Originally called "Herbie's Ramrod Room," then later shortened to simply Ramrod, it was Boston's "go to" fetish bar.
Please be advised that further perusal of this blog may contain information you may not want to be privy to. Although I won't be showing you pictures of my asshole, I may be talking out of it. Or, if you'd like me to recreate the Mapplethorpe "bull whip" photo; be sure to hit the "like" button!
So, anyways...I'm pretty vanilla. That's not to say I haven't had my kinky moments. We all have! Why do people seem to think that people who have "kinks" are often assumed to be into "scat?" You know, I've been around. I've dipped my toes into the water. But not once did I ever meet a guy who was into poop. In any shape, form or fashion. Now, you would think that sometime between 1981 and 1999 someone in the gay community would've brought it up. Perhaps suggested it. Just one. But no. Pee-pee? Sure! Poo-poo? No! I mean, with Golden Showers you're not going to get a lot of variety. Warm yellow liquid, generally. But #2? Like Forrest Gump said: "Number two is like a box of chocolates...you never know what you're going to get."
So, the reason I was in a leather bar was not so much that I was into leather; but rather, I was kind of into guys that were into leather…if that makes sense. The leather bars seemed to me to be friendlier. Sure, you might think that gay leather men are all tough and imposing; thin lipped and cruel…like the dudes in Cruising. But no; it’s kind of the exact opposite. People who embrace their kinky side, who “let their freak flags fly,” so to speak; are usually way more accepting of other people. Usually, gay bars (are they even a thing anymore?) were full of men who were there to be looked at or being cliquey and/or stand-offish. Frankly, the atmosphere at some gay places could be downright hostile. So, that’s why I preferred the leather bars. The Ramrod had a Thursday night event where a part of the bar was cordoned off and you couldn’t enter unless you had on leather or took your shirt off. So most of the men were shirtless. And in close quarters, there would be a lot of skin touching skin. That to me was more erotic than any piece of leather. However, I have been wanting a quirt for some time. And/or a riding crop. They're both good for precision work. Have I ever used one? Well, I'm not one to squirm and tell; but I have been informed by those in the know that they can be very...oh, what the word? Invigorating?
So, remember that time when I set out to become the world's oldest male prostitute in my mid-20's? If not, please see my blog The World's Oldest Profession and Moi for some background. So, now that I am, at 57, actually considered old; I was thinking I should throw caution to the wind and introduce the world to "Daddy Chris." Not "Zaddy Chris" (Mr. Meloni has a lock on that); just Daddy. See, Daddy Chris, like Macho Chris, is one of my alter egos: like the way Yosemite Sam might be a cowboy or a pirate or a knight and so on.
*So, that picture is an nth generation of the original. The original was not all Lichtensteiny Ben-Day dots. I wonder if that massive poster of me still exists...or the rest of the photos. I'll have to see if I can track down Tom the photographer; which I probably can't. Isn't it funny, when time goes by, and you find yourself a detective in your own life?