Another openin', another show...

Just learned about a new animated Batman series coming to the WB. Could be good, could be bad. I certainly agree with the general consensus that the Bruce Timm/Paul Dini animated series was the best translation/adaptation yet of the Caped Crusader, capable of entertaining kids and grownups alike without the (lovely) campiness of the 1966 series. Its second incarnation, with Robin along for the ride, was a little more kiddie-fied, and I never quite got into "Batman Beyond" (though both of those later series had their deathtrap moments now and then). I admit to watching the current "Justice League" once in a blue moon, and the few times I've caught "Teen Titans," I've enjoyed it--mostly for the Shonen Knife theme song and the cool anime-style graphic design. So I'm up for a new series, even if I have my doubts. (FYI, I also learned tonight that a 4-disc DVD of the aforementioned Timm/Dini version is coming out soon, apparently with a few bonus features.)

Speaking of animation, my latest passion is the (vaguely) superhero-themed series that are part of the Cartoon Network's Adult Swim programming block, namely "Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law" and "Aqua Teen Hunger Force." The "heroes" of the latter are a milkshake, a bag of french fries, and a wad of meat from a hamburger (whose "superpower" is the ability to turn himself into an igloo and a hot dog; nothing else, just an igloo and a hot dog). I'm sure you won't be surprised to learn that BirdMan and Space Ghost caused a stirring in my pubescent loins when they were first on the air in the (correct me if I'm wrong here) early 70s, so it's weird to see them turned into the stuff of stoner comedy three decades later. All these series remind me, in a weird way, of what DC's Vertigo line does with third-rate comic book heroes of my youth, throwing out everything but the name and using the character as a post-modern meditation on the non-heroic details of everyday life.

Oops, is that too highfalutin' for ya? Look, they're just fucking funny.

Now it begins...

I've gone and done it: started a new blog to tell an ongoing bat-story that picks up where my story "Bystander" left off. Been mapping this out in my head for the last few days, and now the first words are out there. Hope you'll check it out and let me know what you think.

BYSTANDER: One Piece at a Time

I've been gradually posting new chapters of a story called "Bystander" on the Perils of Batman Yahoo group for the last couple of days, despite (more likely because of) the huge pile of paying work staring me in the face right now. This is my first bat-tale in a long, long time; I actually finished the rough draft a few months ago and finally decided it was time to get it out there.

I love the serial form: post a little bit here, then wait, then a little bit more. Cliffhangers aplenty. (Not much happens in the new story for the first five or six chapters; it's all about building suspense--what WILL happen, when something finally does?)

Obviously I trace my fondness for the format to the "Batman" TV show and those interminable waits from one night to the next to find out how -- or if!-- our heroes were going to escape their latest deathtrap. In a more high-minded state, I think about how Dickens used to serialize his novels, which naturally shaped their form and style, and I remember how a friend and I used to say that soap operas had so much potential as a storytelling device with their gradual unveiling of character development and texture... but let's pretend I didn't just say that. Basically, I fetishize the phrase "tune in tomorrow--same bat-time, same bat-channel" as much as the batsuit. To me, the sexiest part of these stories is the wait between "to be continued" and "in our last episode..." In a way I wish I could draw it out even longer.

Anyway, the new story is an attempt to do something new, at least new for me: tell a slash story from the point of view of an everyday citizen who is wrapped up in one of these wild comic-book plots. Kind of a sex-friendly version of the graphic novel MARVELS. (BTW, the end of the story has given me an idea for a new one, but lemme get through this one first.)

The other thing I love, in addition to keeping readers waiting for the next installment, is the chance to refine and revise: first I write the rough draft, then I sit on it for a while, then I rethink and tweak the language (and whatever plot inconsistencies I happen to catch) before I post it to a Yahoo group, then I come back to it again before posting it on my "Secret Room" site. Probably doesn't sound very sexy, but I love the process. In its own way, it's as erotic to me as the original scenario in my head.

Now, THAT's a kink.

Spam of the Week

I hate spam as much as the next caped crusader fetishist. But I must admit the following little scam brought a twinkle to my eye for its sheer absurdity. (To truly appreciate this, you need to know that my "real name," according to my Yahoo profile, is "Dark Knight.")

