3 AM, May 29, 2017 
“You’re gonna feel so shitty that you’ve done this to me on one of the most amazing nites of my life” 
I said it. 
I yelled it.
I was hurt, stunned, seething.
“You asked!” Joe says. “No. I’m not happy you’ve won. You promised me you wouldn’t win.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Shit. No. I’m not gonna apologize for winning.”
He started to say something like, “Of course, it’s always about you, your life. What about mine? What about what you’ve done to ours? What….” 
He stopped. 
We hadn’t fought like this but a very few times in 23 years of being together. 
How did I miss how upset he was? What did I do?
I would later learn that during the times that we were separated (which was essentially since that morning), people were making jokes like: “Say goodbye to your husband, he belongs to us now.” “So-and-so got divorced during their IML year.” “Hope you know he’s gonna have a lot of sex with a lot of people, boys will throw themselves at him.” “Get ready, everything is about to change.”
No wonder. Joe didn’t even like the term “sash-wife”. This was beyond. 
He smiled and soldiered through until we were alone. Now it was leaking out. He didn’t want to talk about it, but I knew he was upset. I pressed him to talk to me, and out it came.
I had no idea that while I was being celebrated, he was being harassed by good people with good intentions and bad humor. He was in so much fear and pain. 
But, as I said, that’s what I would later learn. 
At that moment, all I could see was jealousy and envy. 
I was so angry.

We rolled away from each other, on our sides, and clung to the far edges of our shitty bed at the Congress.
That was the last mistake I made the night I became International Mr. Leather 2017.

1:30 AM, May 29, 2017
All of us who had just been on stage head back upstairs to our box thru the labyrinth of the House of Blues. We walk thru a dressing room where the go-go boys are changing. One of them points to the sash and says “Hi, sexy IML daddy” That was the first, and not the last, time I was called that. I smile. He was beautiful. I was unaccustomed.
What just happened? 
We keep climbing and run into a bunch of brothers from our class. We haven’t seen any of them since the contest. We hug, we laugh, we cry. Everyone is excited, kind, generous. No ill will -- at least not from the men who came to the party. We bring them along up to our box, much to the dismay of the guards at the velvet rope. Soon the private booth is packed full of brothers and friends. Lots of hugging, selfies, and other stuff ;) 
IML 34 (Woody Woodruff) and IML 37 (Patrick Smith) show up in jocks and harnesses to congratulate me. (Shit. Why am I wearing so many clothes?). I stand between them for a picture and it sinks in. 
I’m one of them. 
I’m an IML.
IML 39 sandwiched between IML 34 and IML 37. Like it was natural. Like it happened all the time. 
What the fuck did just happen? 
I hadn’t really had a minute to stop and think. 
Jeff Tucker asks the 3 medalists how long we want to stay at the party. He’s still our den dad and has to wait and leave with us. We agree on another hour. He laughs. He’s grateful to go home earlier than usual and says something about grownups on the podium. I hear exhausted old men, which is just fine with me.

1 AM, May 29, 2017
“And now, here his is, IML 2017, Ralph Bruneau! The sexiest man in the world!” 
WTF. I never dreamed I’d be announced like that, certainly not at 64. I come out on stage at the House of Blues in Chicago to lasers, smoke, and four stories of men cheering, shouting, and throwing their arms in the air. The DJ hands me the mic (the first of many times that a mic will be unexpectedly put to my mouth in front of a large crowd). I look out at this circuit party madness and shout something/anything. The crowd goes crazy. I look up to the top box, four flights up, stage left, and see Joe sitting and smiling. I blow him a kiss. It’s insane. This whole thing is insane.

