I Didn’t Create Ruff. I Rediscovered Him

People sometimes ask me when Ruff started.

The truth is that Ruff did not suddenly appear in my life one day. He was not something I created as a character or persona. Ruff was always there, quietly waiting through different chapters of my life. It simply took time, growth, and a few difficult lessons before I was ready to rediscover him.

For most of my life I would not have described myself as particularly kinky. When I met my husband in 2005 I was very much a vanilla person. In college I had written a few academic papers about BDSM and alternative relationship structures, but that curiosity lived mostly on paper. It was something I studied rather than something I had actually experienced.

My husband was the one who opened that door for me.

The first time we met he showed up at my apartment wearing a full leather motorcycle race suit. He rode a sport bike and carried an adventurous energy that I had not encountered before. The curiosity I had explored academically suddenly had the chance to become something real.

He helped me buy my first harness, and I still remember the feeling the first time I put it on. Something about it simply clicked. What had once been theoretical suddenly became personal, and once that door opened I realized there was a whole world I wanted to explore.

The following year we traveled to Chicago for my first International Mr. Leather in 2006. IML was overwhelming in the best possible way. Thousands of people were expressing parts of themselves that I had only begun to understand. It was there that I first encountered puppy play.

That trip also introduced me to incredible people who would become lasting parts of my life. I met members of the Chicago Hellfire Club and the Phoenix Boys of Leather, and I formed friendships that have lasted nearly two decades. One of those connections was Evil Pup, who I first met during that trip and who is still part of my life today.

At the time I did not realize how important those moments and those people would become. It was simply another fascinating corner of a community that I was beginning to explore.

Over the next several years my husband and I became more involved in the leather community. We built friendships, attended events, and found a place in a world that valued authenticity in ways I had never experienced before. In 2012 I had the honor of holding the title Rocky Mountain Leather Sir, which led me to compete at International Leather Sir that same year.

That year introduced me to people who would continue to shape my journey in the leather world. I met incredible individuals like Pup Nitro, Sir Alan, and Bamm Bamm, who went on to win International Leather Boy that same year. It was a time filled with mentorship, connection, and the responsibility that comes with representing something larger than yourself.

But life has a way of changing direction when you least expect it.

Late in 2012 I lost my job, and the stability I had taken for granted began to shift. Around the same time my husband started pulling away in ways I did not fully understand. What I did not realize then was that he had begun heading down a darker path that would affect both of our lives.

Over the next few years addiction slowly took hold. The first time he told me he could overcome it on his own I believed him. I was naive about how complex addiction really is and how powerful its grip can be. There were relapses and attempts to rebuild, each one bringing hope that things might finally turn around.

Even as things became more difficult we tried to hold on to the parts of our lives that had once brought us joy and connection. Together we helped start the Wasatch Men and Boys of Leather, creating a space where members of the leather community in Salt Lake City could gather and support one another. We also established a regular bar night at Club Try-Angles, which became a place where people could show up, reconnect, and simply be themselves. What began as a small effort to bring people together eventually became something much bigger. Even today that regular bar night remains a staple of the Salt Lake City leather and nightlife scene.

Those gatherings gave us moments of community during a time when many other parts of life felt uncertain. They reminded me how powerful it can be when people create spaces where others feel they belong.

Eventually the weight of those struggles changed our lives in ways that could not be ignored. My husband lost his job after a police raid at his workplace, and we made the difficult decision to leave Utah and start over somewhere new. We moved to Atlanta hoping that distance and a stronger community might help break the connections that had fueled the addiction.

The move was meant to be a reset, but starting over was not easy. My husband struggled for months to find stable work, and despite our hopes he eventually fell back into the same patterns we had tried to leave behind. There were more relapses, and we tried everything we could think of to help him recover. We went through both inpatient and outpatient recovery programs, each time hoping it would finally be the turning point.

When the COVID pandemic arrived the isolation made everything even harder. During that time there was another relapse, and after years of trying to hold things together I reached a point where I believed I could not keep doing it anymore. I decided to step away.

But the loneliness of that period was real. Like many people I was navigating the emotional weight of isolation and uncertainty. Eventually we reconciled and he returned home, and for a while it seemed like things might finally stabilize.

I bought a house just outside the city and hoped that creating a stable environment might give us a chance to rebuild something resembling normal life. My husband still did not want to go out much or socialize, but the move gave me a little more freedom to step out on my own and reconnect with parts of the world I had missed.

That fragile sense of stability did not last.

On my birthday in 2025 he relapsed again, and in that moment I knew something inside me had finally reached its limit. After years of trying to hold things together I realized that I could not continue living that way.

We separated shortly after, and by July the divorce was finalized.

Ending a marriage that lasted so many years is not something you walk away from easily. I knew going through that process would bring depression and anxiety. The house that once felt like a fresh start suddenly felt quiet in a way that was difficult to describe.

Lonely, even.

Yet during that time something unexpected began to happen.

Even in the middle of that loneliness there was a pull that kept drawing me out of the house. I began going to pup events again and spending more time out in the community. At first it was simply about being around people and reminding myself that life still existed beyond the four walls of my living room.

Slowly something inside me began to wake up.

I bought a couple of new pup hoods and started exploring that side of myself again. What began as a way to reconnect with community soon became something deeper. One of those hoods eventually became the one people now recognize as Ruff.

Around that same time my work began taking me overseas more often. I made a conscious decision that if I was going to travel I wanted to connect with the communities that existed wherever I went. I started seeking out leather and pup spaces in the cities I visited.

Those connections quickly became some of the most meaningful parts of my travels.

I began taking more personal trips as well, returning to places where I had found welcoming communities and new friendships. Montreal, London, and Australia became places where Ruff could exist freely and where I felt connected to something larger than my own local scene.

It was that same courage to step out of the house and meet people on my own that eventually led me to Kuma.

From the moment we met we clicked. What began as a connection quickly grew into something deeper. Kuma has continued to help me grow and discover more about the pup personality that had spent so many years in the shadows.

Through that journey Ruff stopped being something I explored occasionally and became something central to who I am.

Ruff helps me live my life authentically. But more than that, Ruff continues to challenge me to grow, to connect, and to keep discovering the parts of myself that once lived quietly in the background.

And when I look back on everything that led me here, one thing becomes very clear.

Ruff was never something I created.

He was simply waiting for me to find my way back to him.

🐾 Ruff