Dear   Dark Knight ,
I am Barrister Adara Monday, a solicitor at law, personal attorney to Mr. K. C . Knight, a national Of your country,who used to work as a contractor in Lome Togo. Here in after shall be referred to as my client. On the 30th of April 2000, my client, and their only daughter were involved in a car accident along Kpalime express Road. All occupants of the vehicle unfortunately lost there lives. Since then I have made several enquiries here to locate any of my clients extended relatives, this has also proved unsuccessful.
After these several unsuccessful attempts,I decided to searchthrough with his name which motivated me to contact you, to locate any member of his family hence I contacted you.I havecontacted you to assist in repartrating the fund valued at US$20.5 million left behind by my client before it gets confisicated or declared unserviceable by the Security Finance Firm(bank) where this huge amount were deposited. The said Security Finance Company has issued me a notice to provide the next of kin or have his account confisicated within the next twenty one official working days.
 Since I have been unsuccesfull in locating the relatives for over 2years now, I seek the consent to present you as the next of kin to the deceased since you have the same last names, so that the proceeds of this account can be paid to you.Therefore, on receipt of your positive response, we shall then discuss the sharing ratio and modalities for transfer. I have all necessary information and legal documents needed to back you up for claim.
All I require from you is your honest cooperation to enable us see this transaction through. I guarantee that this will be executed under legitimate arrangement that will protect you from any breach of the law.

Best regards.
Adara Monday esq.

Yippee! Now I get to be a millionaire just like my hero, and I can invest my inheritance in crimefighting equipment! Funny, I thought my only relatives were Wayne Knight, Phil Knight, and Doctor Mid-Nite (his ancestors had their surname changed at Ellis Island). Give my regards to the citizens of Lome Togo, Barrister Monday.

My Life in Bubblegum

Wow, thanks to the Topps Flashback section of the Topps/Bazooka Joe website, I can revisit all the touchstones of my lifelong fetish in one convenient location: not just Batman but THE GREEN HORNET, MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E., the original PLANET OF THE APES. Alas, no cards of shirtless, caged Charlton Heston; no bound-and-doomed Napoleon Solo; no Green Hornet in peril; the Batman set displayed is the kink-free tie-in to the 1966 movie, not the glorious S&M-crazed packs drawn by Bob Powell and Norm Saunders. But still. All this site is lacking is THE WILD, WILD WEST to complete my childhood introduction to masculine heroism... and since the site seems to be updated now and then, there's always a chance.

Plenty of other artifacts of my youth are there, too, like LAUGH-IN, the moon landing, the Beatles, Evel Knievel, and more (plus some fascinating pop-culture icons from earlier and later eras). But those images trigger a completely different part of my brain than the aforementioned. For me, batfascination is not a nostalgic exercise; it's still very current. "Flashbacks" are about looking back on the innocence of childhood (specifically your own) from a distanced perspective, generally encouraging you to feel superior to the past (Look at those crazy hairstyles! Those wacky sofas!), which I think is simply a way of encouraging all of us happy consumers to perpetuate commodity culture's relentless insistence on newness. But Batman is still very much with me, a myth from my past that constantly informs my present and, I assume, my future.

What Fanboys Talk About When They Talk About Love

Stumbled upon this page of bitter debate while doing one of my beloved Google searches for bat-keywords (in this case, "Batman tights/ripped/shredded," I think). It's a 2003 thread on Ain't It Cool News regarding the fanfilm "Dead End," and if you have some time to kill, wade through the verbiage for some revealing discussion from (presumably) hetero batgeeks re how best to depict Our Hero, loaded with subtext about the beauty of the male body, in particular the bodybuilder who plays him in "Dead End." (Maybe I shouldn't assume they're all repressed, because at least one brave soul here outs himself as a gay man who is therefore better qualified to critique the bat-actor's abs than everyone else.) Basically the old tights vs. rubber suit argument, with the obligatory reference to Schumaker's nipplesuit. Call me a peacemaker, but I'll be happy to fetishize either option.

Another fan film coming...

Here is a trailer and sneak peek at a new bat-fan film, "Batman: In the Flesh." (Most tantalizing part of the site for me is the line on the page just before the one I'm directing you to, which reads "Click here to enter Batman in the flesh." Now THAT's something I'd be happy to do anyday.)