11 PM, May 28, 2017
We are given an escort/bodyguard thru the lobby of the Congress to the elevators so as not to be stopped. The hallway and entrance to the Congress are jammed. We have to quickly run to our room, change, and be back down for the private bus that will take the podium guys and guests to the House of Blues for our Victory Party. “Our Victory Party”. It still feels weird to think of it that way. 
Joe and I don’t have time to talk, sit, lie down, or process. 
I take a picture of my new sash, lanyard and medallion on the bed as I set them down to finally change out of my formals. I post it on FB. Shit. My texts, friend requests, and DM’s are blowing up. I can’t even look. No time. I leave it in the room.
“What r u gonna wear?” asks Joe. “I dunno”. 
I didn’t think this part through, and we just have a couple of minutes. 
I had planned everything, itemized everything, and bundled everything in it’s own clear plastic garment bag, that is, up until the last moment of the contest. For this party, Monday’s reception, and the Black and Blue, I just threw some jocks and other stuff in my suitcase to have options. I’d planned on asking other guys from my class what they were gonna wear, later, when the contest was over. 
But, I hadn’t seen any of my brothers. 
I hadn’t talked to any of them. 
I’d been sequestered and had no idea what it would be like over at the House of Blues at the Victory Party.
I would normally wear my Mr. GNI Leather vest and worn jeans or jock, but I had the IML lanyard, gold medallion, and the sash now. It felt like too much to add my (now former) title vest. 
“Maybe the perforated leather vest and the black jeans with the red leather tux stripes and saddle. And comfortable Wescos.” My Dehners had not been comfortable – beautiful and shiny but never comfortable. “OK, Joe says. We change and are met at the door to be escorted down. 

10:15 PM, May 28, 2017
We go to the office. All the bosses are there. We look at our prizes, sign some papers, and listen to what’s expected and what we might expect. We go in one at a time. There’s food to eat and stuff to look thru. My basket (actually I think it was a big cardboard box), is full of invitations to judge/travel, lube, swag, gift certificates, lube, a leather binder with IML embossed on it, some money for travel expenses, and much more lube. We eat, we sit, we listen. I honestly can’t remember a word that was said, except that they would send my stuff to LA cuz it was too bulky to take home on the plane---there was a lot of lube. Just sayin.

10 PM, May 28, 2017
They usher us out the stage door of the Auditorium to avoid the well-wishers and congratulations. We are huddled between staff and handlers so as not to get stopped. Everywhere, people shouting my name and wanting a hug or handshake. 
I can’t not say hello. 
I can’t not give a hug. 
It’s kind of a mob scene with shouting and clapping and pictures. Jeff says we don't have time and keeps pushing me forward and making excuses for my having to go. He plays my bad cop. So grateful. He does a similar thing the next day at the photo reception. “You can’t have a moment with each person. We don’t have the time. You hug them, and put your hand on the back of their neck, and really talk to them. I see it. It’s lovely. We just don’t have that time”. He had my number, and my back, from day one.  One mental health professional to another. One IML brother to another. People wanted to connect and I wanted to connect back.

9:30 PM, May 28, 2017
Press photos in a room under the lobby of the Auditorium, house left, by the men’s room. Joe King, Geoff Millard, me, and one guest each. The 3 of us sit down with our hands in our laps. Joe King jokes about his medal being bronze like the one he already has. It is. Geoff notices that the lanyards from Northbound are all slightly different. They are. We come up with nicknames which we still use: Bronze Bitch, Silver Slut, and Golden Daddy. We laugh, relax (not really), and wait for instructions.
The judges come in and we have a brief moment with each of them. One of the judges whispers to me so kindly. “Don’t worry. No matter what people might say, your relationship doesn’t have to suffer or end because of this”. I’m reassured and disquieted at the same time. I hadn’t thought or considered ending my marriage. At all.
Most of them say they are very pleased with the outcome, congratulate me, and wish me well. It’s really very moving, it makes the experience seem more relational and less like a contest. These people chose a man they knew. It’s comforting. This wasn’t a coin toss, fluke, or mistake. They had reasons. 
They bring me to the center of the room for photos. I ask for a photo with Tigger (David Bailey, IML 38) and Jeff Tucker. Then they bring my husband, Joe over. They take pictures of us together, kissing, happy. It’s only then, I realize that he’s wearing my clothes and not the clothes he brought to Chicago. He looks so handsome in my beautiful dark blue, paper thin, long sleeve, leather shirt with my black leather jeans. I’d never seen him in those clothes before. Even though he has blonde hair, which he’d never had before or since, he’s beautiful. “Act like you like each other” one of the photographers jokes. It’s me. I’m still caught off guard and tense.
In the photos, we both like deer in headlights, awkward, with unrecognizable smiles. None of the usual ease we have after being together for decades. 
We haven’t had a moment alone since morning. We are processing this completely apart and I’m starting to feel a disconnect. I’m not imagining how disconnected he might feel.

