50 (More) Shades of Gay: A Guide to the Lobby at IML

You got your cup ready? Good, so let’s get into this tea, shall we? In the words of my Spirit Animal, Nene Leakes:

When last we left you, you had just signaled to this cutie in the airport in the most subtle and demur of fashions.

Unfortunately, that bitch flight attendant had just called your name to let you know you had ten minutes to get on the plane or your ass would get left. Just before the plane takes off, you send him the sweetest message on Jack’d:

Later that evening, your heart jumps a bit when you see that he has responded. He says that he wishes you all could have fucked right quick in the bathroom before you left.

You chat with him occasionally over the next several months and he asks you exciting questions like, “How big is your dick?” and “Will you cum inside me?”. Over time, you also discover that he has an interest in Leather, so against the advice of those bitter hoes you call friends,

you arrange to meet up with him in Chicago next Memorial Day for International Mister Leather (IML) weekend. Once again, you are lucky that Ya Brista is here to guide through the experience.

After deplaning at O’Hare, the first thing you do is text your buddy to let him know you had arrived, but he doesn’t respond. Then you realize you don’t know exactly where you are going. If you were in Atlanta for Pride, you could just follow the trail of butch queens giving face performances as they roll their luggage toward the Marta,

But the demographic for IML is a bit, shall we say, different. However, the same rules apply. Merely follow the trail of Stepford muscle queens giving you dead-behind-the-eyes runway glamour,

and the bitter queens walking two steps behind throwing the subtlest of shade to the Blue Line train to Forest Park.

As soon as you get to the hotel, you call your buddy but it goes straight to voicemail, so you check in and decide to check out the lobby after dropping your bags. As the elevator doors open, you encounter Dr. Funkenstein. Leathermen are proponents of the natural body and prefer not to wear cologne and deodorant. While the more sophisticated among us honor this rule by at least running water over our body to avoid a vinegary undercarriage, Dr. Funkenstein has taken it to a new level. Despite everyone having just arrived TODAY, he already smells like a bag of dirty gym clothes left sitting in a hot car.

The Doctor is apparently well-known to other IML participants because everyone who gets on the elevator takes pain to avoid his personal funk bubble. Everyone, that is, except his partner, Mr. Yuck Mouth, whose breath smells like hot garbage, probably from licking all over Doc Funk. Thankfully, there’s only one more floor until you are at the lobby. As the doors open into the relatively fresher air of the IML lobby, you realize that like Dorothy, you aren’t in Kansas anymore,

but like Oz, the lobby is populated by a menagerie of assorted creatures.

After one last text to your buddy, to which he doesn’t respond, you dive right in, with Ya Brista right beside you to answer any questions.

To your right, is the Wide-Eyed Innocent. He just turned 21 last week and this is his first leather event, but unlike you, he has no Brista to look out for him and protect him from the less savory elements. Because everything is new to him, he latches onto the first group that shows him some attention. Unfortunately, he has found The Tinas. We all know a Tina. She likes to parTy and play. Without intervention, by the end of the night, he might be in somebody’s hotel room, high as a kite

ass-up and taking all cummers.

Something about the phrase “parTy and play” gives you pause, but you gloss over it for the moment. Moving deeper into the lobby, we come to the Has-Beens. These former contestants from IMLs-past will spend all weekend reminiscing about the good old days when they were relevant. Their entire conversation consists of shitting on the current IML contestants, whilst waxing nostalgic about the year that THEY competed, because, of course, that was the only year that really matter, because everyone was a TRUE LEATHERMAN back then. Ya Brista steers you away from these men, lest you get trapped amongst their self-aggrandizing vapors.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a long line forming at one of the bathrooms when there are several others that people could use. Before you can ask Ya Brista about it, I steer you towards the other side of the room, and unfortunately right into That Couple. You know them. Their relationship is always dramatic and this one a doozy.

Apparently they decided to have an open relationship. Or rather, the White Power Ranger decided he wanted to fuck other people and for fear of losing the relationship, the Red Power Ranger agreed. Well, everything did not turn out as planned, because while Red was out getting his fuck on,

White was sitting at home with his dick in his hand.

So now, they are arguing renegotiating the parameters of their relationship in front of an audience. During their argument you hear some mention about the bathroom again and it’s clear to you that something is going on in there. You ask me about it, and reluctantly, I load up the Recon app and show you a particular profile pic.

“But that’s my buddy that I was supposed to meet here!” you exclaim. Unfortunately, Ya Brista is forced to tell you that your buddy is what we like to call in the industry a Pass-Around Party Bottom, aka a Cumslut. Long before arriving in Chicago he posted an ad online saying he would be looking to take as many loads as possible. Despite my warnings you have to see for yourself, so you venture into the bathroom.

Immediately, you are overcome by the scent of urine and man funk. In one stall, with the door open, is the Human Urinal. Luckily it is someone else, not your buddy.

In the very back, however, is the handicapped stall. Outside the stall is a long line of men, dicks out. On the door of the stall, a sheet of paper is taped with a count. It would appear that whomever is in that stall has already taken 12 loads, and the weekend is just getting started. You open the door to find your buddy, getting gutted by number 13.

Luckily, Ya Brista taught you never to catch feelings for Trade., so you are good. Well, almost.

Back in your hotel room, you ask me how I knew he was Trade. Ya Brista takes you gently by the hand and asks you to recall where it was that you first met him. When recount the tale of how he wished you all could have fucked in the bathroom, I remind you of Ya Brista’s Rule:

Anyone who will fuck a complete stranger in a public bathroom is, by definition TRADE, and trade can never be trusted!

Next week, we’ll discuss the pros and cons of various ways to get over a man. Drop me a comment here, Facebook, Twitter, or Tumblr. You can also catch me every Thursday @ 8pm eastern, co-hosting the Reali-TEA Radio Show on PapiChuloRADIO.com.