Looks promising on many fronts--interesting premise, lots of telling details which will resonate with readers of the comics, AND the possibility for some deathtrap action and/or beefcake--and I just hope the full film gets made eventually. I'm all for the phenomenon of fan films, though obviously they cost a lot more money and take a lot more time to create than their prose equivalents, so the risk of getting shut down by the copyright-owning studios must quite daunting to the makers. What I'd really like to see, of course, is a film version of a slash story, but I'm not holding my breath.

Throughout the 70s and 80s I fantasized about making a big-budget batfilm of my own, though in retrospect I now acknowledge that the plot was secondary to convincing hot guys to suit up and act out my s/m/b/d dreams. Guess that's why Tim Burton got the call from Warner Bros and not me.

RJ McCaffery- Superheroes and the Social Eye

My introduction into the world of "Blog This!" may just lead to more entries like this one:

Just stumbled across this essay while avoiding work (is there any other way to discover things in this world?); a little too English-major-y for my taste, but one of the poems discussed, "The Superhero's Shrunken Tights," is pretty enjoyable on its own. For all the wrong reasons, I mean.

BATMAN BEGINS begins

BATMAN BEGINS

First glimpse at the new Christopher Nolan movie with Christian Bale as Our Hero. Too soon to say whether it will avoid the pitfalls of the earlier movies (or create some new ones), but at least the outfit (and the guy wearing it) looks nice.

The Skin I'm In

Okay, so yes, I've been away awhile. Again. But upon my return, I discover that Blogger has radically revamped (and almost even idiot-proofed) itself, and the changes look mighty appealing to me, given that they've streamlined a lot of the little stuff that used to prevent me from writing more often. I've just spent, oh, a couple of hours changing the look -- I believe the term is "skin" -- of my blog and I'm still not totally happy with it, but I'm getting there. I enjoy learning as I go with this stuff. And I beg all of you who know HTML to bear with me.


Speaking of skin, my latest excuse for not writing here is an unpleasant and very painful rash-y sort of thing, which has me not wanting to move around much at all. And donning a batsuit or any other sort of costume/uniform is the farthest thing from my mind these days.


Which has me thinking about those few situations in life when the erotic impulse is on hold: illness, grief, looming work deadlines. Come to think of it, I've faced all three of those for the last several months, so I guess it's no surprise that my bat-duties have taken a back seat lately. I can't tell you how frustrating it was to finally have my schedule (and my psyche) freed up enough to resume batplay, and then have a chunk of my body covered with miserable little bumps...


Actually, I wasn't intending to write so much about myself in that last paragraph; I wanted to make a point about how the body -- any body -- tends to shut itself down now and then. And that was going to lead into some thought-provoking discourse on ... uh, I forgot what the discourse was going to be about. See?! I'm hurtin' here, people.


Oh, one more thing: in the new, improved version of this blog, you, dear reader, can now at long last leave comments of your own. And I encourage you to! I've never liked the feeling of jabbering into the abyss here; from my very first entry I had hoped to make this more of a dialogue than a monologue. I get great e-mail every now and then from people who stumble across this site, which always makes my day, but since there seem to be so many of us out there who share similar fetishes (and the stigmas and logistical problems surrounding them) I think it would be great to see some other voices represented here, too.

I'd been trying to think of some sort of celebration to mark the 10,000th visitor to my "Heroes and Villains" site, and now it looks like it's gonna happen tonight (last time I checked I was at 9998), and I'm empty handed. In reality, at least 400 of those "visitors"--which are really just individual hits--are me checking the count, so maybe I should wait for the counter to hit 10,401. Anyway, if you've made your way here from there for the first time, hello. I'd offer you some cake and a party hat, but they're in storage at the moment. So perhaps you'd best amuse yourself with the kinkiness below for the time being.

I hadn't looked at the Edge's blog in a long time, and I was intrigued to learn he's been posting despairing messages similar to my recent entries here (too much going on on too many fronts, not enough time for the deeper pleasures of life, like play). I don't know the guy except through his marvellous writing, but I do know the feeling he expresses.

Things have calmed down ever so slightly lately on my own front(s), which means I've been able to slip into the old batsuit a few times over the past few days for the first time in ages. And last night, while avoiding "real" work in any way I could think of, I started revamping my "Secret Room" website. (Go there, now, I beseech you, ye nonbelievers, and behold it in all its obsessive-compulsive glory.)

At long last, my stories are better organized, making it easier for me to add new ones in the future, and the links page actually exists (two of them, even, divided by my two primary fetishes), rather than being a line or two of Angelfire boilerplate. I'm definitely no techie, so it's pretty rough, but I'm using this project to learn as I go.