9:20 PM, May 28, 2017
Jeff Tucker asks who I want to let on stage to say a quick hello before they escort us to the pressroom. I point to Joe, Dan Marrs (GNI President), Dave Barnett (Mr. GNI Leather 2015) and Lou Romano (handler extraordinaire). He lets them onstage for just a couple of minutes. I hug Joe (is something wrong?) and I look over to Danny who is beaming and practically jumping up and down. Dave is so happy (is he crying?). I know they are both so proud. It’s kinda stunning. Gay Naturists International, actually no naturist club, had ever made it to the top 20, let alone, take the gold wingman. 
I look to Lou. 
Lou, who has handled 3 men for IML -- me, Patrick Smith, and Mike Gerle, all of whom won gold. He looks at me with a “see, I told you” face and we hug. I’m so happy that I didn’t ruin Lou’s track record and to have made this happen for Danny, GNI, Dave. 
And me.
I hug Joe again and we both have a “what just happened here” look. I shake my head. I know it’s a lot to take in. Neither of us expected for this to happen. 
I really wanted to go to IML. I’d never been, and it was on my bucket list to go, but, as the years go by, the bucket list gets longer and time gets shorter. Seemed a great way to go – a (mostly) expenses paid -- contestant. I had sat out a couple of Mr. GNI Leather contests cuz I didn’t want it to eat up my free time at camp. Dave recruited me. Then Dan. Joe gave his OK. I competed and won. I was in. I was going to my first IML as Mr. GNI Leather 2016.
I wanted to do well. I wanted it for GNI, for Dan, for Dave, and for my BDSM club, Avatar Club Los Angeles. I never expected this. Well, maybe a bit, but almost never out loud.
Honestly, I also wanted to do well for myself. To do it and do it right. No regrets.
I’m not very ambitious or competitive, particularly when the odds are so stacked against me. I hedge my bets. I needed to walk away proud. I didn’t need to win. 
Truly. 
I never led Joe to expect this. In all the talks we had over the year prior, we never really thought about what it might mean for us if I won. 

9:17 PM, May 28, 2017
I’m standing on the podium in the middle, Ryan Garner-Carpenter (who would become my partner and friend, but who I don’t think I’d even met at the time) at my side. We’re flanked by Geoff and Joe. They take pictures of all four. Geoff and Joe leave, and they take pictures of me with Ryan. Then, Bill Stadt comes over, ushers him off, carefully places me at the center of the podium, smiles, and walks away. 
I’m now standing by myself, on the podium, with a proscenium-filling leather flag behind me. Just me. Center stage at the Auditorium Theater. 
Alone. 
The whole time we had been in Chicago, there had always been 63. 
Then there were 20. 
Then there were 4. 
Then there were 2. 
Now 1.
Photographers shout for my attention, friends are cheering, music blaring, lights flashing. 
The most vivid memory though, probably from a pic or video, is of me shaking my head. A bit astonished at this moment. 

