Interlude: Shine

Interludes are short segments between regular episodes with no editing but WITH leather creaking. It's a chance to hear a little more about what's going on in my life. In this interlude I share one of my erotic stories, "Shine." Leather story time!

Transcript

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Welcome to full cow, a podcast about leather kink and BDSM. My name is edge My pronouns are he him, and I'm your host. And this is another interlude, the episode between episodes offered raw and unedited. And fun fact, this is actually the fourth try, I had making an interlude. I did one that was about my experience right now dating and I felt Oh, that's a little too personal. So I took that one down, I did one about how my pit scent has been changing. And then that just ended up feeling very weird. So I took that one down. And then I did one thinking about the privilege of having space play space or dungeon space. But it turned really rambling. So I took that one down. So if you're a hardcore fan, there are three secret interludes out there, the last interludes of fool cow. Now, perhaps one day, I will share in some form or another, maybe some sort of secret bonus that only the fanciest of fans can find? Who knows? So this is my fourth attempt. And it finally occurred to me that, oh, yeah, I have all kinds of erotic fiction that I wrote. And then I could read a story and do a leather storytime. I was a fairly prolific story writer in the late 20th century, in the 1990s, the late 1900s, because that's what we did. Back then we didn't really have apps or websites and video online was, we didn't have the bandwidth for it. But we had magazines. And stories were a way for us to find one another to realize what our fetishes were, but also to transmit cultural community knowledge. And so there was a lot of writing, and I did a lot of writing. The story I'm going to share with you today is called shine, and I'm fairly certain it is the last story I ever wrote. And likely the last story I will ever write simply because media has changed. And my life has changed. I actually had to hunt for the file. So it is included in my erotic story collection available on Amazon in Kindle format for pretty cheap. It's hard to find, though, it's called Stories of edge. And you have to include leather edge lthr EDG II, I'm pretty sure I finished the story, sometimes in the summertime in the early teens, to sort of round out that collection. So it is a story of a very interesting central character. A lot of my stories are driven by ideas that I want to work out or particular pieces of knowledge I want to explore or pass on. And I've always I mean, I am the main character in this story. Because I've always, I've always wanted to be Yoda. I want to be Yoda. I'm very much have this conception of myself as this, the sage in the woods who retires from the world, and then waits for the hero to arrive to pass on the sacred knowledge that will help the hero succeed. I am that part of the Joseph Campbell heroes saga. I never want to be IMO. But I would love to help some groom someone for IML. I would love to be a judge for IML. So I'm always very interested in kind of being this mysterious, semi spiritual, weird guide hiding in the shadows that someone comes in find. That's an interesting exploration for another time. So this story very much is my fantasy. I will say that it is my fantasy, and is inflected by some things from my life not at all really autobiography, autobiographical, though. And now we're going to proceed with storytime. They say that should you ever have the good fortune to find yourself restrained to across 10 feet from him. Your back will end up cut neatly into ribbons as you float one and three quarter inches off the ground. blissed by endorphins. They say to that to spend more than three minutes under his ropes is to want never to be able to move again. And tranced from a combination of the way they caress as they bind. And the way he makes it all happen. Somewhere between architect and Weaver. They say a lot of things about him and his skills. They may all be true, but trust me nothing and I mean nothing compares to having him black your boots. The rest might be hyperbole, but that one, that one I know for sure. From experience. His name is Solomon, though most folks just call him Saul. I guess every town has its legend, and he was ours. But unlike the legends, in some other communities, Saul was never in the limelight. Sure we all knew him or at least knew of him and Every one respected him. But it didn't enter into any of the title contests which he could have easily won. And he didn't run any of the clubs which desperately needed his leadership. And he wasn't known to put on shows at bars or play parties. In some ways, he was the man behind the scenes not controlling the show, but working hard to make sure everyone on stage looked like a star. As with so many legends are stories of him no doubt outstripped reality, but also like so many legends, there was always a grain of truth in what was said. I know, for example, that when the current IML came through town, he spent a whole day with Saul, the gossips painted Lord pictures of complicated scenes, but since I knew the guys International, Mr. Miller was staying with, I know for a fact that you just hung out and well talked all day. I know too, that it was Saul's authentic New Orleans police badge that IML war during his stepdown that year. Still, I don't know why a man who can have any boy he wants, who could own a whole stable of slaves if he chose, who is the envy of many types in this town still, blacks boots, it just doesn't make sense. I do know he doesn't do it often. But as much as I've watched him studied him, I still haven't figured out how he chooses the man to receive this honor. Is it something in the boots themselves? Is he laying groundwork for his next conquest? Is it just