Speaking of which, can anybody reading this who knows a damn thing about HTML tell me why pages like this one -- or,hell, any of the other main sub-pages for that matter -- contain those little rectangles all along the left side? Until I fix the problem, I'm telling myself they represent sprockets on a film strip and it's all an ingenious tribute to celluloid. Yeah, that's the ticket... Anyway, if you know what I'm doing wrong, please drop me a line and let me know so I can make it all better. Any other comments on the actual content are more than welcome, too. For now I'm just so damn happy to be working on this thing decked out in my most comfortable stretchy clothes instead of occupying my time with more mundane matters.

Judging from the promo pix I've seen so far, it looks like the forthcoming movie version of THE PUNISHER will be the latest in a long line of film adaptations of comic books to dispense with the hero's skintight costume. (Yes, I'm talking about you, DAREDEVIL.) I've never been a huge fan of the Punisher (too much machismo, too direct a ripoff of DEATH WISH), but I must say his body-hugging lycra outfit (and occasional tendency to stumble into b&d situations) has inspired me to buy an issue or two of his comic over the years, and even to rent the earlier, awful (and equally spandex-free) movie version starring Dolph Lundgren.

I know I'm not the first comics fan to bitch about this, but what's the big problem with portraying characters the way they were originally drawn? Guess we could trace the trouble back to the baggy trunks of the Superman TV show (and, before that, to various movie serials), then to the way that presumably absurd image was playfully satirized by the costumers of the 1966 Batman series. Of course, as this blog has surely made abundantly clear by now, the sight of Adam West in gray long johns might have been intended as a joke, but it had quite a different effect on the likes of me and many other future perverts around the world.

Ever since then--even though we now possess a whole bunch of miracle synthetic fabrics straight out of Jack Kirby's imagination--movie moguls have felt compelled to shy away from tight-fitting fantasy outfits for fear that modern-day hipster audiences wouldn't take them seriously. (As if anybody takes action heroes seriously, in or out of costume. I mean, it's not like we'd want them as elected officials, for god's sake!) Meanwhile, the world of championship wrestling has been packed with well-built men stuffed into lycra for decades now, and that doesn't seem to have hurt ratings one whit.

There have been a few promising exceptions to moviedom's rampant lycrophobia: The Phantom, the TV version of The Flash, and, of course, Tobey McGuire as Spider-Man--that last one being proof positive that you can hire an actor with some emotional depth who still looks good in lycra.

As for my beloved Caped Crusader, I've recently discovered a Yahoo group devoted exclusively to the black rubber batsuit of the recent movies over the Adam West version. Truth be told, by this point in my life I've come to prefer the rubber outfit to the version that first floated my boat--but either is preferable to the kind of leather-jacket compromise the Punisher now finds himself encased in.

Things have calmed down a teeny bit in my Bruce Wayne existence, so I've had a couple of opportunities to slip back into the batsuit for the first few times in months and months. And it has felt ... good. Not earth-shattering, but comfortable, a welcome return home all the same.

On one such occasion, my partner and I played out a bat-scene of the kind we haven't done in ages (this time it was me as caped crusader, him as dastardly villain). In the midst of it, I felt myself being very aware of my mask, both the feel of it brushing against my cheeks and forehead, and the mental image of me wearing it in front of somebody else. He's seen me it many times, but for some reason this time I felt naked in it, exposed--as if I was unmasked at last and the bat-cowl was my true face.

By coincidence (or not?), I've felt similar sensations in dreams lately: sort of like the classic one in which you go to school naked, or find yourself in some public situation wearing nothing but your underwear. Only in my case, the costume was the private self I was showing to the world, either by accident or design. Caught up in the moment, I can't tell whether I'd intended to reveal this secret self to onlookers or not. My hunch is the former: that I've set out to expose more of my true self to others, and then been caught in a flash of doubt and second thoughts. In the dream I want to retreat, to hide myself, but it's too late. There is no turning back.

In waking life, I really have been a bit more public lately. Not so much about my bat-fantasies, but about other aspects of myself. In various ways I've left my comfortable circle of friends and my familiar work environment, and it still feels a bit new and scary.

The bat-costume is a perfect metaphor for that dance of advance and retreat: it conceals the wearer's "true identity," but in wearing it he assumes--pretty much announces to the world--a whole new identity, too.

