International Ms. Leather Fundraiser!!

Xir Oya Ra & gurl Gaia in a scene featuring needle play, impact, spasms & gasms.

Your support is needed!

IMsLBB – International Ms Leather & International Ms Bootblack is dedicated to preserving this history of Leatherwomen. Learn more about them here.

The funds are being used to hire ASL interpreters for IMsLBB and guess what?? There is an Anonymous Donor Matching Dollar-for-Dollar!!!

More about the scene: girl Gaia (Greene Williams) and Xir Oya Ra got into It hot and heavy featuring: Needle Play Impact Play 0rgasms and Spasms Aftercare and More!

Videography by Chazmen Sonique

If you’re looking for some sado-masochistic entertainment… Or if you’re just looking for another way to give back to the Leather Community….

We’re are asking a minimum $15 donation for access to 30 mins of prime kinky, pervy, bdsm, voyeur for your consumption!

Send 15$ to any of the following methods:

PayPal: paypal.me/IMsLBBGen5
CashApp: $IMsLBBGen5
Venmo: @IMsLBBGen5

Add “GAIA” and your email address into the comments/notes section to receive the link/access!

Can’t donate, share, share, share!!

peace, love and kink.


Excerpt from Luther (my journal)

Dear Luther,

…I am an artist, photographer, organizer, socialite, writer, producer, entrepreneur, mentor and real impact in this city in a short amount of time. I have made mistakes, burned bridges, and realized what true accountability is. The elasticity of vices and virtues are inevitable but that is what makes me human. How I react to those hardships and misfortunes continue to set the course along elasticity to greatness. That journey between the two is full of accountability, inflection, and action. The internal and external struggles may seem endless but time isn’t real but your relationships and reputation are. You are on your own mental journey with guidance from external influences. Those influences impact your health, mind, and daily life. Again, they can influence your mental journey but your journeys between hardship and greatness are one you saddle up your own mental mind and travel that road alone. You can either gallop, trot, or spring in either direction…

-Chazmen McCarter 1.20.21


Letter to my 17-year-old self.

Sup Chazmen,

Life’s been rough since day one but at age 17, you start to see a silver lining. That’s not it though. You learn that the silver lining doesn’t exist. Well, at least not in your world. There is no escaping the darkness. Yet in those solemn times, you’ve always remained optimistic. Never lose that. That six figure silver lining doesn’t pan out. Yet, you do find your way out of Florida. It won’t be to an Ivy League school up North but niglet you do make it out of Hell.

You’ll learn to surprise yourself. By stepping out of your comfort zone and expressing yourself the way you see fit. You’ll find your voice to speak up about your troubles. You’ll learn to be vulnerable.

You’ll eventually learn to embrace your blackness.

You won’t always be called an Oreo.

You won’t always be the only black gay male in the room.

You won’t always feel alone.

My God, you’ll disappoint yourself over and over again. You’ll be disappointed in others. Cry & move on.

You’ll continue to live life backstage in Florida. But remember, a stage is a stage and you can shine from anywhere. Your moment will come.

Also, magic IS real, not like the Harry Potter stuff. You create magic every time you smile. Never stop smiling. It’ll continue to bring you justice in complicated situation. So, smile on!

There’s magic in your creativity. Trust yourself and the abilities you have earned. Use them wisely. To create art, community and self love.

Call Granny more.

Never stop dreaming. Those dreams becomes foundations for artwork. Pain is an emotion meant to be felt and expressed. You’ll learn to express your pain. You’ll learn to share it with the world. They’ll even understand. There is power in being vulnerable.

So keep smiling. Keep dreaming. And be patient.

Your time to take center stage will come.

-Big Chaz


question everything

Scatterbrained and endless,
Rocketing through neurons,
Through experiences,
With no time concept,
Just dreams.
Dreams that burst through into reality.
Shaking my core.
Rocking the bed
Flying high.
No clouds.
Just nines.
No, negatives.
Take one.
Swerve to ten.
Go getter.
Get guddda.
No stutter.
Speak up.
Act right.
Straight edge.
Back again.
Off again.
All facts.
I runnit till I can’t I breath
No air, I still thrive.
Take one.
I make it 11.

The Round Up


28 May 2000. Fort Myers, Florida. Hand-in-hand, Mother and I made our way down the crumbled sidewalk.  She had already measured me, at home.  I was finally tall enough, this year, to ride The Round Up.  What an eternity, to reach 48 inches!

