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ZERO GAGGED 2023

ZERO GAGGED 2023

Saturday, May 9, 2026

THE CRAWL


 Saturday night, San Francisco 
                                 Year 2004  

About 7:00pm


I drove up to San Francisco.  I left around 5:00pm to get into town around 7:00pm and find a good parking spot.  One would argue that is a pretty good drive to go bar hopping in the city.  Back when I went out for the night life, San Francisco was my designated place.  There was no beating around the bush.  Guys have always been more open to me and it was a place where the leather element was more prominent.  Anyway, I like to have a place besides my home town to leave my mark.

About 8:30pm

I find a place to park.  Parking even this early can be quite the bear in the city.  

I am fully showered and clean for my bar hopping event.  I just need to get into my usual drag for the prowl. 

Tonight I am going more leather than usual.  I have on my blue jeans but I will be putting my leather chaps over them.  I got on my leather motorcycle jacket, leather gloves, my Muir cap and I exchange my sneakers that I drove in for my leather boots.

Being geared up from head to toe, one tends to exude a unique attitude.  It is more than persona.  It is a confidence; a self declaration that you are the baddest mofo in this place and yet there is nothing unique in the observation that every other guy has the exact same uniform, with the same attitude.

Ironically this is what makes the experience a whole vibe

9:00pm

I start off at the Lone Star on Harrison St.  I order a soda.  I stay there for about thirty minutes before I migrate to The Eagle.  Folsom is the street my “go to” bars are on.  I make my way around the corner and down the block. 

San Francisco has some lengthy blocks.  Around the corner could be a hike.  These boots aren't the most comfortable but I'll be alright.
This is twenty two years prior to me writing this so my willingness and ability to withstand hours of uncomfortable boots for the sake of vanity was much more a priority then than it is now.

As I walk down Folsom, the traffic of party goers mixed with Leather Daddies and Leather boys is as commonplace as any normal attire.
The casual way kinksters and leathermen exist in the South of Market gives me the presence of finding my spot.

10:00pm ish

I walk into the first bar on Folsom for my bar crawl.  There’s a pretty heavy turnout.  The smooth house grooves fill the atmosphere.  The lights are low but bright enough to make eye contact with my fellow cruisers. 

The beat of the music intensifies as I migrate through the dancefloor.

Thump, thump, thump, thump

The drum of the house song along with the baseline is infectious.  If it doesn't make one get up and dance, it definitely puts each guy out cruising into a unique zone.  As I maneuver my way through the crowd, I feel the leather and flesh of bodies bumping and grinding into mine.

I reach my destination to the other side of the bar.  I'm there for about 15 to 20 minutes.  There are a lot of guys in their leather looking the part, but no action.  I open the back door and walk into the smoking area that is a closed off corridor.  It is almost the length and width of THE ALLEY of the bar I've written about in the past.  Although this is designated for guys to have a smoke, you will find many guys on their knees blowing other guys or against the wall getting railed.

I'm taking in the view.  The guy to my left is watching me.  Im getting aroused by the attention but I don't take it out.

He moves in closer and grabs my bulge.  Because I have my chaps 
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over my blue jeans, he has a task getting to my dick.  Wearing chaps over jeans is like wearing a Chasity belt.  No one's getting past that very soon.  I didn't quite think that one through when dressing to go hunting.  That is okay because the leathers brings the boys to the yard.

He finally got my cock out and began licking the tip.  He proceeded with going all the way down.  

Although he initially appeared eager, his head was very much unmotivated.  I put it back in my pants and migrate back into the club.  I find an open spot on the bench.  I sit and watched guys dancing, prancing, and flirting to the music.  Although the smoking area is where most of the guys go to play, it is not uncommon for guys to blow each other between the bench and the dance floor depending on how crowded the bar is.  The more guys that are present, the easier it is to be hidden in the crowd.   Right in front of me is one guy on his knees sucking another guy.

I am not playing, however I am right in the midst of it all.  I am observing.  But I am more than an observer.  Whether I get mine tonight or not, I am right where I belong.  One could easily be frustrated, feel rejected, or just suffering from a bad case of blue balls.

Ironically I feel none of these.  

It goes back to the attitude mentioned before of being a Leatherman. 

Yes, something almost magical happens when the leather comes on.

There is something that comes alive.  And yes a deeper extension of who we are surfaces.  

It goes way beyond the clothes, however.

It goes way beyond the image, The music, the atmosphere and even the play itself (although this is all part of The Making.) 

It is finding the tribe.  It's that safe space to express whatever it is to be expressed in whatever form to express it; And then comes the leather, the bars, the atmosphere, the eye contact, the way we look at each other, the way we play, the way we fuck, the creativity that goes beyond vanilla sex and lifestyle.  It is all of this and more.  

Some of us have decided not to belong per se to "the community."  There is still this connection whatever it is that yokes us to "the tribe."

I don't go on the crawl hardly ever anymore.  The culture, the cliques, and overall method of getting a piece has changed drastically.  Yet, I still know my tribe when I see them.

About 11:15pm / 11:30pm

The next bar I go to is smaller but with much more action.  The only problem is the guys are a bit too eager for my liking.  Right now all I want to do is take a piss and dudes are piss blocking me to suck my dick and I am not too fond of how the place along with some of the guys smell.

I decide to go back to bar number one.  I did get my dick sucked.  It was okay.  

It is getting late.  I decide to hit the freeway back home since I have a bit of a drive.

Although it wasn't a phenomenal evening, it was definitely a confirmation of the making of who I was and continue to become.

 

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All writings and photographs were created by Mark Greene A. K. A. Daddy Scruff and are protected by copyright unless otherwise noted. Do not use any images without consent. All men photographed were of legal age.(18+ in CA) All men appearing on this blog has given their full consent to allow Mark Greene to use their images for this blog.