Circumstances in my real life lately have meant that I haven't had a lot of time or mental energy to explore my fantasies, either in word or in deed. That makes me sad, because after a very long period (ie, adolescence and a decade or two of adulthood) of feeling like a freak for getting off on the things that get me off, I've actually come to embrace that very aspect of myself, and I miss it now that it's dormant.

I still get turned on, I just haven't been able to indulge the kinky side of myself for a few months now. I could blame my new job, or a recent death in my family, or the general funk I've settled into (and may finally be emerging from), or the combination of all those factors and several others, but I guess it's all just a part of the ebb and flow of life.

One of the fascinating aspects of the Batman myth for me has always been the hero's obligation to maintain both sides of his dual persona, come rain or shine: once you create a bat-self, you have to keep it up, whether you want to or not. (Likewise, you have to keep being Bruce Wayne, even when that's not so fun, either.) As I think I've written here before, I've often thought about those times when Batman is being held captive for days or weeks on end--what kind of stories does that compel him to create to explain his absence from Wayne Foundation duties? And what if Bruce just wants to take a vacation from crimefighting every so often--how can he escape the burden of his calling?

I guess a big difference between myself and my favorite comic-book character, then, is that I'm theoretically free -- if not downright obliged -- to let go of the fantasy double life every now and then and just exist in my "real" one, with all its sadness and anxiety and self-doubt. But in times like these, when I'm feeling more Bruce than Bat, it feels like I've lost touch with a crucial part of myself: my ability to dream.

I'll get it back, I have no doubt, but it gets lonely in the meantime. I can't wait to slip back into that outfit on a long, solitary night and see where my imagination takes me.

Bat-trap fetishists, you'd best be getting to your local comics emporium in search of a copy of BATMAN ADVENTURES #9. (It's been out for a month already, but you should still be able to find it somewhere or other.) I heard about this one from the always-handy PERILS OF BATMAN Yahoo group, the "Files" section of which contains a few scans of sample pages in case you don't want to shell out the $2.25.

But the full story is totally worthwhile: our heroes are in the clutches of yet another deathtrap set by yet another faceless villain, and Batman begins flashing back through one past peril after another--page after page of near-misses. ADVENTURES is ostensibly a kiddie comic, but the writing is excellent and the story is surprisingly self-reflexive and post-modern and such--the kind of joke that few 8-year-old batfans would be likely to get. (Not unlike the '66 TV show, for that matter--Batman has a long history of working on several levels at the same time.) Smartass Robin keeps asking where the bad guys get the money and time to design, budget, and create all these elaborate contraptions; it's sort of like the scene in the first Austin Powers movie when somebody asks why they don't just shoot the International Man of Mystery instead of subjecting him to some amazingly complicated--and easily escape-able--trap.

But, as all good perverts know, it can be way, way more fun to take the scenic route sometimes instead of the shortcut. It's like asking why you don't just hop into bed with somebody and skip all the time and expense of building and stocking a dungeon or fleshing out a role-play scene. If you have to ask, you may well never understand the answer.

Death of a Mauve Bat

Okay, so I guess I'm starting to look like one of those Blog Burnout cases we hear so much about, but I haven't entirely given up the ghost. If it's any consolation, I've neglected many other details of the rest of my life lately, too (including, sadly, the kind of costumed play sessions that I love so very much), though I'm confident I'll eventually return to most of them in due time.

But you don't want to hear excuses. (At least the one or two loyal readers who write me to bitch about my online disappearance don't want excuses; they want action.) So allow me to divert your attention elsewhere: Batfans who haven't checked out this bat fan film site owe themselves a visit. I'd seen passing references to short unauthorized movies about the caped crusader here and there, but had no idea where to find the actual productions until fairly recently. ("Fairly recently" = at least a month or two ago; as you know, I've got a pretty big backlog of stuff to write about here.) I was intrigued by the possibility of someone doing with actors and costumes the kind of thing that slash fiction must do strictly with words and mental images. (Normally I root for the power of language and imagination above all, but I'm not about to pass up the chance to see a real live hunk in tights and a cape.) The specific film all the fetishists have been raving about is called "The Death of Batman," and you can find it here. (Along with several others, some funny, some dead serious, and teases for some potentially very hot properties still to come.)

