I didn’t win.  (sob)  I wasn’t even 1st Runner-Up.  I was 2nd Runner-Up.  I’m an also-also-ran!  (That means I have to do away with two people to get the title.  Dang.)  To see who did win, either read the rest of this page, or just click here.

     But I have no complaints.  It was a kick-ass fun weekend, one of the most enjoyable ones I’ve had.  And I did get $100 and a medallion for a prize, so it wasn’t a omplete loss.  (See the next day’s portion of the report for what I spent the prize money on.)

     We all got to the bar at about 7:00, with the contest scheduled to start at 8:30.  By 7:15 or so, we were ensconced back in the defunct Coppers deli, attached to the bar through the Holding Cell.  This hour and a bit was just about enough time to get ourselves ready, but then things started a bit late — 9:00.  They had intended for the event to start on time — simply because there would a packed bar regardless by 11:00 or so — but people weren’t showing up in the numbers expected by 8:15 or so, probably due to the nice warm weather we had had during the day.

     Our “Den Daddy” for the evening — the “contestant wrangler” — was Mr. Cell Block Leather 1999, Kevin Powers.  Cute, hunky, and fun.  He commented that our backstage for this contest was way tamer and way lower key than for Mr. International Leather; on the other hand, with only one-tenth as many competitors and a title that doesn’t carry as much weight (yet!), that should be no surprise.

     The first part of the evening’s events was “Rubber Image” — think of it as an “Evening Wear” portion — where we strutted out in our best and brightest, showing the audience (and the judges) what sort of a Mr. International Rubber we would look like.  My outfit for this part was my red collared shirt (a House of Harlot import from London, bought at Whiplash; everybody loves this shirt, and a bartender at the Loading Dock kept insisting that I give it to him), red sidestripe chaps and snap codpiece shorts (Mr. S), and my black (with red lining) latex bomber jacket (Murray and Vern), plus the obligatory rubber boots (which have an off-red stripe around the top: on should always color coordinate where one can).  Two of the contestants — Bruce and Frank — came out in catsuits with gas masks.

     Between contest sets, the crowd was entertained by emcee comedian Khris Francis.  I’ve known (or at least “known of”) Khris for years, ever since he was the piano player at Club St. John in San José, California, back in 1990 or so.  Since then, he was worked all over, including Chicago and Provincetown — I saw a poster for him in one or the other a couple years ago.  And starting in December 1999 (I think), he will be in the main room at Harvey’s casino in Tahoe, plus doing a couple weekend stints in Las Vegas.  He’s a funny (and acerbic) guy, and it’s good to see him moving on up like this.

     The second part of the contest was “The Question,” roughly equivalent to that section in the Miss America pageant where the contestants say they want to cure leukemia and save the homeless.  Here, we were each asked a question by Khris — the same question for each of us, with the other contestants well sequestered so as to not get advance warning.  Last year’s question had been something to the effect of “What rubberwear would you dress Clinton, Starr, Monica, and Linda Tripp in?”  This year’s was “In the year 2000, what rubber sex toy will you invent, and who will you use it on?”

     My answer: A short rubber spreader bar — about eight inches long (that’s a good length!) — connecting two wrist cuffs and attached to the back of a collar.  The rubber bar can stretch and bend a little, but not too much: just enough to give the boy a little struggling room (and we like to see them struggle a little).  (This is actually a formalized variation on a device I put together to use on a puppy boy in Las Vegas this summer; that was with leather cuffs and collar, and key clips.  He called it “cruel”, since he could struggle quite a bit but not get anywhere near clutching anything while I shoved his face where it did the most good, slobbering all over my balls.  Hi, Bryan.)  As for whom I would use it on, I first scanned the audience for cute (and familiar) faces, and said “He’ll do.  Him, too.”  But then I recanted and said “The guy I’ve been dating recently.”  Go for the sentimental punch, I figured.  (Hi, Jeff.)

     My outfit for this section was the latex sailor pants from the previous night, a latex vest (Mr. S), and a neoprene harness (Neo-France); I was trying to achieve a “rubberman is equivalent to leatherman” look.  I had intended to add the new flogger I bought that afternoon (to both further the image and to give a splash of color), but I forgot it and my belt at the hotel.  (Dang.)  Tom was also doing a similar rubber-as-leather look, but Khris advised him to not wear his vest since I was wearing mine, so as to not duplicate the image and thus lessen it for either of us; probably good advice.

