Christmas Eve

This has happened before. 

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In fact, this night often seems to bring out the mystical dimensions of our minds. Most never share their experiences, but those around the subjects of this night's events notice a change in their friends or relatives. There is a lesson these souls go through as they are given a chance to shift their lives, catch up or make amends for something they have done in the past. They begin their nighttime journey, skeptics of what they are witnessing, convinced that they are in a dream. As day breaks, these individuals have gone through a life-changing event that makes them firm believers in their new destiny, vowing to change and build the best life they can.

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This night was one of those nights, as it was Christmas Eve once again. Being that it is London, it is cold, dark, damp, and actually snowing, providing a bit of festive atmosphere for the holiday season. As it is December, darkness falls in London in the afternoon. It makes the cloudy day even more dreary as people go about their business, preparing for their holiday, gathering gifts and food as they wind down their evening.

Layers of clouds lay over the huge metropolitan city of millions. The clouds are thick in three layers, the stars going unseen high above, the lowest clouds lying like angel hair on a Christmas mantel display. The city lights glow beneath the soft puffs that lie like a blanket over the capital.

North of the great Big Ben that pokes through the blanket of winter, is a small deserted street in Soho where the falling snow floats lazily under the streetlamps that line the cobblestone. The sound of heavy boots is heard as they make their way down Great Chapel Street. As he steps into the glow of the streetlamp, Ebenezer Scrooge's clothing takes on a shine. Part of it is because of the snow melting as it settles on his shoulders, but it also shines as he is in full leather: leather that a gay leatherman wears, a leatherman who is confident and in control of his world.

With his hands tucked into the pockets of his classic motorcycle-style leather jacket, the brass zippers reflect the light as he passes under their glow. The always immaculate Wesco boots he wears have become coated in the grime that snow brings, the salt from the road crew, and the general dirt that lives on the street. These boots were custom-made for this leatherman, known as Master Eb in the community. The master purposely wore these boots tonight because the waffle soles provide extra grip on the small patches of ice forming as the temperature falls below zero (Celsius). 

Yes, Eb was a leatherman; he was proud of what he had built of his life as he would spend another Christmas Eve in his local pub before returning home, then sleep until the bells of Christmas rang in the morning. It was fucking cold on this night, but he knew he would find warmth in the pub he was headed to. 

It was indeed a spirited night, as the lowering cloud cover turned to fog, making it dark. As he made his way down the cobblestones, the fog seemed to envelop the leatherman, and the familiar tones of the Great Bell in the Elizabeth Tower echoed in the distance. This provides Master Eb some comfort, for no matter the time or weather, that sound reminds him that he is home, no place else he would want to be. 

With the fog lightly floating down the small street, it starts to surround the leatherman, and he makes his way with a purpose to his favorite pub. Eb doesn’t really notice the growing fog around him as his moist breath creates a temporary little cloud of its own before his face. Eb has a handsome face, with a tight, dark goatee flecked with gray, and his blue eyes dart around, checking out the buildings he walks past every weekend night as he makes his way to the pub. Under his leather Muir cap, his salt and pepper hair is cropped closely, with his neatly trimmed eyebrows sitting at the edge of his leather cap. The heavy leather he wears hides his well-toned body, as he regularly works out in his home gym.

The fog increases around the man without his notice, his boots clomping on the damp pavement. As he moves forward, his shadow falls upon the flats that line the street, gliding towards and away from him. As the Master passes one of the doorways, his shadow casts his silhouette, but behind it, there is the shadow of an arm reaching for him, a chain hanging from the steel shackle locked to the wrist of this shadow. Moving forward, Eb’s shadow shrinks, and in the next plane of light, it is only the leatherman’s dark shadow on the flat window. 

Not paying attention to the shadow that he casts, Eb makes a turn on Noel Street as he is now heading west towards Hanover Square. The small shops along the street have multi-colored Christmas lights in their windows, and some of the upper-level windows have trappings of the festive season. Eb doesn’t take in this festive atmosphere, focused on cutting through the bitter cold of London and placing his leather-covered ass on his stool in his pub. 