a whim some itch he needs to scratch when it flares? Whatever it is, I'm always quietly thrilled to see him go to work. Group lacking afterall is a kind of alchemy, part art, part science part myth, part ritual, and there's something special about seeing him endow black boot leather with a shine so deep. It makes it seem like the boots themselves have been reborn with some new inner light. I remember the first time I saw him work. It was a Saturday night and for once there was a decent crowd at the bar. But dammit there was this one daddy there with his boy being obnoxious as all fuck, loud overbearing, demanding, pushing his boy around in ways that might have been consensual, but still just rubbed me the wrong way. I don't know how much daddy had had to drink. But if volume of voice has any correlation to volume of alcohol consumed, then I would have to say it was quite a lot. Brat daddy as I had turned him in my head was working himself up into a tizzy carrying on about his boy and his general superiority making himself out to be God's gift. Not just to boys but to all of them in the world over. That's when Sol emerged from the shadows were apparently hidden waiting, watching. It didn't intervene. He just mentioned to Brad Daddy that it looked like his boots could use a shine. Next thing I know they were headed over to the boot blacks cheer for some reason. Every booth black in town yields that chair to soul. I'm not sure why. I don't think he's trained any of them. I don't ever think any of them know him all that well. But there's something unspoken they're fraternal bond, a professional courtesy. And when it comes up, they always take a break. I reposition myself to get a view of the action. I'll admit there was a prurient interest in me, I had to see how this would go down. And then I watched it all washed him brush, wash, Polish and shine bright daddy's boots. I don't think I saw what really happened. I couldn't have because when Saul was done brat, Danny was a different man, quieter, calmer, respectful. I couldn't hear their conversation over the thumping music of the bar. But I decided at that moment that in my mind, soul was the boot whisper. I had seen him black six or seven times after that, and heard from friends about a few other occasions. Each time, something in the man in the boots seemed to change. Sometimes it was just the fact that he left Saul's chair with a smile on his face. And sometimes the guy would move to a new city for presumably, a new and better life. Lots of people in the community sought Saul's advice but it was something special when he saw you and your boots out to offer it. It works. It was a couple years after that night at the bar before we actually met the annual leather pride benefit with a chance to trot out one's best dress leathers while raising funds for local charities. I had kitted up in my favorite leather uniform custom made by the local shop. Diners were the boot of choice for the evening. I looked good, felt good, and was coming to understand what we as a community really meant and could do. It was just that kind of night. I was standing off to the side of the main room enjoying the view, hot men paraded back and forth on their way of the bar, some in heavy leathers and some in just boots and a jock. Just looking at the Knights assemblage had my cock in a permanent state of semi arousal. I think I was even dripping a little saw I was walking back from the bar where he just grabbed a bottle of water. He stood out not just because I always looked for him, but more especially because I don't have so much leather. He was wearing just a t shirt jeans and what looks to be Wesco job masters. The kiltie always gives them away. Don't get me wrong, he was still hot as fuck. For man in his 50s he was in good shape, not Jim chiseled but firm in the kind of way the most natural men naturally are. His salt and pepper Flat Top looked crisp, his white beard trimmed and neat. As he passed me we made eye contact for just a moment. They were the most remarkable shade of blue. He had only walked a few steps past me when he stopped turned around how to care for shine this evening. I was caught off guard for a moment feeling simultaneously called out singled out and altogether naked. I recovered as best as I could. Yeah, sure. Thanks. I'd love that. Okay, give me 20 minutes just finishing something up at the moment. You got it. 20 minutes. 20 minutes of anticipation. Seven minutes of doubt. Why me? Do my gainers looks like shit. Please don't tell me of another breath. Daddy. How bad do my boots look? Four minutes of fear. What am I getting into shit? What do I tip him? Do I have enough cash on me? Nine minutes of desire down. He picked me. The fucking boot whisperer picked me. Saw was ready when I headed over. I introduced myself couldn't imagine he knew my name. The benefitted set up a whole row of chairs for the local bootblack soul had won all to himself set off to the left of the others. A little removed a little private like saw himself. As he helped me up into the chair. I felt like ascending to the throne. That couldn't help but notice that his boots looked pretty beat up my mouth open before my head could put on the brakes. It looks like you could use a shine yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He looked at me and chuckled as he knelt down and made sure all his tools were just where he wanted them to be. Now you see some boots are born for the grave. I didn't know what else to say. Fortunately, he continued. Yeah, some boots are there just to serve you to there's nothing left in them. They give their whole life just to be worn by the right man and chuckled with him. Gotcha. And I know just what you mean. I have a whole different set of daily boots. Yep. It's just like that. silence of the slightly awkward variety. It was the same awkwardness I felt at the barbershop. What do you do? Make conversation with