This July marked the fifth consecutive year that I attended TES Fest and the third year (if not in a row)
that I served as part of the volunteer security team. Working security at this fetish convention has
always been a bittersweet experience for me; to be entirely honest, I’ve just done it in years that I could
use the free admission, so I wind up spending 16 hours across 4 days conspicuously standing somewhere
in a hotel in an orange reflective vest, while all around me people in fetish gear walk by to attend classes
or to play. I’m willing to do it, of course, but it has always felt like I was missing out on something, on
the experiences the passers-by were undoubtedly having without me.
That all changed this year. The way the community schedule worked out in 2019, TES Fest ended up
being the third weekend in a row that I had a kinky outing of some kind. First, I went to Folsom Street
East, where I reconnected with some previous OCP guests that I am fortunate enough to call friends. The
next weekend, I marched with TES at NYC Pride, two spaces in front of the New York Eagle (an infamous
gay leather bar), so it was a day full of either marching with or running into even more kinksters I know.
That day, I even got to meet Pup Amp, a fellow kinky podcaster, and we briefly spoke with each other
about how much we enjoy each other’s shows.
And then the following weekend was TES Fest. Regular listeners of Off the Cuffs know how much Dick,
Lexi, and I enjoy attending this event. It’s a 4-day hotel takeover in New Jersey; there are classes, two
dungeons (including outdoor play spaces), and some of the craziest scenes you’ve ever seen. A lot of
guests were presenting this year. A lot of friends were attending. Hell, even my vanilla metamour came
for all 4 days (he needed time away from his kids), and in watching him throughout the weekend, I
realized what had been missing from my approach to BDSM for a while now: He was willing to jump in
with both feet and just try things. He was willing to be a member of a community.
We talk about community a lot on Off the Cuffs. “How can the community be more diverse?” “Why
doesn’t the community acknowledge my kink?” “Do you know anyone who is a danger to the
community?” What we don’t talk about nearly enough is actual community participation itself, and
what stood out to me across these three weekends is that I wasn’t asking what I could do for the BDSM
community.
I had the realization that I’m not just working security for free admission to the event. OK, maybe that
was my initial motivation for volunteering, but I took it more seriously than I ever had. Attending the
events the previous two weekends had reminded me that I’m not just the host of a podcast that talks
about the freaky sex you like; I’m part of something special, a celebration of people who are unafraid to
express themselves, through their sexuality, through their relationships. And these are people who
deserve my full participation.
So I got to play, I got to attend some great classes, but I also got to keep people safe.  On more
than one occasion, I had to tell someone who’d asked “Aren’t you max from Off the Cuffs?” that, while I
appreciated their listening to the show, I still needed to see their badge.
My last shift, on Sunday morning, I was standing by the entrance doing badge checks as people were
checking out. It was chaotic, and I was running purely on adrenaline, caffeine, and a less-than-great
breakfast buffet. Friend of the show Brother Wolf approached me and said, “I just attended the best
class.”

“Which one?”
“History of leather,” he responded.
“I wanted to attend that,” I told him. “I’m going to ask for a full debriefing when I’m not working, but
right now give me the bullet point or the one thing you took away from the class.”
His answer was timely, to say the least. “The difference between BDSM and leather. BDSM is the
activities: the spanking, the flogging, the rope. Whatever. But leather is the community. Coming
together for a bigger purpose and giving back to others what they gave to you.”
I blinked, struck by the synchronicity of it all. “I was just thinking about that.”
This TES Fest, I might not have gotten to attend all the classes that I wanted to. But, somehow, I learned
more about kink, community, and myself just by standing around in a hotel wearing a dumb reflective
vest.