Once again, his shadow is cast on the walls of the small kabob shop that is closed for the night. There is another shadow of a head this time, with a steel collar and chain hanging from the collar. The head casts a shadow in the shape of a dog's head as it seems to follow the leatherman, with Eb maintaining his forward motion. Knowing this route well, Eb looks up at the right moment to see the small wooden sign for his destination pub, The Regents Boot. 

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Reaching his destination, Eb scoffs at the single strand from Christmas lights that hang over the weathered sign, positioned right above the riveted metal door that allows entry into the pub. A small clump of snow drops from the top of the sign as a gust of wind makes the sign sway slightly. The snow plops on the right shoulder of Eb’s leather jacket, splashing him as the snow is slushy. Without turning his head, Eb’s blue eyes look over at the slush on his fine leather, a scowl growing on his face. Pulling his left gloved hand out of his pocket, Eb slides the slush off his shoulder, then quickly grabs the door handle, pushing in and entering the pub.

The stairway leads deep inside and below the street level as the door closes behind him. Red lights illuminate the stairs as Eb makes his way down. There is the sound of music, men singing holiday tunes in a lively, festive style, getting louder as the leatherman arrives at another door, wooden this time, with the pub behind it. Hearing the festive tune, Eb groans, not appreciating the holiday spirit. Closing his eyes to provide himself the strength to enter the pub, Eb has done this many times, focusing on the pleasure of the fine beverage he will drink to warm his soul this cold night. Eb takes hold of the door handle with his gloved hand, turning it and entering the pub.

Coming through the door, Eb takes in the familiar sight of his home pub. The men and a few women are in a festive mood this Christmas Eve, singing in harmony while hoisting their drinks as the tune ends. Many patrons are dressed in their finest fetish of leather, rubber, uniforms, and sports gear.

Upon entering, Master Eb notices a fine young man wearing a heavy leather harness over his well-defined chest; his pierced nipples reflect the light from the ceiling. Smiling at Master Eb, the young man with a shaved head and septum ring asks for the five-pound cover charge.

A bit annoyed, Eb is prepared, as he pulls out a fiver from his leather jacket, quickly handing it to the doorman. As his hand pulls back, Master Eb swipes across the chest of the dark-skinned man, which elicits a jerk and a meeting of their eyes. Seeing no hesitation from the man, the leatherman moves his gloved hand back to the man’s tit, slightly squeezing it. Wincing with the light pain, Eb asks, “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Gritting his teeth, the man in the harness responds, “No, Sir, I’ve been coming here for a long time. I know you are an established leather Master, though.”

A bit embarrassed for not noticing this man during his other visits, Eb brushes it off as he is a busy man and can’t be bothered to remember every little leather shit he encounters. Master Eb squeezes the tit in his grip very tightly to prove his power as the man hisses through his teeth, his eyes closing. Just as Eb is getting into causing the pain in this young man, the door opens, and two men in rubber suits enter the pub. 

Quickly releasing the boy’s tit from his grip, Eb steps back and then starts to make his way to the bar. 

“Perhaps I can visit with you later, Sir?” asks the boy. Eb just waves his hand as he proceeds away, not even looking back at the man he was toying with.

As Master Eb makes his way into the pub, the crowd quiets as they recognize the established leather master who comes to the pub several times a week and holds court from his favorite stool. As he proceeds to the bar, the people part, no one making eye contact with him; most want to avoid connection with this man.

Arriving at the bar, Eb places his hands on the brass rail while waiting for the barman. Ordering his usual bitter, the leatherman leaves a five-pence coin without acknowledging the barkeep, who smiles as Eb turns away. This barkeep is used to serving the leatherman, who is notoriously cheap. Taking the coin, the barman puts it in the register and moves on to the next customer.

Eb scans the pub to see what might pique his interest this Christmas Eve. He scoffs at the festive lights and trimmings that the owners have decorated the pub with. Seeing nothing of interest, he moves to his favorite spot where he spends the long hours into the early morning. This coming morning will be Christmas, but it is just another morning for Eb.

