September 2007

Ah, Poppets, the New England Fetish Flea Market. What a delightful day. As I have mentioned previously, New England in general and Boston specifically are very proper places full of very proper people. And then there’s us.

Twice yearly, the New England Leather Alliance (NELA) hosts the Fetish Flea Market. On those few days, in our little corner of the world, we become the norm. It’s quite a sight: people in skimpy – albeit street legal – PVC, leather and latex riding the subway; grown men and women being led by collars; handcuffs and stiletto heels replacing tennis bracelets and Bass loafers. It’s such a sight that the NELA has to find a new venue every year or two. Afterall, we’re very proper here.

Now, because I am considered a safe place among friends, am known for being nonjudgmental and am exceedingly comfortable with my own sexuality, I tend to be the person who gets asked those questions, the ones we can’t ask anyone else, the dark ones we barely admit to ourselves. It happens year-round but tends to pick up around the times of the Flea. I will mention I am going and within an hour or a day, I am pulled aside for a private, whispered conversation.

“How can someone be a strong individual and a sub?” “How can someone be a gentle human being and a dom/me?” “Is it truly consensual?” “How much does it hurt?” “Does it have to hurt?”

What I’ve learned is these are the questions that get asked but then there is the real question behind the questions: “Is it okay for me to be curious about this or does it mean there’s something wrong with me?” I answer the direct questions but while doing so, I try to answer the question behind the questions as well. And that answer is “You’re just fine.” Because we are. Safe, sane consensual sex is not a moral issue. It’s similar to debating the morality of having brown hair or double-jointed thumbs. We are all sexual beings and that’s okay. Look around any fetish flea market, club or group and you will find very ordinary people. Doctors, teachers, writers, pilots, construction workers, homemakers…you get the idea.
I’ve always thought that if this country had been founded by Pagans looking for religious freedom rather than Puritans doing the same, we would all be a hell of a lot happier. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case so many of us are left hiding our spreader bars, clearing the cookies from our home computers, ashamed to walk into the club, discarding our copies of The Betty Pages in anonymous dumpsters once we’ve read them. In other words, we are left asking the question behind the questions.

Society teaches us there is something wrong with us. I don’t care what society teaches us. “Society” is made up of the same people who are sneaking, hiding, afraid and ashamed. My question is Why are we bothering? Why are we sneaking, hiding, afraid and ashamed? Why must the NELA find a new venue every year or two? Why can’t we just be who we are and let others be who they are? Those are my questions.

My hope for you is that you only have one question. “Am I playing in a way that is safe, sane and consensual?” If the answer is yes, then, Poppets, enjoy! And I’ll see you at the winter Fetish Flea Market.

Until next month, Poppets, take care of you.

August 2007

Hi Poppets! So Bellingham had its first ever Pride Parade on the fifteenth of July. God, I wish I could’ve been there. Since I wasn’t able to make it, I’m counting on someone telling me all about it. Hint, hint…

A friend in Tampa, Florida tells me their parade drew over 40,000 people this year, in spite of 90+ degree temperatures and high humidity. My sources from Montreal, Canada are actually saying that the Parade has been so successful for so long, it has almost become obsolete, wearing out its reason for existing and its welcome, even within the GLBT community. And here in Boston, we have Pride Week, which culminates in the Parade and block parties. The Parade runs right through the center of town. Two main streets are closed down all afternoon – one for the men’s block party; one for the women’s. It’s a city-wide event.

The day of the Parade, a friend of mine and I went to a matinee then wandered through the block party. Yes, this friend is a lesbian. And yes, she is a very butch lesbian. I rarely think about it. However, that day, at the theatre, our ushers and neighbors in the rows around us kept telling us what a lovely couple we were, how they hoped we were enjoying our day, had we gone to the Parade? Only one man just stared and his stare was more puzzled than anything else, not hateful at all. (My friend has a theory that he was trying to figure out if she was a man or a woman. Apparently, this happens to her occasionally.)

As she and I wandered the block party later, she commented “It is very up-in-your-face, isn’t it? We haven’t learned to celebrate without being pushy.” To which I replied, “It still has to be. We haven’t learned to let you celebrate without being pushy.”