As we reached the carnival, we could see the blurred lights of the spinning rides and we could hear human screams mixed with laughter.  I pulled Mother along, as fast as she could go, until we reached the ticket counter. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small wad of crumpled $1 bills and handed them to the ticket lady. Separating the tickets in two, Mother handed me half—saving the other half for later.  With tickets clutched in my fist, I sped away, hearing Mother’s faint yell, “Be careful!  And meet back before dark!” Ah, the smell of funnel cakes, elephant-ears, and churros!  Sprinting through the crowd, I had only one objective: The Round Up.

When I was still too small, I would watch the big kids get spun a million miles an hour. I had seen them moments later, getting off the ride, dizzy and wobbly, but always smiling. The bravest ones got right back in line. My hour had come.  Riding this ride would give me bragging rights to all of my shorter friends. In line, I stood upright, neck tall, shoulders back.  The previous riders stumbled out. My heart raced, my breath quickened. I half expected the ticket-man to pull me aside and check my measurements…but he just took my ticket and waved me through. (Thank you, Lord!)

The Round Up was a massive steel cylinder that turned faster and faster until its riders were glued to the sides.  And just when as the world turns blurry, the floor drops away.  Ah, that joyous feeling, to flirt with fate! I settled myself between two kids as nervous, as excited, as myself.

Slip your arms into the shoulder harness. Check.
Buckle your waist strap. Check.
A ride attendant inspected our work. He gave the other guy a thumbs-up. Check.

The Round Up creaked to a slow start. Picking up speed now.  Faster. Faster. Faster. Whoaa, too fast!  The G-force pinned my shoulders and back to the wall.  Closing my eyes I felt the rush of wind. Without warning, the floorboards creaked and gave way. Then, suddenly, it was over.  As quickly as they opened, the floorboards closed. The ride slowed to a halt. The boy to my right was asparagus-green. I knew this would be his last ride for the day. The girl to my left was shaking but happy:  The Round Up had captured another loyal victim.

I looked around for Mother.  I thought she might be waiting for me, watching from a distance, unseen, as guardian angels tend to do. At that moment, a policeman jostled his way through the crowd, his baton raised high. Then another. And another. More excitement! I ran after the cops, I wanted to be apart of the action. A crowd had gathered by the Ferris Wheel. There were shouts. “Hit him! Hit him! Stop resisting, nigger! Get down!” Squeezing between the legs of the grownups, I headed to the front.

Face down in the grass, a young black teenager was being pinned by two policemen The heavy-set officer dug his knee deep into the side of the young man’s neck. The other officer worked to grapple the young man’s arms behind his back to handcuff him. I had never witnessed anything like this.

Where was my mother? I needed my mother! I hurried back to where we parted. She was gone. The lights over the ticket-booth were off, now. Tears welled up. At the carnival entrance, squad cars lined the curb. Some half-dozen handcuffed boys and girls sat on the ground, some quiet and crying. A few rebels shouted profanities at the cops. Men, women and young teenagers were being maced, wrestled to the ground and handcuffed. As more cops arrived, the crowd fanned out to escape their swinging batons.

With no sight of my mother, I reached the entrance praying that she would be there waiting for me. Just then a young black teen, running past, was tackled by a German Shepherd.  The dog seized him by the leg. The young boy thrashed and screamed as the dog dragged him towards the cops. Quickly surrounding the boy as he flailed on the ground, two policemen pounced, rolled him over, and handcuffed him behind his back. Crying and pleading, the young boy was led off to the nearest cop car.

“CHAZMEN! CHAZ!” My mother’s voice!  Bursting into tears, I ran to her embrace and thanked God for returning her to me. Kneeling down on the grass, she hugged me tight and explained: There had been a fight between some young girls. The police were called. Some of the children had resisted arrest. “Let this be a lesson.” my Mother said. It was. Try as I may, I have never been able to forget The Round Up.

The Witch. 

She’s laid to rest when the sun is bright.
On Autumn’s eve, she duels the night. 
She gyrated, joked and caused a rite.
Causing chaos to all in sight.
Pupils white, she chants through the night.


Once he’s beckoned, there’s no turning back.
He charms them with his smile.
He enchants them with his laugh.
Not a creature could save them,
Not even Tituba would dare.
He chazzes them with his charisma. 
He encapsulates them with his knowledge.


Oh alas thee! You’ve been Chazzed!!
So chant the chime that Medusa mutters.
You cackle and scream, but unbeknownst to you.
The Sun and the Moon made a bet on your life.
Whether you know it or naught,
He’s got ahold of your soul,
So go on and blutter,
the name that the Witch’s mutter,



I grew up in my mind.
It was where I was safe.
It was where I was free.
Not bound by the burden
of multiple Mothers.
Not bound by the burden
of stray bullets.
Not bound by the burden
of being myself.