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Once the leatherman arrives at his well-worn barstool that sits in a small alcove next to a ledge that runs along a wall opposite the bar, Eb plants his leather-covered ass, taking a sip of his bitter, with his right foot settling on the stool rung. As Eb removes his Muir cap, placing it on the ledge next to him, he scans the pub as the singing has been replaced by music from the electronic jukebox, currently playing Elton John’s Step into Christmas.

Most of the guys in the bar pay no attention to the fixture they have seen every weekend night for the past few years. Occasionally, one of the new guys checks out Master Eb as he wears his leathers well. His tall Wesco Boss boots are custom-made for Eb, with tall shafts that his leather trousers are tucked into just below his knees. These boots are of the engineer style, with the buckle strap across the instep.

Eb's leather pants were custom-made for him in the United States by the old school leather makers Langlitz out of the Rose City of Portland. This pair of Rangers is made of soft yet sturdy all-black cowhide leather. A throwback to the motorcycle riding pants of the 1940’s, they are of peg fitting on his legs that slide into his boots with a blousing at his calves. Often, they are referred to as breeches. Eb enjoys the authoritative look that these leathers provide him. Eb is proud of his locally made Lewis Leather Lightning jacket, which keeps him warm on this cold night. The brass zippers got their work out on this night, as the leatherman pulled them all the way to his neck to keep the freezing air out. His hands are protected by a pair of lined Lewis Leather Eight-Ten leather gloves, which he wears even in the warm inn.

As Eb takes another drink of this beverage, a longtime acquaintance comes to this leatherman, slapping Eb on the shoulder, causing Eb to spill a bit of his bitter. 

“Merry Christmas, Ebenezer!” Fred states robustly with a hearty spirit. 

Eb is not comfortable with Fred touching him and is annoyed by the spilling of his drink, with a little of it splashing onto his leather. Eb returns his bitter to the ledge, slightly turning his head to this burly man, looking at him coldly. Fred doesn’t care; he is used to Ebenezer's snarly nature.  

Dressed in snug blue jeans that ride over his heavy black logger boots with red stitching on the soles, Fred is in the holiday spirit with a red-and-black flannel shirt, his leather jacket open to show his barrel chest, a black bush at the top, below his neck. Fred is a few years younger than Eb, with a jet-black beard that is bushy, covering nearly all his face, his glowing smile parting the whiskers. He keeps his hair in a close crop, making his face hairy and his head nearly bald. 

Fred once again provides a seasonal greeting to Eb, his face showing his pleasure for this season. Master can’t be bothered, so he takes his gloved hand and unzips his leather jacket. Pulling his jacket open to reveal a basic black t-shirt with a statement in gold lettering that states what Ebenezer thinks of Christmas. The shirt reads:

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Bah Humbug!

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Seeing this shirt actually makes Fred chuckle, “Oh, come on, Eb, it’s the holidays, time to be festive.  Even you must have a joyous Christmas memory!

Eb snorts with annoyance at how happy Fred is.  Fred is much too open and happy for Eb’s taste.  Eb takes a drink from his bitter after taking it from the shelf. Seeing that his drink glass is not even half full, Fred offers, “Can I get you another beer?”

Eb waves that it isn’t needed. “I haven’t even finished this yet!”

Once again being turned down by Eb, Fred takes a drink from his bottle of beer, turning to look at the others in the pub. Seeing someone he knows, Fred waves heartily and says “hello” and “love you” to the person in the distance. As the moment of silence remains awkward, Fred leans on the ledge, setting his bottle on it. Then something comes to mind that he has meant to discuss with Eb.

“Oh, before it gets late, I have a question for you, Eb.”

Eb leans back on his stool, crossing his arms as he can’t wait to hear what Fred wants to ask him.

Fred can see that he is working with a stone wall, but he continues anyway, “Would you be interested in a donation this Christmas to the Rainbow Family Center?”

“I can’t think why I would, but what the fuck is that?” Eb responds coldly.

“I’ve talked about it before.”

Eb interrupts, “Apparently, when you talked about it, I wasn’t listening.”

Fred closes his eyes, keeping his cool, because he truly wants to help this group. “The Center helps kids and families who are dealing with HIV.  Mostly, it is Gay and Lesbian families.”

Eb pauses as Fred completes his sentence. Being silent for a moment gives Fred some hope, but it is dashed when Eb responds, “No, I think not.”