Beware: "Death" is every bit as grim as its title suggests, and more than a little violent. The online commentator who compared it to "Oz" (the prison series, not the magic land Dorothy visits) is on the right track. But if your bat-fantasies tend toward sadism and brutality, as mine sometimes do, you can't beat this thing for taboo-flaunting excitement. There's no sex, but it's mighty erotic all the same. In addition to seeing our hero bound and beaten, there's the added thrill -- for me, at least -- of watching his facial hair grow the longer he's kept in captivity. I confess I'm a sucker for secondary sex characteristics like 5 o'clock shadow, and you get plenty of that here. That's something the '66 TV show and the movies never addressed, though it's come up in several comics over the last decade or so. (My favorite chapter of the epic "Knightfall" saga is surely the flashback in volume two, in which a haggard Batman is captured by Two-Face; his stubble is remarkably pronounced throughout the entire ordeal.)

It strikes me that the design of BM's cowl, which exposes only his cheeks and mouth, must have inspired me at some point to fetishize those parts of the face; certainly I think of facial hair as a kind of mask in itself, keeping secret what lies beneath. Then, too, there's the sense in "The Death of Batman" that the Masked Manhunter has been taken out of circulation for days and eventually weeks, and I find that aspect of bat-traps exciting, too: the sense that everyday life must be suspended in the midst of a crisis. Bruce Wayne (inherently a cleanshaven persona) effectively ceases to exist during such periods.

And that's how I choose to explain away my current lapse in writing here and at my story site: I've fallen into enemy hands. Believe me, I'd love to spend my time typing away at blog entries and kinky stories (let alone balancing my checkbook or sending out Christmas cards), but as long as I'm in The Joker's clutches, I've got no choice but to submit to his wicked schemes.

You should see my beard these days--it's practically long enough to touch the ground.

Once again it's been almost a month since my last entry, so after I get the usual apology (in which I blame my absence on my ever-hectic Bruce Wayne life) out of the way, it's back to bat-business.

I've been meaning to fill you in on what happened on Halloween night. As you may recall from my last entry, I took my bat-self public to an unprecedented degree this year, not only dressing up to answer the door for trick-or-treaters but constructing an entire front-porch "spookhouse" -- really more of a funhouse, since the emphasis wasn't so much on scaring people as on creating an entertaining environment with a few scary touches. I spent most of the night of the 30th and half of Halloween day building the thing, and what was nicest about that was the opportunity to work outside the house in the bodysuit-and-utility-belt ensemble I usually only wear indoors. Naturally I was careful to avoid the mask and cape during daylight hours -- not out of fear of looking foolish, but because I didn't want any neighborhood kids to see me yet.

The downside of my master plan was that I found myself still out running errands in the afternoon and into the early evening -- the very time when the youngest children would be most likely to arrive on the scene. (In my haste at that late hour, I couldn't find any bags of candy in the nearest store, which led to a major innovation: I bought a whole bunch of cheap art supplies -- crayons, watercolors, balloons, etc -- and gave those out, along with various bat-themed toys -- instead. To my surprise, it went over incredibly well. So allow me to pass along this tip to any of you who are as annoyed as I am by the whole junk-food aspect of trick-or-treating: you can think outside the candy box and not have to worry that your lawn will be covered with toilet paper the next morning. On the other hand, I only gave out one streamer and one box of chalk to one thrilled adolescent before I realized maybe those two items weren't such a good idea for the older testosterone-fueled set.)

When I finally drove up to the house after my shopping expedition, I saw at least 4 groups of kids I wasn't ready for walking up to the door, and I told their parents to stop back by in 15 minutes or so for something worth the wait. Then I ran indoors and scrambled to suit up and put the finishing touches on the installation. (I later heard from a neighbor that the darkened, abandoned porch only heightened the mystique for the visitors who arrived before I did.)

There was a steady stream of trick-or-treaters for the next two and a half hours, and the setup was a smashing success if I do say so myself. Both the kids and their adult chaperones were impressed, and the bully factor was lower than ever. A few of the older boys and girls seemed disappointed that the spookhouse wasn't scary enough, but again that wasn't really my intention. I was mainly trying to recreate the look and feel of the Villain Hideout sets from the TV show, complete with a few captured-bad-guy dummies and references to the standard Rogue's Gallery, and to augment that with a CD of Neil Hefti's soundtrack music. I put bubble wrap on the ground thinking that would spook a few people, but it turned out I was the only person unsettled by it while I was busy moving around. The kids, on the other hand, loved it, and there were at least 4 spontaneous dance parties when groups of them hopped up and down in time to the "da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-BATman" theme song.

