8 o’clock on a Saturday night and the age old question: what’s a gurl to wear?

Whilst Dr. Sparky immediately threw together an ensemble (and pressed it!) in a matter of minutes, I was torn. Jeans, black tee, and ebony Sketchers aside, there were bigger questions: collar or no collar? Cuffs or no cuffs? These are important fashion matters at IML, people — what you wear says a lot and may determine whether or not you wake up the next morning chained to a radiator with jumper cables attached to your nipples. Eventually I decided to go sans leather and we were off to meet the third member of our party.

Upon arriving, the first stop of the evening was the event sponsored by The Pup Zone. For those of youwho have not heard of this phenomenon, “puppies” are adults who get some sort of sexual satisfaction from taking on the role of a dog. They wear collars and led around on leashes by their owners. The advanced “pups” don leather mitts which effectively turn their hands into paws and rubber or leather dog hoods which make them resemble their canine counterparts. To complete their transformation, many insert a butt plug with a dog tail to wag.

The “event” is really nothing more than a room full of Masters and their pups putting on a show for onlookers. They bark, they yip, they sit up and beg, they roll over and let you scratch their tummies, they play with dog toys. And yes, they sniff your crotch. It’s really one of those things where once you’ve seen about 5 minutes of it, you seen about all there is to see. I am a firm believer in the whole “whatever trips your trigger as long as it is between two consenting adults, it’s legal, and no one gets hurt” thing, but I have to say that the whole puppy trip has an undercurrent of creepiness that leaves me feeling a little dirty. I can’t really say why (maybe because I am reminded of the freaky guy in the dog mask in THE SHINING — the book, not the Stanley Kubrick travesty), but for my money the whole thing has a very limited appeal.

Please note that the following photos are very dark because the lights were low in the room for some reason. The first shot is of the puppies playing in the center of the room. The second is of a pup wearing a “BOOT SLUT” tee on his back waiting for me to scratch his tummy. For all I know he is still waiting.

In my attempts to get a better photo of the festivities for my faithful readers, I slowly began making my way counterclockwise around the room. As I reached the midway point, I found myself beside a large pillar with a fellow slightly taller than me blocking my view. Undaunted, I stepped around the pole and found myself standing behind Michael.

Give me a fucking break!

Seriously, in a city the size of Chicago, at a venue with literally thousands of people in attendance, what were the odds I would find myself within spitting distance of my ex? (In all honesty, I have to admit, I’d had a feeling I’d run into him at some point during the weekend, but I thought maybe that was just extreme paranoia.)

Faced with the choice between getting you guys more pics or bolting like a little bitch, I said “screw the readers” and dashed out of the room like the sissy boy I am. As chance would have it, my friends had already had their fill of the show as well and so it was onto other things. They went down the hall to the Onyx Dance while I went downstairs to the main ballroom to mix and mingle and drink.

A few beers later, I was sufficiently over my near run-in with Michael and began wandering about. I witnessed some hot men making out on the stairs, a trailer trash sub and his dominatrix wife putting on a flogging display for a crowd of onlookers, and 2 really cute guys dressed like BMX bikers with their hands down each others’ pants. And then there was the guy running around in a diaper all night. (Again, no complaints about the pic — the lights were down low to help facilitate hook-ups I think. Men like me need all the fucking help we can get.)

Deciding that the ex had probably moved on, I made my way back to the Dance to see how things were going. Let me state for the record that I do not dance. I am the whitest white boy in the history of ever and I possess nary a move. Unable to spot the rest of my party, I wandered down the hall to the bathroom. Upon exiting, I passed by the pup room and stepped back in to see how the show would end (the presentation was over at midnight).

While I was watching the final minutes of pomp and pageantry that would not be leaving the AKC without sleep, I heard a baritone “hello.”

Turning, I saw a distinguished gentleman in his mid 40s beside me dressed as some sort of commandant (I’m guessing German or British).

“What’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?”

Oy. What’s a sexy man like you doing uttering corny shit like that?

He introduced himself as David and asked if I had ever engaged in puppy play (no), if I had any interest (no, again), and if I knew anything about the pup movement (no, and don’t really care to.) David explained that it was one of the fastest growing aspects of the leather community and that it had really exploded in the last couple of years. Fascinating.

With things beginning to wrap up, I think David made what might constitute a “move.”

“Buy you a beer?” he asked.

Never one to turn down a free beer, I said sure.

“First, you’ll need to eat a treat from my hand,” he replied, taking a graham cracker Scooby Doo brand “Scooby Snack” from a bowl on the table behind us.

I looked at him.

“Kneel, boy,” he said, holding the treat in his black leather gloved hand.

Short on pride and long on thirst, I knelt and accepted the stale treat.

“Good boy!” David smiled. It really was a shame he was such a freak, because the man was conjuring up some serious comparisons to Ben Stein and that had me hard. (What?!?!?! I’m not ashamed to say I’ve always secretly thought he was hot — I imagine a salt and pepper furred chest and the heart of a wild man beats beneath that 3-piece suit of his. And that voice! Yummy.)

True to his word, he bought me a beer. Well, 3 beers to be exact. Or I think it was 3 — I sort of lost track after a while. And after he went out for a smoke, I lost track of him, too. And so I wandered amidst the hairy harnessed hunks until 2-ish and then we caught a cab back back to the apartment.

3 hours later I was heading for the train station.

It seemed like a pretty decent weekend until I arrived home and found the body.

To Be Concluded…