This doesn’t stop Fred, “Oh, come on, Eb, it’s Christmas! These families deserve some joy in their lives at least one day this year.”

Eb doesn’t look at his friend, his arms still crossed, he spots a hot little fucker in leather chaps and a studded cod piece, wearing black army boots. With his attention on the guy in chaps, Eb speaks to Fred, “They should work harder if they are in need. I worked hard for what I have and don’t feel that I need to give handouts.”

Not wanting to sound desperate, Fred gives it another try, “Of course, you have. I’m not asking for a handout. Just a little holiday cheer, and for you to be in the giving spirit this season!

Eb turns his gaze to Fred, looks down at the statement in gold letters on his black shirt, and returns to Fred with a smile. His eyebrows arched.
Fred frowns, “I get it, can’t blame me for trying.”

Eb raises his bitter in salute to Fred’s effort of trying to pry some money out of him. Fred takes a sip of his beer as the two are silent again. 

As the two struggle to continue their discussion, a tall, lanky, shaved-headed guy approaches Master Eb. As Eb takes a sip of his bitter, he spots what has to be a young man in a black-and-red neoprene puppy hood, wearing snug-fitting Adidas football trackies with a matching jacket and a pair of bright white Stan Smiths with red laces. Eb looks over this man standing before him, wondering what the hell has stepped into his little part of the pub. Fred leans on the ledge as he watches the tear down of this young man in front of the leatherman.

The leather master crosses his arms at this puppy standing before him, giving him a good glare. After seeing the man in leather's reaction, the puppy boy pivots, leaving the two men to themselves. Fred smiles, appreciating the young man's style, exposing his submission to the community as a dog. But as Fred watches the dog boy make his way to another side of the pub, Fred's memory comes awake with thoughts about something involving his friend.

Turning to Eb with a concerned look, Fred is apologetic, “Oh shit, Eb, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” asks Eb, clueless about what Fred could be apologizing for, other than having the balls to ask him for money.

“I totally forgot that Jacob passed away two years ago, Christmas Eve.” Fred looks at his friend, wanting to touch him for comfort, but knows that Eb wouldn’t appreciate that gesture.

Eb looks at Fred with a powerful stare, one that shows the leatherman’s disgust with Fred for bringing up such a thing. Coldly, Eb responds, “Yes, he did.”

Eb shows no emotion about the death of his boy, moving his gaze out to the patrons of the pub. Yes, Eb did care about Jacob as they were together for a long time, but that is the past for Eb. There is no reason to harp on the loss, as there are other slaves to find out there. 

After another long moment of silence, Fred speaks,  “I’m surprised you are here this evening.  But I suppose you really didn’t want to be alone.”

Eb places the bitter back on the shelf, a bit annoyed that Fred needs to discuss the death of Jacob. “I’ve been alone for a long time now. It is nothing new.”

Fred looks at Eb with a touch of pity for this man, “You shouldn’t be alone, Eb.”

Eb looks at Fred, now getting perturbed about Fred’s need to discuss his past slave, as if it is any of his business. Eb snaps, “I’m not alone, am I?”

Fred sees that Eb is staring daggers at him, understanding Eb’s point and nods, stepping back a bit.  Fred takes a drink of his beer and looks around the bar.  Then a new thought comes to him. “Perhaps this Christmas you will have a Christmas miracle and find the boy that is meant to serve you.”

Eb chuckles at Fred’s quick pivot to another subject that is none of his business, as well as being very naive. But he’ll entertain Fred’s thought. “There might be a boy out there who can provide me with what I need. One that will be rewarded by serving me.”

Fred nods, “Oh yes, I agree!”

As Eb looks back at him, Fred realizes that he is being toyed with.  Fred pauses for a moment, then grows more serious. “Heaven knows Jacob was a boy like that.”

Fuck, this asshole just doesn’t stop, Eb thinks in his head. But the leather master does think back to his time with Jacob. “In the beginning, he was, but over time, he focused too much on what he wanted from me instead of what I required.”

Glad to have Eb actually sharing a thought, Fred comments, “But you two were together for a long time.”