In my mind,
I am a king.
A queen.
A jester.
A thorned rose.

in my heart,
i am picturesque,
free of norms,
a dream,
a thornless rose,
in my heart,
i am infinite,

Birthday Wish

The thunder boomed as lightning-laced through the purple skies. The leaves vibrated violently as the trees whipped back and forth. Nose pressed against the window, I was mesmerized by the storm. I watched in awe and wonder as Mother Nature went to war outside. Suddenly, my bedroom door slams open. Mother’s husband stumbles in clutching his chest. The big, tall man who everyone called “Boo” because he was so scary was now slumped on my floor. Eyes bulged with both arms tearing open his shirt, he’s squirming all over the floor. Quickly, I hop over him and run into the living room.

Perched on the wall between two mirrors was a house phone. Punching in the number of 911, I was quickly connected to an operator, “My mother’s husban’ is havin’ anuther hearth athack. Hurry or he’ll be dead.” With a clack, I hang the phone up, scurry to the kitchen and get to work.

Boo lay there on his back clutching his chest. His big round tummy is going up and down so fast, his chest is bouncing all-around. They remind me of the lady’s boobs from the movie Mother and I watched a few days ago. I cannot help but chuckle. As his breathing got slower and his stomach started to come to an idle. Just as Mother told me, I dashed the ice-water right in Boo’s face. Since it was mostly ice, it worked fast. Almost as if, he was struck by lightning his body jolted and went rigid. His breathing sped up and his man-boobs went back to jiggling.

Three loud booms from the front door and the adults were finally here. Opening the door, I simply pointed to the back bedroom and watched them march in.
“Where is the girl who called 911?” The ambulance lady asked me as they made their way past me. Confused by her question, I simply shrugged my shoulder and closed the door. Back in my bedroom, I could hear the ambulance people strapping Mother’s husband to the stretcher.

Cabinets bare and the kitchen sink full of dishes, I open the fridge and grab the birthday cake. Slowly and steadily, I balance the cake and head to the living room.  I watch as they roll Boo from out of my bedroom and load him into the ambulance. Rearranging the candles, I sit down with my spoon and wait for the right moment to ask if anyone had a match. Once Boo was gone, I notice a fireman standing in the doorway. Waving my spoon to get his attention, he seemed a little surprised to find me sitting there alone.

Taking off his helmet and making his way towards me he asked, “Whose birthday is it, little guy?” Using the spoon to notion myself, I lift a single candle and nudge it towards him. “Ah, I see.” The firefighter rummaged through his jacket and produced a large metal tube. With the flick of his thumb, the torch roared. Slowly leaning the candle forward, I lit it and used it to light the remaining five candles.

Returning the candle to its position, I smiled at the firefighter. Placing his helmet on my head he said, “Time to make a wish little guy.” Closing my eyes, I took several deep breaths, smiled, made a wish and blew out my candles.


I think we have loved before.
Neither one of us remembers each other.
But we have loved before.

It was the first time you made an impression on my heart.
The kind of impression that transcends time.
So we have loved the way we do now,
and in the next lifetime.

My heart will find your impression again.


Friendship Creek

Sitting by the fire.

Fulfilling nature’s desire,

living life.

Getting lost within the trifes of the fire

We watch and honor the flames.

Taking turns playing life’s games.

Changed by each season – made brighter,

relations grown tighter.

Time and time only has brought us here.

Patience and Persistence, lead the way.

Raising the tides, coast clear,

may the embers roar, never to fray.

Written by Christian Parks & Chaz Sonique



I saw trees of green,

Birds chirpin,

Kids yappin.

Steeples amongst the horizon, I wandered.

Wading thru the crosswalks,


I thought to myself.

Let’s write a poem.

You can do it.


Last date.

New hearts.

Fresh thoughts.

Lips mingled.

Hands held.

Mind’s meld.

Bodies thrash.

Stars align.

Old souls.



Self righteous

I know this

Stay flexin

They stressin

I show up

We show out

Suns out

These guns out

Check it

I see the future

I know no bounds

I’m not here to find a common ground

Playing these fools like Cleopatra

I fuck up these hand

Like these fucking sentences

I think it through

Then murder it

Show stopper

Game changer

I clap back

Then slap my own back

Back to the future

I’m still talking about me tho

When I step on stage I throw it up

Word vomit, I can’t write enough

I gotta remind myself that I can always go

Never end, just a few naps

But for your sake

Ill close my eyes

Bat up, shoulder down

Hit it outta the park

No, short stop.



when you mix all the qolors of the rainbow,

a nigga is born.

Check out yesterday’s shoot The queer angel.

Make sure to follow my Instagram for BTS content!!

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