9:10 pm, May 28, 2017
The top twenty is on stage.
Lenny Broberg is ready to announce the top three. 
Second runner up, Contestant Number 7, Mr. Leather Europe, Joe King! 
I love Joe. He’s like a Tom of Finland drawing come to life with an English accent. He was one of the men with whom I had bonded most in the run up to IML. He’s a sexy, funny, smart, and truly caring guy. We had joked the nite before, downstairs in the theater dressing rooms, before Pecs & Personality, that it was crazy to be answering a pop question in our jocks, and that we should both just get the hell out of there. “I will if you will”, we teased. Jeff Wilcox, Mr. LA Leather, and a friend from home, was sitting with us and said he approved cuz it would quickly improve his chances of winning. We decide to stay.
Joe takes his place on one side but charmingly points as if to move to the center spot when being medaled by Jeff and they share a laugh. 
I had pegged Joe, as had many others, as a likely contender for IML. I’m happy for him but a bit bummed cuz it meant no third place for me. If I was gonna podium, it would likely be third.
Ah, well, happy for Mr. King. 
First runner up, Number 22, Mr. San Francisco Leather, Geoff Millard! 
Cool. Not surprised and really pleased. We had bonded at IMsL and LAL. We had been supportive of each other and he never treated me like someone with a lesser title as some others had. He had won his title just months prior and so I had less time in our group chats to get to know him. I hadn’t seen that much of him at IML either. There were just so many of us and we were split in to groups, dressing rooms, etc. I knew he was a good guy, impressive credentials, hard working, and San Francisco is always a powerhouse at IML. Geoff was walking with a cane. He has physical issues that stem, mostly, from his years in the service and the weekend had been a bit grueling, even for the young guys. The SF fans are going crazy. He looks like a million bucks in his brown leathers. He’s beaming.
Well, shit. 
Who does that leave for IML? 
Those two were each favorites to win. Who else was? I couldn’t really think clearly.
I have no idea what’s happened on stage. We’re isolated. We don’t really see others or hear speeches and so have no clue about how people have done on the nite. And the nite is everything. The prior scoring is dropped and it’s about that nite for the top 20. 
I feel I’ve done well. Some of the guys were applauding in the wings after my speech. That had to be a good sign, right? I didn’t even know they had cut the mic for the last 2 words of my speech. I’d gone over. I couldn’t tell. About anything. I only found out when I watched the video. 
It didn’t matter. I felt proud. That’s what I wanted. 
Lenny starts talking again. He’s speaking about Chuck not being there to announce the winner for the first time in the 39 years of IML history. Something about “big shoes to fill”, in announcing the winner. My attention goes to Lenny and what it must be like to be doing this without Chuck. As wonderful as the whole experience had been, there was an undercurrent of sadness. Chuck’s absence was palpable. It was affecting everyone —particularly the staff. I was focused on Lenny and what this moment must be like for him and wasn’t really listening for the winner’s name. I was lost in a reverie about the whole history and legacy of IML and how it was shifting in that moment. That very moment. Chuck had always announced the winner. 
Always. Except now. And. It seemed likely that he would not announce another IML. 
It was a mix of so many emotions.
I drift back to hear “Number 49, Mr. GNI Leather, Ralph Bruneau”. 
I freeze. 
I am slapped back into the moment but with a few seconds delay. 
Chomper, on stage beside me, looks to me and says “It’s you” and I propel myself forward. 
It’s me. I won. My jaw drops as I walk downstage.
I hug Joe.
Then Geoff.
I take center place on the podium and raise my fists, covered in beautiful ox-blood gloves, triumphantly, above my head. 

I won!
I did it! 
That was the first mistake I made the nite I became International Mr. Leather 2017.

10:45 AM, July 1, 2019
I’ve had 25 months (1 for every year Joe and I've been together) to think about the events of that night. How, the minute I thrust my fists in the air and thought, “I did it”. I let go of my husband’s hand. From that moment until the moment in bed at 3 AM, when I turned away from his fear and pain, I had won something but lost something much more important to me. My connection with Joe.
I knew better.
I had learned through massage, blindfold play, and working with men on a Saint Andrew’s cross -- always maintain contact – always keep one hand on your partner so they don’t feel abandoned and adrenalized. 
I had lost touch with Joe from the time I left for the theater that morning and I never thought to really re-connect. I was too stuck inside the exultation of my experience that I couldn't find empathy or understanding and take care of him – of us.
I know this. 
I know this whole thing is about connection. 
Connecting with ourselves and each other in our truest, most expressive, liberated, way, despite living in a homophobic, sex-negative culture that has always sought to sever ties with any form of desire, let alone the kind of desire that we celebrate.
I had forgot: This wasn’t my year, this would be our year. 
I had forgot: This was just about me, it was about us. 
Not me. 
Never only about me. 

Two years and many mistakes and repairs after I was named International Mr. Leather 2017, I remember. 
We survived.

We won! 
We did it!
*Raises his husband’s hand into the air in joy, relief, and triumph.

IML 2017, #39

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