Eb nods, “Perhaps too long. He didn’t understand what a perfect boy was and began to want to be more like a puppy. While cute, I require a man to submit to me, not someone wanting to be an animal.”

“It wasn’t perfect, but can it ever be?” asked Fred.

Eb looks at Fred, “Of course, I require perfection. Why should I have anything less in a slave? It takes confidence in oneself to take ownership of a slave. A potential slave should be confident in himself to submit to a man like me.”

Fred doesn’t agree with Eb’s notion of what a slave should be: “I honestly can’t see that ever happening. Though you did come close with Tim.”

Eb pauses and remembers his relationship with Tim. That was one slave that took the leather master’s heart, but Eb has never shared or discussed that relationship, having put it deep inside his soul. Eb continues the discussion about Jacob instead, “Jacob was a good boy at times, but it wouldn’t have lasted. That’s why it ran its course.”

Fred realizes that he shouldn’t have brought all this up. Eb is very opinionated about his ideas of a power-exchange relationship, which are vastly different from most. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up his memory tonight.”

“And yet you did,” Eb curtly states as he stares down the man standing beside him with a judgment of having made a mistake. Fred looks down at the floor, taking a step back and turning his attention to the pub's interior.

Just then, a young man named Bob Cratchit approaches the two men.  He is wearing a pair of worn Levi’s 501 jeans and simple black leather cowboy boots, nicely polished. The black t-shirt featuring the Lonsdale boxing gear logo on his chest is tucked into his jeans, paired with a black leather western-style belt and an oval silver buckle that stands out against the black. 

A guy nearing 30 with a husky body, his face has a dark brown goatee that pairs well with his brown eyes and cropped hair. Many would consider him to be a bear in the community. Bob is nervous as he approaches.  He stands before Eb, slightly startled to see this husky boy standing before him.

First looking at his boots, Bob raises his head, opening his mouth to speak, but then closes his lips as he releases a sigh through his nose. He gains the courage to speak, “Sir, I noticed that no one has cleaned the snow from your boots.  May I have the honor of putting a shine back on them?”

Eb doesn’t verbally respond, as he looks into the deep brown eyes of this boy who seems new to his role in the leather world. The leather master takes a sip from his nearly empty glass of bitter, then spits the bitter on his boots, lowering them to the floor. 

Not sure of how to respond, Bob looks at the wet boots, then up to Eb’s gray eyes, which provide no clue to Bob as to how he should proceed. Bob closes his eyes, then slowly lowers himself to his knees, leaning forward with his hands on the sticky, damp wooden floor. Opening his lips, Bob places his tongue gently on the tip of Eb’s right boot, taking in the taste of the bitter and slush of the cobblestone street.

 
The bootlicker knows his craft as he slowly worships the leather master’s boots with his tongue.  He lets his tongue glide from the sole seam, across the foot's instep to the brass buckle holding the strap. As Bob worships the leather of the boot he tastes, he reaches to cradle Eb’s boot in his hand as he keeps his other hand behind his back.  

Fred looks down and smiles, enjoying the sight of this boy doing a great job on Eb’s boots. Back and forth, the boy slides his tongue across the top of the boot, creating a shine as his saliva moisturizes the leather. After having covered the boot's instep, Bob gently makes his way over the strap and begins moving up the tall leather shaft to where Eb’s leather trousers are tucked into. 

As Fred watches, he can see how serious this boy is with his worship of these boots on the leather master. Taking a sip from his beer, Fred looks to Eb, but notices there is no emotion on the face of the man having his boots licked. Eb doesn’t notice Fred checking him out, as he is focused on a bare-chested black man across the bar, erotically dancing to the music coming from the Beats headphone wrapped around his head.

Fred truly can’t understand why Eb is such an asshole at times. Here, this guy shows reverence for the tall boots Eb wears, but receives no encouragement or interest. Fred looks down at the boy again, making his way up the shaft of the second boot. 

Finally, Eb notices that Fred is staring at him. As their eyes meet, Fred lowers his gaze to where Bob is tasting the boots Eb wears. Eb moves his eyes down to see just the top of Bob’s crew-cut head, sliding up and down on the shaft of his boot. 