them focus on their work? Sit there like an idiot or prattle on like an idiot and chose the second option? I guess. So. Where'd you learn to bootblack he answered while carefully inspecting each of my boots. A small mag flashlight illuminating his scrutinizing gaze started with my dad. I'm a military brat after that my daddy back when I was still bottom and well, after that picked up some here and some there. That explains lot. I've watched you work before you're damn good. He sat back on his knees. I know. Smile, devilish grin. Well, your boots are in good shape and I think we can work them up real nice and pretty. Sounds good to me. I'll just let you do your thing. That's usually a good idea. That smile again. So stuck deaf and its openness. He picked up his horsehair brushes and got to work I watched. I could hear the swish the bristles banishing any dust or dirt from the boot mother. I enjoyed the swift movement of his arm suddenly defined and muscular in the throes of their task. His head bowed the landing strip on his flat top was perfect. I'd have to ask him which barber he went to his spray bottle, spritz the shaft to my left boot. The clean scent of saddle soap wafted up to me invoking memories of service and desire. I have noticed you don't fire your polish. He looked up to me with an inquisitive look at you now. Yeah, I was just wondering my strong hand slapped cloth to boot shaft gripped my calves wiped the boot clean. Well, what I've learned is this, he paused a moment while getting to work on the right food. Membership in any community has nothing to do with the right way to do things. Rather it involves knowing the terms of the conversation. He looked up to see what must have been a puzzled expression on my face. Ask a cigar man the right way to light a cigar and get a million different answers. Remove the band. Don't remove the band cut the end punch the end bite the end off. butane torch wouldn't match. None of its right. None of it's wrong. The key is only knowing why you choose to do it this way instead of that that so that you can talk to you all the others who are so different from you, but still the same. Presto, you're part of that community. And so firing. He smiled while wiping down the booth and it makes a nice show but burns up all the good stuff and I'd rather that good stuff go into your booth. I nodded. One mystery solved at least. True to his word. He didn't fire the polish his hands warm with the kiwi and move to the toe of my left boot. My foot could feel the pressure as his fingers moved in small tight circles, leaving just enough Polish pine conversation resumed as he continued to work this time he took the lead. Aren't you usually with that hot little boy? What's his name? Christian? Yeah, we were together for time surprise. You've noticed us? You're not the only one who watches his Green was particularly devilish that time so where is he today? Oh, we broke up a couple months ago just didn't work out. He sat back for a moment looked at me honestly. That's a damn shame. continued his work on the boots slicking the polish up the shaft all around back leaving a black dullness in its wake. In the silence of his work, I thought about Chris. I had just about managed to file him away but Saul's question renewed at all. It was a puzzle I can never manage to solve a labyrinth from my mind with no exit. I replayed all the same scenes and tried all the different decisions I could conceive. The end always played out the same me a cat, an empty apartment, a bruised heart and a bewildered mind. I had met Christian through mutual friends, they thought we would be a good match. And at first it seemed like they were perfectly right. Krishna was 10 years younger than me 28 to my 38. But that didn't seem to matter. When we met there was that spark, the kind of chemistry that it's all too rare and all too intoxicating. He was a cup of a man with the sexiest hairy belly I've ever seen and pert nipples that responded to the lightest stroke. His mouth was bottomless, his ass round and firm, and its back could take more flogging than my arm could give. More than anything though, I loved how he fit against me how he was just the right height for my arm to hold him just the right height that my cock with nestle into his very crack when I stood behind them, and then folded him in my arms. But less diseases love is hard. Combine the two felt increasingly impossible. In the playroom, things were always good. He'd spent hours in the sleep sack eating my ass while I enjoyed a cigar. I'd spent hours making him sing with pain. But as our love grew our play diminished. I was never quite sure why never quite sure if the fault was his or mine. I wish sure though not the situation the growing gap between the bedroom and the playroom steps from each other. But somehow miles apart, made us each frustrated enough that little annoyances accumulated into friction and then into fights. And then into screaming matches. And each time no matter who stormed out. I found myself utterly confused. How did it happen again? Why did we keep hurting each other? What could I have done differently? Why can't I beat the shit out of the man I love? Why doesn't the man I love when to arrive under my lash. We finally parted ways, amicably at least I hope you never learn this. The worst thing in the world is not falling out of love and breaking up. The worst thing in the world is being desperately in love and having to break up anyway. I came back to find Saul on his knees looking up at me. I'm not even sure how long I got lost in the past. But it was long enough for him to finish laying down the polish on both boots. I spoke again as much to fill the silence between us as to bring me back fully into His presence. Yeah, oh, we just had too many problems we couldn't solve. He nodded and then said, of course, by definition, a problem without a solution isn't a problem. Oh, then what