That was great (one man's fear is another man's fun), but the high point of the night came for me when a little girl--I'll guess she was 8 or so--ventured up the steps and timidly peered into the plastic-curtained room. I could tell from the way she talked and moved that she was one of those bright nerdy kids not too unlike the kind I had been at her age, and she was clearly terrified of the horrors awaiting her in the primary-color-ed set. "That guy's going to jump up and grab me," she told her dad as she pointed at a black-clad dummy slumped in a chair. "No he's not," said her dad, and I added (in my best reassuring Caped Crusader voice), "I assure you this villain has been subdued; he's harmless." Her father and I promised to protect her in case anything bad happened, but she was already lost in her own fantasy, and begged her dad to hold her hand while she moved in closer to investigate. I could see was taking a huge step in confronting her own fears by facing this one down, and that process was one of the most amazing things I've ever witnessed. After she held her breath and touched the would-be villain enough to realize he wasn't real, she got more and more assertive. "Go poke him," she ordered her dad. "Beat him up! Do it!" Suddenly she was transformed from coward to aggressor, albeit still hiding behind somebody else. Her dad refused to do her dirty work for her, so she was obliged once again to march up to the now presumably inanimate object. This time she was as fierce as Batgirl. I gave her an extra-special goody bag as she and her guardian headed off into the night to face and defeat still more imaginary foes.

After all the kids left, I hung out by myself in the lair and shot a little video footage there. Later still, in the wee hours of the night when all my neighbors were asleep, I moved into the backyard to tape more scenes of outdoor bat-fun. (As I've noted before, Halloween is the one night of the year when such behavior is easily explainable, so I was determined to seize the opportunity.) Rolling around in the grass, leaping and tumbling on the lawn, I was 6 years old all over again -- only now I'm old enough to actually be the grownup character I used to pretend I was, my adult body even older than Adam West's was, my real life more complicated than the ones I used to read about in comics and watch on TV. I'm sure I would have looked crazy to anybody who might have seen me, but in that joyous moment I honestly didn't care.

A good two or three weeks later, there was a knock at the door. My partner answered it. I didn't hear the conversation, but he later told me it was two girls selling Girl Scout cookies. "One of them said we had the scariest house in the neighborhood for Halloween, and she told me all about it." From his paraphrase of her story, I was positive it was the same kid who'd poked the dummy. I'd already felt great about inadvertently helping somebody else confront a fear, but hearing that the experience had stuck with her all this time was even better.

I used to think Halloween belonged to scary people -- not scary in the fun sense, but bullyish kids and drunken adults. I avoided costume parties; anytime I ended up at one, I was the guy with the "Hello My Name Is ---" sticker as his disguise. For the last several years as I've grown more and more comfortable with my shadow self, however, I've come to realize that there is a value in this day of overturned norms, of fears brought to light, of gifts dispensed to children from the neighborhood in exchange for their donning masks and embodying their own dream selves.

Plus -- lest I get all warm and psychobabbly on you -- the days before October 31 are great for buying stuff you might be embarrassed about purchasing any other time of the year, and starting November 1 (if not earlier) you can get most of it half price. In short, it's the fetishist's Christmas.

About six years ago, I got the idea to greet trick-or-treaters dressed as Batman. By this point I'd shared my fascination with the character with my partner and before him with my therapist. It seemed like the next logical step was to go public -- albeit in a completely safe way, on the one day when you can walk down the street wearing pretty much anything short of a dildo without anyone questioning your sanity. So I put on my homemade suit and steeled myself for the first ring of the doorbell.

Now, I know you're expecting me to say that this was a cathartic experience and it cleansed me once and for all of any lingering self-doubt and gave me a chance to offer something of myself to current-day children and let the circle be unbroken and all that shit. And the truth is ... it was okay. Just okay. Some kids thought the outfit was cool, some parents laughed in a knowing way when their offspring responded to me like the real thing-- as if I were a department-store Santa -- and the bullies were just as obnoxious as ever. After the initial fear of looking foolish subsided, it just became sort of routine. I felt mildly embarrassed from time to time, but there's nothing like a cowl to mask your actual expression.