With a slight scowl, Eb lifts his bitter, taking the last sip, then turns his attention back to the dancing man in the leather harness. Not happy with the treatment that Eb is giving Bob, Fred reaches down with his hand to affectionately stroke the boy’s head, proving the comfort and acknowledgment of a job well done.

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 Eb is emotionless and looks down at what is being done to his boots.  Fred encourages Bob to continue the excellent job by reaching down and stroking the bootlickers head with his hand.  

Feeling the gentle, warm touch of a man on his head, Bob looks up with a smile to Master Eb, only to be disappointed to see that Eb isn’t even looking at the young man who is worshipping the boots. With his smile fading, Bob turns to see that Fred was the one who touched him, and the boy nods with respect for the encouragement. The boy decides that he must work harder to please this leather master, so he lowers his head back to the boot still in his hand. 

Eb drinks down the last drops of his bitter, placing the glass on the ledge, which Bob hears. Hearing that glass hit, Bob immediately stops his licking of the boots, standing before Eb, with Bob placing his hands behind his back. “May I get you another beer, Sir?”

Bob’s quick action to retrieve another drink for Eb impresses Fred, who looks at Eb with encouragement. Eb sees Fred looking at him with a smile, but Eb is not easily impressed. Abruptly, Eb notes, “I am not drinking a beer, boy, it is bitter.”

Fred rolls his head slightly, feeling frustrated that Eb makes things difficult. Bob lowers his head, disappointed in his mistake, then corrects himself, speaking to the floor, “May I get you another bitter, Sir?”

Hesitantly, Bob raises his head to see if Eb responds. Surprisingly, Eb responds by waving his gloved hand for the boy to get him another bitter. Turning quickly, Bob makes his way to the bar.

As the boy moves away, Fred feels the need to comment on what is happening in the pub, how hard the boy is working for some approval. “Wow, Eb, you are really cold these days.”

Crossing his arms and looking toward where Bob is getting the bitter, Eb scowls, “I don’t need these little shits to clean my boots, but I’ll give them the thrill to make their dicks hard. I choose whom I take under my wing.  It certainly is not this mediocre bootlicker.”

Fred is taken aback by Eb’s assessment of the young man's boot worship. “That boy is working his ass off to impress you, Eb! Hell, I can feel his tongue, and he isn’t even licking my boots.”

Eb looks at Fred for a moment, then dismisses anything Fred says, “Feel free to have him take on your boots then, but he doesn’t impress me. He doesn’t take good care of himself; how would he be able to take care of my leathers and me, as his Master? He isn’t even dressed properly for a bootlicker. His hands shouldn’t be touching my boots. Where are his gloves?”

As Eb completes his assessment of the boy, Bob returns with a new bitter, handing it to Eb with reverence and respect. Eb reaches with his gloved hand quickly, nearly ripping it out of the boy’s hand, then puts the glass on the ledge without taking a sip. 

Bob starts to kneel to return to worshiping the leather master’s boots, but Eb lifts his right boot, placing it on Bob’s chest to stop him.
“You’re done.: Eb states curtly and coldly. 

Bob is surprised, rising to his feet, looking into the cold, lifeless eyes of the man who wears his leather so well. As Bob is about to question why he can’t continue, Fred steps to the boy, putting his arm around him firmly. Bob looks at Fred, then back at Eb, as Fred gently leads Bob away from the leather master and to another location in the pub. As he leads Bob away, Fred speaks calmly to the man he has his arms around, “Let’s you and I talk about a few things, boy.”

As Eb is left alone, just how he likes it, he takes a sip from the bitter that the boy paid for, looking around for that hot fucker in the harness that was dancing.

As the evening progresses, the pub patrons grow in their celebratory mood, mostly because they have taken a lot of alcohol, and well fuck, it’s Christmas Eve! As the time has made its march towards Midnight, Eb has enjoyed his bitter alone. Checking his expensive TAG Heuer Carrera Porsche Chronograph watch, Eb sees that the time is nearing eleven in the evening. The patrons mostly ignore the leatherman who sits on the same stool every week. Occasionally, one or two will discuss with another as they point towards Eb, but no one ever makes contact with the established leather master.