is it? Depends. I find it's usually an opportunity. With that he bent down and kissed the toe of my left at dinner. He looked up at me works the pile of shit and just right. With that he began a long slow assault on my boot with his tongue. I was instantly hard and instantly embarrassed to have this top. This man licking my boots it felt it felt profane and sacred an obscene realization flashed in my head. This is how the disciples felt When Jesus washed their feet. His tongue bade the toe of my boob press down so I could feel it. His beard nuzzle the instep as he worked his way up the shaft, his body contorted as his head worked its way around to get at the back. I was in ecstasy, I was in awe. I was enthralled. I hadn't seen him do this for other men. And I just didn't know what to make of it. My kocot did not seem bothered by such questions, it just frogged and leaked. But I sat there trying to figure it all out as he finished up the left left boot, and render the same service to the right. And then he polished. I envied arms that can move so fast, the touch so so white as to be non existent. A glistening shine was the only evidence left in his weak opportunity though often feels like a problem. My ears tuned into his words as my eyes continued to follow his work. Because we're used to things and Opportunity always means change. Change is fucking scary shit. Change requires courage, or blindness. Either way, take the opportunity make the change and suddenly what was a huge problem turns out to be nothing but a signpost to a better life. He made it sound so simple. It wasn't. Then again, nothing changes if nothing changes, you know? I nodded compliantly not because I understood or agreed, but only because it seemed expected. He sat back to expect his work inspect his work on the left booth. I noticed that somewhere along the way hits punched his nose with Polish, and made him look at once boyish and manly. Both a child playing with finger paints, and a man coming home from a long day of hard dirty work. It was utterly endearing. But while it softened his look, his gaze remained steely his eyes that same particular shade of blue, almost icy. He bent down to work on the right boot and resumed I guess you to just seemed a good fit. He always reminded me of a boy. I want some town. I love that boy. Total to him with every stroke of my whip each time from my boot on his ass was a love letter. That's for sure. I smiled. I didn't know what else to do, and certainly didn't know what to say. Saul did. Do you miss him? I was glad his head was down intent on birthing a shine. I didn't want him to see the wistfulness in my eyes when I replied every day. I don't blame you if Christians anything like my boy. And he's something special. Yes. Yes, yes. I looked out into the crowd hoping I think to get lost in it to get away from the feeling in my chest. I didn't have a name for that feeling. I can only call it passion plus love devotion hurt ache. And for a moment, I noticed something new there too. On the side of that feeling poking out just behind it there was a new question how did Saul manage to turn love into violence it's stayed a moment and then was eclipsed again by the memory of hurt. He took out a pair of pantyhose ball them up. Nothing like nylon to really get a shine on diners. My look must have been inquisitive. I don't know all the physics involved but something in the friction of it is just right kisses the wax so it sweetly melts just so comes to the Black Mirror. Nice. Oh yeah, just wait. He went to work spitting on occasion in an almost military fashion. And he was definitely right about the pantyhose. I've never seen such a shine in these boots. Not even when crystal I picked them up from the leather shop. As he finished up, I tried my best to recover. I didn't want to leave his chair maudlin. I was hoping to still enjoy the event. As he helped me down from his chair. I found my feet again literally and figuratively. I started pulling out my cash. So how much do I owe you? Forget it no charge. Oh, can I at least buy you a beer? Thanks, but 22 years sober here. Oh, sorry. I never knew Congrats. Thanks. A small talk was getting smaller. I was ready to leave his presence. Can I ask you a question? It started arranging his tools placing each pack in his proper place within his domain. Sure, go right ahead. Well, like I said, I've watched you black before and I've I've always wondered, how do you choose? I mean, do you pick particular men or particular boots or turn to look at me his eyes were warm. It's not really something I can really explain. Sometimes it's just something I know needs to be done. Sorry. Doesn't make any more sense than that. Oh, that's okay. I'm just always curious. As I was turning to leave and resume the benefit which felt a world away in your case, I turned back to him fearing some judgment but still hungry for an answer. In your case, I'll say this. You do do a lot of watching, but life. Life's not meant to be watched. It's meant to be lived. His words felt fatherly and damning all at once. They stung and prodded. I recovered as best as I could. Well, I guess I should go live with them. Good man. He gave me a strong pat on the back which removed some of the sting of the words go enjoy. I did. I did a little at least I made the rounds of the room saying hello to friends bidding on a couple of items in the auction meeting a few new hotties and then I just went home. About three weeks later, I walked into the playroom to get my chip was and saw the dangers up on the boot rack. They still shine like no other boot I owned. I stood there for a while lost in their blackness lost in memories of the night and my chat with Saul. I don't know why. But I picked up the phone and called Christian. I wasn't sure if I wanted him to answer or not. And I almost hung up. But he answered before I could. The words. They just spilled from me. I miss you