The Naked Truth, part 1

After a few months of living in Los Angeles, I was desperate to find a community, a group of friends similar to what I had back in New York. I had been a frequent patron at several West Village bars, loving the live show tunes at The Duplex and the underwear parties at Pieces, but it was the Tuesday night “tweet-ups” I came to enjoy most. They started at Gym Bar and eventually migrated down the street to Boxers. At each place I knew I could walk in and instantly see a familiar face, on either side of the bar. Those establishments were always so welcoming and comforting. I felt like I was surrounded by friends and family.

So when I moved to LA, I needed a place with the same qualities. Unfortunately, I wasn’t living close enough to call any of the West Hollywood gay bars my “home bar,” and truthfully, even when I did walk in, I never really felt at home. That changed when I discovered a local valley spot, The Bullet Bar.

When I first started going to Bullet, it had everything I loved: a low-key atmosphere, friendly clientele, and a hot bar staff. After a night of dodgeball in West Hollywood, I would often end my evening there, stopping in to see the hot bartender before heading home. There were also the Thursday night shenanigans, which included removing your shirt for a dollar off your drink. “Well, how much if I take everything off and just stay in my underwear?” I once asked—always looking for an excuse to undress and save a little money in the process. I do love a good underwear party.

But it was at The Bullet that I discovered my love of leather and the leather community. Toward the back of the bar was a wall lined with photos of the men who had been crowned “Mr. Bullet Bar.” Always the overachiever, I longed to see my face on that wall, etched into the bar’s history of memorable men who were leaders in the community. When I asked what it took to become Mr. Bullet Bar, I quickly realized I was unequipped for such a prestigious title. But the seeds were planted, and I knew I would find my place in the leather community one way or another.

Fast forward to San Diego Pride years later: I was making my rounds with all the vendors until I came across the CMEN booth. A Community of Men Enjoying Naturism. Yes, a nudist group! Was it the immediate affection these gentlemen showered upon me that got me to stay, or was I genuinely intrigued by the idea of a gay naked summer camp in Malibu? Probably both.

They had a sign-up sheet for their mailing list and a raffle for a free weekend at their West Coast Gathering. I scribbled down my information, outlining the slip of paper with stars so they’d be sure to notice. And whether it was luck or charm, it worked, I won a free weekend pass.

It was at that Gathering that I discovered the Mr. CMEN Leather competition. Another leather title, but at a nudist event? How utterly amazing and delightful. I quickly learned there was a whole leather component to the Gathering, including a “Leather 101” workshop. I knew right then I was finally on the path to finding my community.

In 2019, I ran for Mr. CMEN Leather. That year will forever live in my heart. I was cocky, arrogant, and so full of myself that I thought I had the competition in the bag. I had been going to CMEN for a few years at that point, networking, attending workshops, telling everyone, “Next year I’ll run…” Well, when “next year” arrived and I submitted my questionnaire, I felt like I had hopped on a train without a ticket. 

The process included filling out a questionnaire that judges would review before interviewing you in person; asking both about your answers and who you were beyond them. And then, of course, came the on-stage interview during the evening performance.

Wearing a fabulous pink leather harness I had bought for the competition, I stood on stage full of pride. When it came time for my question, I took the microphone and (the memory is a little hazy) launched into a speech about how the leather and nudist communities are united by one simple truth: we are all human beings, and we all belong. I even pointed out to the audience, declaring, “You are a human being, and you are a human being.” Did I answer the actual question? Did I go over time? No clue. But I had left a mark.

Two years later (no camp was held in 2020), I drove onto the grounds and was greeted with, “Paul! I remember you! You gave that amazing speech last time.” It’s funny to think that in 2019 I was so crushed after losing that I considered leaving camp early, head hung low, convinced I wasn’t what either community wanted. That shame nearly destroyed my spirit.

In hindsight, though, things unfolded as they were meant to. Mr. CMEN Leather is a direct feeder competition to Mr. International Leather (IML), and in 2020—like most things—IML was cancelled. Had I won, I would have been devastated. The loss, though overwhelming at the time, gave me perspective: I wouldn’t run again until I was truly ready to win and stand proudly on that stage.

Whatever the original question was, I still stand behind the heart of my answer. Whether you’re in leather, a nudist, dressed to the nines, or stripped bare—at the end of the day, we’re all just human beings, deserving of respect and dignity.

And my time on the CMEN stage wasn’t over. But that’s a story for another day. Stay tuned for The Naked Truth, Part Two.