As Eb continues to scan the pub, he spots Fred returning to bother him some more. There is a unique relationship between these two men. They are not friends, but Fred always tries to be cordial to the gruff, opinionated man. 

Eb speaks to Fred as he approaches, “Back so soon? That boy wasn’t even enough for your boots?”

Fred smiles as he stops in the same position that he stood at before. “We didn’t get that far…yet.” Fred winks, but the coyness doesn’t even draw a response from the somber Eb.  Fred continues, “The boy was bummed that he tried so hard and you just shot him down.”

That doesn’t mean shit to Eb; he stays firm, “He’s had too much privilege in his life. If he can’t take being told he sucks at licking a Master’s boots, then how in the hell would he be able to serve me full-time?”

Eb finishes his rant, reaching for his bitter and taking a good swig. As he drinks, another thought comes to his head, placing the glass back on the ledge, Eb continues, “These young guys think everything should just be handed to them; they don’t understand the traditions we leathermen have and how hard we worked for them.”

Fred realizes he seems to have struck a chord with Eb, as he hasn’t heard him speak so much in a long while. Fred feels the need to counter Eb, “You can teach them if you would only take some time, Eb. But you want them to know everything right away.  They can’t learn it all from the internet, you know.”

As soon as Fred said the word internet, he knew he had stepped on a landmine, closing his eyes, awaiting the rant that was about to come from the leatherman on the stool.

“Fuck, that shit! The fucking internet is what has ruined them. They think they put on a pair of chaps and boots, and they are a leatherman. They want to wear shit like rubber or sports uniforms, and they think they are into kink.” 

Fred shakes his head in disagreement. He knows he shouldn’t continue this discussion with a slight sigh, but he can’t help not giving his opinion. “They have found new interests to explore, and that is exciting. Not everyone is going to wear their leathers perfectly like you, Eb. The more guys that get into this lifestyle, the longer it will be alive and allow us to all have more experiences.”

Eb turns, looking directly at Fred, “You think his tongue deserved to taste my boots?”

Fred knows that Eb likes to challenge a guy when Eb is adamant that he is in the right. Fred has never backed down or allowed Eb to steamroll him; that is why Fred believes Eb tolerates him. “That boy deserved the chance you gave him. But you weren’t into it for whatever reason. You were never going to take him under your command.  You expect too much.”

Eb looks at Fred, then turns away, a slight crack that Eb knows that Fred might be a little tiny bit correct in what he states. Fred makes a statement about how he would have reacted. “If I had a boy like that interested in my boots, then I would feel honored and see what he could do.”

Eb snaps, “That is the difference between us, you settle with low expectations.”

Fred looks at Eb, smiling at the typical course of a talk with Eb, he goes for the low road. But Fred understands Eb's arrogance. Fred looks over at a far corner, and Eb also looks in the same direction, seeing Bob sitting at a table alone, with a beer, watching the various pub patrons in their Christmas Eve festivities.

As Fred looks fondly at Bob, he comments, “I’m giving him some time to cool down, and then I’ll give him a chance to taste my boots.”
Fred turns and looks at Eb, who turns his sight to Fred as Fred continues, “I look for the opportunity that is out there.”

Eb rolls his eyes.  Eb takes a few moments to decide what his night holds in store. He quickly decides, stating, “I’m done here.”

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Fred didn’t expect the conversation to end so swiftly, and that Eb would leave for the night. Eb rises from his stool, enjoying the sound his leather makes as he firms up his posture. Seeing that Eb is going to leave, Fred moves in to hug Eb, “Merry Christmas, Eb!” Fred is boisterous in his greeting. But immediately, Master Eb raises a hand and blocks Fred from his attempted hug. Fred steps back, with a small evil grin on his face for attempting the hug, as he knew Eb would reject it outright. Fred raises his hand in acknowledgment as Eb looks at Fred once more, then starts his stride to the pub's exit. 

As Eb proceeds to the exit, past the doorman that he flirted with, the crowd silences a bit, watching the lonely man in his finest leathers leave once again into the cold, dark night. Once again, to spend the holiday alone in his perfect home in his perfect leathers. 

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