and heels stared masks right in their latex eyes, begging to be barked at. But for every naked girl there was a naked man, so I really can’t complain. I suppose it levels the proverbial playing field by lowering it all even more.

My stomach stung with whiskey and my cheeks burned with smile.

The best part was the Hispanic family dressed up as the Adams Family (Wednesday and Pugsley included) walking around stoically amidst sexed up madness, not amused one bit.

A comedy bit Patricia filmed with Eli Baldrige

Learning how to play with cameras!

Filmed & edited by Patricia, parcored hardcore by Eli Baldrige