By: Olivier Pratt
Eighteen years ago I was standing in a dark dingy hole in the wall bar called the Toolbox in Tulsa Oklahoma. I’d ventured out in my finest Wilson leathers hoping for some fresh meat to put on my sexual plate. I’d already been involved in what little Leather there was for several years in Hawai’i, playing where I could, learning what I could and trolling all the places I had any hope of finding what I needed so badly.
When I moved back to the mainland, I realized that there was a lot more Leather out there for me to explore, so I started doing just that. On that fateful night in the Tulsa Toolbox, a tall lumbering bull of a man came up to me, looked at me in the eye, poked me in the chest and said, “You need to be at our next club meeting.” He kept coming back after every few songs to re-hammer his point in.
The fourth time he came back, he jabbed me even harder and said, “Are YOU gonna be at our meeting?” I finally built up the nerve to grab his hand and said, “Who the fuck are you and why would I come to your meeting.” He replied, ” I’m Ron Greenwood, I’m the DJ here, and you’re a Leatherman who needs to come to our T.U.L.S.A. meeting.”
I was scared out of mind; I just stared back at this very intimidating man and said, “OK, that sounds interesting, I’ll be there.” He replied “I thought you might, see you there.” When he walked away, I grabbed my piss soaked crotch and realized I was rock hard. My Leather journey had just taken a new direction. It was frightening and invigorating at the same time. My head was spinning, my fears were rampant, but my cock knew otherwise.



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