     The third and final segment of the contest (well, except for announcing the winner) was “Wet Rubber”.  (The Swimsuit portion?)  For this, they had built an oil derrick-like tower with a water tank on the top.  Each contestant would stand under the derrick and get showered on from a tube that came out of the bottom of it.  (As you can imagine, this splatters a bit; they warned the audience in front to step back if they didn’t want to get wet.  I don’t know if there was a rush toward the stage or not.)  We would get rained on for a couple minutes, our chance to show off (dance?) for the audience.  (This section is designed to take the place of the “fantasy” portion that many leather/fetish contests have, and which can sometimes drag on and on.  We were all in and out of this in maybe 15 minutes, 20 at the most.)  We were told that the water would be warm (or at least room temperature), and it was... for Ron and I (since we went first).  <evil grin>

     For this portion, I wore all pieces that I had earlier in the day: black zip-up latex shirt, green latex muscle shirt, snap codpiece shorts, boots, and a yellow bandana around the neck.  (I figured: “They want water play?  I may as well play up that imagery a little.”)  Somewhat unique, though, was that I wore the green shirt under the black one, with everything carefully arranged to hide all the green when the black shirt was zipped up.  Then, while under the water and dancing around, I turned my back to the crowd and unzipped the black shirt and peeled it off, turning around the reveal the green one underneath.  (This isn’t the first time I’ve stripped on stage; I did a couple science fiction and comic book convention masquerades [costume contests] as “Austin the Cat Dancer”.  Fans of the old Omaha the Cat Dancer comic will recognize the reference.  No, you can’t see the pictures.)  As expected, this bit got a good reaction from the crowd.  From the other contestants, Tom Kelley’s stunt of removing his boots and pouring the accumulated water over himself was also a good crowd pleaser.

     Finally came the big moment: who would win?  I figured I had a good chance, although I knew Bruce and Tom were also strong.  I expected it to be Tom as 2nd Runner-Up and either me or Bruce as the winner.  Naturally, I was (internally) a bit stunned when I ended up as 2nd Runner-Up, and my mind started whirling, analyzing the possible reasons why.  (I’m a Virgo.  We do that.)

     Later that evening, Tim Brough told me that while they were waiting for the scores to be tallied, he asked Thomas Smith who he thought was going to win, and the response was “I have no idea.”  In other words, the judges knew it was going to be a close race between the top three of us.  (Or at least I told myself that, so as to not horribly crush my ego.  <grin>)

     After the contest was over and we had all changed into more casual wear, I had a number of people tell me they hd been rooting for me or otherwise thought I would win.  Ego-stroking?  Serious reactions?  (Does it matter?)  The rubbermen.com guys were back with the Vac Table again.  Tom, of course, was surrounded by ample well wishers (and probably more than a handful of starfuckers who wanted to get into the pants of a fresh title holder).  Bruce was, too, but to a lesser degree; he and Tom kind of stuck together that evening, so far as I could tell.

     I got largely ignored in that arena, but I wouldn’t say it mattered.  I had just enough notoriety and “fame” that evening such that people acknowledged me a bit, and I got to play a bit with some very nice guys.  (It’s amazing how comfortable the tile on the floor of the bathroom off the Holding Cell can be when you’ve got a hunky, furry guy’s dick in your face.  [Yes, I was a bit of a pig slut that evening.]  Hi, Wayne!  [slurp, yum])

     Later on, I went up to Touché again.  More playing with a few different people, including a redux with Bryan from the night before.  And then there was Mike and his rubber waders, which he wanted filled up.  I did my best to oblige — several times.  Even later, a guy named Ed took me and Mike and couple others to Dëek’s.  I ended up leaving there at about 6:00 am.  Man, I haven’t done that sort of a “stay up until dawn” stunt in quite a while.

     (The Dunkin’ Donuts stop on the way back to the hotel was nice, though.  Chocolate honey-dipped are always yummy.)