I'm pretty sure I didn't suit up the next Halloween for one reason or another, and from then on it's been a year-to-year, on-again/off-again situation. When I'm tired or have work to do, I don't bother. But this year I felt the inspiration to do something really special, so I gathered together a ton of lights and props and sheets of translucent plastic lying around the house -- lots of the stuff I use during fantasy play, or at least the PG version thereof -- and created a "Supervillains' Hideout" on the front porch, and a batcave entrance in the foyer. The littlest kids with the coolest costumes (including the inevitable junior Batmen and other superheroes) will get special goodie bags with batarangs, glow-in-the-dark bats, and other primo swag, which is also a great way for me to get rid of some of the duplicate toys friends have given me over the years. (The best and worst reason to come out about your sexual tastes to your friends is you end up festooned with thematically related presents for the rest of your life. It's funny and fun and all, but after a while you can only handle so many plastic handcuffs and kitschy cop figurines and bat-bandaids.) Most visitors will get the usual candy, but I really want to steer away from that and toward things like toys if I can get away with it. (My own definistion of a "treat" is pretty broad, but younguns tend to get dogmatic about such matters.)

And the bullies who show up at the door -- the ones who arrive close to 9PM with no costume, looking like they're about to enter college and/or toilet paper your house? I found a big supply of cheap domino masks, and I"m half-seriously thinking of handing those out to the slackers and making them wear them before they get anything at all. You want a treat, you gotta do the trick. I finally did, and what a treat I've ended up with!

[My first-ever link-free blog entry!]

Holy moly, Batman: almost a month has gone by since my last post, and that one was mainly an apology for not having written in so long. What can I say? I was gonna blame my Bruce Wayne self being so damn busy for so damn long lately, but come to think of it the Bat-self has been pretty booked up, too. Suffice it to say I'm having a great, intense time on many fronts simultaneously, but this particular front--the blog combined with my "Secret Room"--has not seen a lot of action as a result. But they will, they will... I have so much I want to say here, and only a limited amount of time to say it at the moment.

Enough excuses. Time to write about something substantial, like the cosmos. Last week I spent at least three, maybe four days wearing one of my batsuits, morning, noon, and night. When I was home alone, I wore the whole thing--mask, tights, gloves, boots, etc. When I had to venture outside, I removed the more obvious elements but kept the bodysuit on. (Naturally, this meant no showers for several days, and it's a miracle nobody complained out loud about my not-so-fresh aroma.)

I've actually done these marathon costume sessions many times before over the last seven or eight years. There is nothing quite like the super-relaxed feeling of waking up in that costume/uniform, sensing you are one with the cosmos, celebrating that and then getting to work. And when I say "work," I mean both the job of pretending to be Batman and the job of actually being myself. My utility belt used to be filled with toy props, but over the years I've come to replace most of them with more functional items so that I can write, vacuum, do laundry, whatever, as efficiently as possible. In fact, these days it's much easier to accomplish most tasks with the belt on than with it off.

Now, while wearing the outfit from dusk till dawn and beyond is not a new sensation for me, the idea of doing this while my partner is around is. I think by now he's used to many of my eccentricities, and takes them in stride. It feels like a small but significant landmark in our relationship that I can show this long-hidden side of myself to him. Not the one who dresses up to have sex--he's quite familiar with that one, believe me--but the one who dresses up to do the more mundane tasks of life. I'm not sure he understand it now that he's seen it a few times, but he's clearly okay with being slightly confused.

I mention all this not out of some desire to air all my dirty bat-laundry, but because at least half of my 5 or 6 readers have written to tell me that I'm lucky to have a spousal equivalent who can appreciate and sometimes revel in my otherwise embarrassing fixation on superhero sex. Damn right I'm lucky! Only I say it's not about luck, it's about taking a risk -- every time I show some new side of me to him, I run the risk that he'll not like what he sees and head for the hills. Hasn't happened yet, and at this point I strongly suspect it ain't gonna happen anytime soon.

My point is this: If I can do it, so can you. What do you have to lose in revealing more of yourself to the man or woman you love? No matter what your secret, if you have a dream that you can't fully accomplish by yourself (like being captured by a cop/superhero or capturing one yourself for starters, but really, you can fill in the blank for yourself here), consider taking that scary leap of faith into the unknown. I can't guarantee you'll get the results you wanted, but I'm almost positive the leap will land you somewhere interesting at the very least.