Because for every Boston and Montreal, there is a Lynchburg, Virginia – the hometown of the late Jerry Falwell and yes, yours truly. Lynchburg had its first ever Parade about five years ago. The protestors outnumbered the participants. And I cannot find any mention of a 2007 Parade anywhere. The protestors may have won.

And in Tampa, where they drew over 40,000 people, four men also drove in from Georgia – a completely different state, for God’s sake – in order to hold up signs that read “God Hates Fags” and other pearls of wisdom. Three of them were in their fifties and sixties but one of them was only twenty-six. My immediate reaction when I heard about him was “Dear God, they got him while he was still young.”

So I am torn. On the one hand, I am thrilled that there are places like Montreal and Boston, and yes, even Tampa where only four of the 40,000 people in attendance were protestors. On the other hand, I want to say “We don’t dare become complacent. We don’t dare take this for granted.”

Because Bellingham is just getting started. Because Lynchburg is struggling. Because men from Georgia are still willing to cross state lines in order to spread hate. Because these are only the ones I know about and yet I know there must be others.

The community has come so far. That is reason to be Proud. But until every Parade is considered with nonchalance, until the celebrating doesn’t have to be up-in-your-face, we must not give up on Pride. Anywhere.

Until next month, Poppets, take care of you.

July 2007

A Bostonian Comes to Bellingham

Hi Poppets! My name is Bridget and somehow or other, I managed to luck into being your newest columnist for The Betty Pages! So who am I and why the hell are you reading my words? It all happened when I fell in love at Rumors Cabaret…

I admit it; I am not what you might call mainstream. My hair is streaked, my tatts often show and my fashion style is completely my own. But more than how I look, it’s how I think that makes me other than mainstream. If you are reading The Betty Pages, you understand exactly what I mean.

I am also from Boston, which makes being other than mainstream a little interesting. See, Boston is a very mainstream city. Don’t get me wrong. I adore Boston. Great town, great people, great coffee shops. The underground/alternative communities are small but thriving. And it is an amazingly accepting place for a city so mainstream. But for all its accepting nature, it is mainstream. No one in Boston quite understands me. I don’t quite fit – even with the alternative communities there. Instead, people smile, shake their heads saying “there goes Bridget, doing her thing” and accept me for who I am, even though they don’t understand me.

One of the many things people don’t understand about me is my relationship with my partner, David. David is not straight. Until he met me, he identified as gay. Personally, I think he is and I’m the exception. He’s a little more confused now and is wondering if he is perhaps bi. David, bless him, likes things to be very neat and organized and I have made his world delightfully messy and disorganized. But I’m digressing. I do that…. Anyway, since it’s not my place to self-identify someone else, we’ll just say he’s not straight because the point is we are far from your average male-female relationship, whatever labels you put on us. Add this fabulous twist to me and there aren’t many places we can go without raising an eyebrow or two.

So imagine my surprise one Wednesday night in June when I walked into Rumors. I was in Washington, visiting David and the conversation went something like this:

Me: Take me somewhere interesting.

Him: I live in Sedro-Woolley.

Me: There must be somewhere.

Him: I’ll take you to Bellingham.

And the strangest thing happened. We were understood. Sure, we were accepted but I’m used to that. There at Rumors, though, no one raised an eyebrow or asked a single question as we were simply who we are. No one knew us well enough to accept us because it was Bridget and she’s crazy like that. It was simple understanding. I got to be as not mainstream as I am without once feeling like a sideshow. David got to be as free in public as he gets to be in private when it’s just us. And when we both kissed the same beautiful man goodnight, no one even noticed (well, I hope he did but I’m digressing again.)

I’m in love with Boston. It’s my home and I carry it with me in my heart wherever I go. That night, I fell in love with Bellingham, too. Luckily for me, my heart is big enough to carry Bellingham with me as well. Wherever I go.

So that’s why I am now writing for The Betty Pages. Hopefully, you and I will get to know each other better and discover we like each other. I think we’ve already got the understanding part down.

Until next month, Poppets, take care of you.